Pagan would have ignored the knock.
But Deirdre took her duties as laird seriously. So she scrambled out from under the coverlet.
He yielded with a sigh, falling back in disappointment on the mattress. But when she snatched the sheets off the bed to cover herself, leaving him nude, he frowned.
“Hey!”
She ignored his protest and headed for the door, giving him barely enough time to dive off the far side of the bed for cover. He was forced to cower behind the pallet in naked displeasure.
Peering over the top of the bed, he watched her haul open the door. She may have wrapped the sheets around her, but she’d left an enticing gap at the back, giving him a tempting glimpse of her sleek buttocks.
“What is it, Lucy?” Deirdre asked.
It was Deirdre’s maidservant, Lucy Campbell. The wench had once been the castle flirt, until Pagan’s best knight, Sir Rauve d’Honore, had won her heart. She was now Rauve’s wife and a devoted nurse to their children.
Pagan only hoped she’d deliver her message and return to devoting herself to their children so he and Deirdre could get back to…
“Da! Da!”
That was Brand, four years old and full of fire. Pushing past his mother, he raced Pagan’s way.
“Get up, Da!”
Pagan quickly seized a bolster from the bed to cover his nether regions just as the lad rounded the bed to jump onto his lap.
“Good morn, Brand,” he groaned.
Five-year-old Gellir had more discretion. “Brand!” he reprimanded his little brother. “We’re not to enter Ma and Da’s bedchamber without permission.”
“But ’tis Christmas,” Brand argued.
From the doorway, Deirdre arched a brow.
That was Pagan’s fault. He’d been using that excuse for the last fortnight for everything from letting the children stay up late to overindulging them with sweetmeats.
He sighed. “Come on in, Gellir. But only because ’tis Christmas.”
When Gellir charged in as well, two-year-old Julian, trapped in Lucy’s arms, screamed in protest and squirmed to get away.
Lucy sized up the situation with a slight widening of her eyes. “Perhaps we should return later, m’lady.”
Pagan agreed. They should. But he knew his wife. And he knew better than to counter her authority when it came to the household.
“Nay,” Deirdre said. “’Tis late. We should be up and about. We have guests.”
She was right. They’d already stolen a night away from the clan. It was sheer greed on his part to want more. Yet who wouldn’t want more when he was married to such a beautiful creature?
“Go on, lads,” he said, giving his sons a swat on the rear. “We’ll be down soon.”
Once the children were gone and the door was closed, Pagan tossed the bolster onto the bed. He collected his discarded clothing and sat on the edge of the pallet. He’d just put one leg into his trews when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Deirdre drop the sheets to the ground.
The sight of her perfectly sculpted body in all its naked glory made him stiffen at once. The breath caught in his chest.
But there was no point in false hope. He knew Deirdre’s sense of honor was everything to her. The clan always came first.
So, willing his body to surrender, he continued pulling on his trews.
“Wait,” Deirdre said, biting her lip in a rare moment of uncertainty.
He froze.
Then she let out a decisive sigh. Her eyelids dipped, and she sauntered toward him with sensual grace. “I suppose they can suffer without us for a little while longer.”
There was no mistaking the sultry gleam in her clear blue eyes…nor the answering throb between his thighs.
“Are you sure?” he croaked. “I know how…the clan…”
She flashed a wicked, lopsided smile at him and shrugged. “’Tis Christmas.”
Rand
Rand was sure this was all his fault. His lovely bride might have led him into temptation, convincing him to follow her into her secret hiding place at Rivenloch. But it was Rand who had fallen prey to distraction, all but forgetting the outside world.
When Miriel first slid the heavy chest away from the wall of the lower level storeroom, he narrowed his brows, puzzled. To his surprise, there was a large breach in the stone and a dark passage beyond.
He hunkered down to peer into the tunnel and whistled low. “Is this…?”
“Aye,” she replied with a twinkling smile. “’Tis the passageway that leads from the keep to the woods.”
He nodded. He knew the clan legend well. His beloved Miriel had once used this secret tunnel to save Pagan’s life. How brave she’d been—his meek, mild wife—fearlessly facing the dark and death to rescue her sister’s husband.
“Go on,” she urged. Her azure eyes gleamed as she nodded toward the tunnel. “Hurry.”
He frowned. “In there?” The passage looked cold and damp and foreboding.
“Aye. ’Twon’t take long.”
He resisted the urge to ask her what wouldn’t take long. She might look demure and delicate, but once Miriel had an idea in her head, there was no changing her mind.
She crossed her arms and arched a fine, dark brow at him. “Unless you’re afraid.”
He smirked. His sweet-faced wife could play him like a lute. “Hand me the torch.”
She retrieved the torch from the wall sconce. He thrust it through the gap, revealing a widened earth tunnel that curved and disappeared around a corner.
The passage wasn’t quite as dank as he expected when he stepped through the breach. He moved the brand to and fro, examining the walls. They were reasonably dry and free of vermin.
When he heard the scrape of the chest behind him, he wheeled in alarm, wondering for an instant if Miriel meant to close him up in the wall.
But she’d climbed into the passage beside him and was dragging the chest across the breach again.
He raised his brows. What did she intend?
When she turned toward him, he lifted the torch. What she intended was clear in her sultry blue eyes.
“Why, Lady Miriel,” he accused with a grin, “here?”
She grazed his body with a lusty gaze that took his breath away. “Can you think of anywhere more private?”
She had a point. It was difficult enough, with four children under the age of eight, to find seclusion at home. But several days on the road had made intimacy nigh impossible. He longed to be with his wife.
Thanks to brilliant Miriel, they could finally be alone together in a place where even their clever children couldn’t find them.
It wasn’t that he didn’t adore his children. Seven-year-old Feiyan was like a shadow of Miriel with her fair skin, chestnut hair, and mild manner. Adam, their four-year-old, was Rand’s pride and delight, and his younger brother Tian already showed promise as a scholar. Even the littlest, Alexander, made Rand smile with his antics.
But it seemed they were cleverer than most at seeking out their parents at the most inopportune times. For once, maybe he and Miriel could spend a few moments alone.
He studied the walls, looking for a place to plant the torch. Alas, there were no sconces in the tunnel.
In the flickering light, Miriel began undressing, sliding the scarlet kirtle from her shapely shoulders. Even that subtle gesture sent the blood rushing to Rand’s loins.
He quickly scanned the dirt floor, looking for a place he could prop the brand, to no avail.
When she slipped the top of her kirtle down to her waist, revealing her small, firm breasts, he sucked a breath between his teeth at the tempting sight.
He gave a rueful chuckle, silently cursing his dilemma. If he dropped the torch, he’d no longer be able to see his breathtaking wife. But if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to avail himself of her charms.
The wicked lass chuckled at his frustration. “Have you not memorized my form?” she murmured. “Surely you can find me in the dark.”
&
nbsp; She shimmied out of the kirtle, letting it shiver to the ground. He gave up, tossing the brand aside.
A peat-black darkness fell instantly in the passage. For a moment, it felt as if the walls had closed in around him. But Miriel’s hand immediately touched his chest, assuring him of her presence, and he drew her into his arms.
It was a curious and exciting sensation, making blind love to her. Deprived of sight, he found his other senses were heightened.
She smelled divine, as warm and comforting as mulled wine.
He sought her mouth with his, relishing the honey-sweet taste of her yielding lips.
She gasped and sighed and breathed softly against his ear. And when he let his hands and mouth explore all her curves and clefts, her purrs and moans made him shiver with need.
Best of all was the heavenly feel of her skin against his.
She clawed the clothing from him, and the desperate scrape of her nails made him catch his breath.
She pressed demanding fingers into the muscle of his shoulders, branding him with hot desire.
And when her tongue mated with his in an erotic tangle, he would have sworn the shadows lifted and that heavenly light filled the tunnel.
Miriel
Miriel had nothing to blame but her own selfishness for what transpired. She should have stayed alert to the castle activity. She’d forgotten how isolated and peaceful it was here.
She’d made use of the tunnel on numerous occasions when she’d lived here with her sisters, though never for this sort of clandestine pursuit.
Here in the dark she wouldn’t see Rand’s elated face when she told him the glad tidings—that they were expecting their fifth child. But at least this time, she’d be the first to tell him.
She was determined that her meddlesome servant from the Orient wouldn’t breathe a word of it to anyone before she had a chance to tell Rand. Odd, all-knowing Sung Li was prescient about these sorts of things, in the habit of informing everyone of Miriel’s pregnancies, sometimes before even Miriel knew.
Not this time.
This time Sung Li wouldn’t spoil the surprise.
Miriel’s self-satisfied smile might be lost in the dark, but she had other ways to express her joy to her beloved husband.
Their tongues entwined, sweeping her up in a blinding whirl of desire. Thrilled by the challenge of finding her way around her husband’s magnificent body by touch alone, Miriel realized she should have made use of the passageway earlier. The endless black was intriguing, their privacy assured.
His mouth left hers, seeking and finding her breast with expert skill, bathing her with tender care.
Her breath sharpened. She clenched her hands in his thick hair. The lazy circles he made with his tongue seemed to spiral down until she felt a coiled heat low in her belly.
She wanted him…now.
Snaking one hand down, she captured the steely confirmation of his arousal. He gasped against her bosom.
“What have I found here, husband?” she teased in a murmur. “Your dagger?”
His chuckle was full of fire. He answered her by wedging his fingers between her thighs, seeking and finding the treasure hidden there.
“And what is this, wife?” he whispered. “Some sweetmeat to nibble on?”
His words sent a rush of hot blood surging through her veins, warming her cheeks.
He gave her breast a farewell lick and then sank before her, kissing his way down her abdomen. When he reached the spot where all her sensation centered, he parted her gently, feasting on her flesh until her legs trembled beneath her.
She gripped his shoulders as she rode her yearning higher and higher, growing more breathless with each wave of lust. At the fine point of climax, she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. And then, she exploded in a burst of bright stars, as awe-inspiring as the paper rockets they’d once made together years before.
She would have collapsed to the ground had he not held her upright.
Once she caught her breath, she wriggled free of his hands and slid down until she knelt before him. She clasped his head between her hands and found his mouth with hers.
He tasted like her passion—warm and wet and mysterious.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing the pillows of her breasts against his muscled chest.
Then she cupped his eager dagger and slowly lowered herself onto him.
He groaned in pleasure.
She echoed the sound.
He filled her perfectly. For a moment she only savored the feeling. But he was hungry for her and for his own long-awaited release.
So, clinging tightly to each other, they grappled as fiercely as they had on that night long ago when they’d engaged in deadly battle. But this time it was love that fueled their fight.
When Rand erupted in a victorious cry loud enough to wake the dead, a thrill of pleasure coursed through her as well.
The sound was quickly swallowed up by the earthen walls. Their weary breath made only the softest stirring on the air.
Miriel’s mouth turned up in a smug smile as she rested her head against Rand’s shoulder. Never in her wildest dreams had she considered the passageway she’d frequented so often in her youth would prove so useful now.
“’Tis the perfect hiding place, isn’t it?” she whispered.
He agreed with a chuckle. “No one would ever suspect.”
“And no one will ever find—”
The scrape of the trunk being dislodged and the light that stabbed suddenly into the tunnel made them separate and scramble for their clothes.
“Shite!” she hissed.
Clutching her kirtle awkwardly before her, she narrowed her eyes at the widening opening.
Sung Li was crouched there, staring in at them, completely unsurprised.
Miriel scowled back. How the wee old servant had managed to discover where Miriel was, not to mention singlehandedly sliding aside the heavy chest, was a mystery.
“What do you want?” Miriel snapped, vexed that she’d been interrupted, angrier that their trysting place had been found.
Before Sung Li could answer, their three sons—Adam, Tian, and Alexander—poked their heads in.
Bright four-year-old Adam, who had been studying with Sung Li, asked, “Ma, Da, what are you doing? Are you playing Zhuōmícáng?”
Sung Li had taught him the children’s game of hide and seek from the Orient.
“Aye,” Miriel quickly replied. “We were playing Zhuōmícáng. Da was hiding, and now I’ve found him.”
Adam screwed up his forehead. “But why are you naked?”
Sung Li shooed the lads back and gave Miriel the impertinent, imperious frown to which Miriel had grown accustomed.
“Your daughter is missing,” Sung Li informed her.
Miriel’s heart fluttered. “Feiyan?”
Rand, who had no patience for Sung Li’s vague declarations, hurried into his clothes, demanding, “What do you mean, missing?”
“You come,” Sung Li instructed, turning away before Rand could bristle at a servant issuing orders.
Miriel’s hands shook as she fastened her lacings. She was sure Feiyan was fine. The lass was a precocious seven-year-old, plagued by curiosity. She’d probably only wandered into a forgotten corner of Rivenloch…just as her parents had.
Nevertheless, Miriel made haste.
The lass could be anywhere.
It was wintertime. A storm might be coming.
And Rivenloch was a large estate surrounded by a dense wood where any manner of beast—or outlaw—could hide.
Colin
Colin placed the blame for what happened squarely on his own head. It had been his idea to steal away from the keep this morn. He’d selfishly wanted time alone with his wife. He’d never imagined his simple wish would wreak such chaos.
He was admiring how the light shimmered upon his wife’s tawny tresses when her sword came toward him in a downward slash. He raised his blade just in time to block the blow.
>
“Aha!” he crowed.
Undaunted, Helena tossed her head and braced to launch another attack, circling him like a wolf.
The buttery light of sunrise spilled across the fresh white snow as they sparred in Rivenloch’s deserted tiltyard.
As always, Colin felt a curious combination of lust and wariness when he faced his wife in combat. Beautiful Helena’s fiery glare might have been tempered by an eager, hungry grin. But he knew better than to trust that temper when she was in the heat of battle.
“Come, husband,” she taunted, “we haven’t got all morn.”
He gave her a wry smile. He knew her tricks. She was trying to make him careless. If she could urge him to incaution, she’d seize the upper hand.
“What’s the hurry?” he asked, feigning nonchalance while he kept his sword at the ready.
“I’d hate for you to miss breakfast.”
That made him snicker. Though no one would guess it from Helena’s firm and shapely form, Colin’s wife ate twice as much as a grown man. She was doubtless famished already this morn.
Sure enough, Helena attacked while he was in mid-laugh. But he was ready for her. As her blade thrust forward, he dodged aside.
Recovering quickly, she thrust again. He deflected the blow with a swipe of his shield. Snow sprayed across the field, glittering in the dawn’s light.
Grinning like fools, they continued to face off, feinting and retreating, striking and blocking, whirling and leaping, slogging through the drifts until their steely chain mail was coated in powdery snow.
Helena’s emerald eyes were bright with excitement. Her cheeks were flushed. Her breath made fine mist in the chill air. He hadn’t seen her so happy in days. And that made him happy.
If there was one thing he knew about his wife, it was that she craved battle the way a caged falcon craves flight. Swordplay warmed her blood and made her feel alive. At home, she was accustomed to sparring with Colin every morn. But for the last sennight, there had been no time for even a brief tussle on the battlefield…or in the bedchamber, for that matter.
Of course, fulfilling her need for battle was Colin’s less noble motive. He knew that nothing made Helena more amenable to his lusty advances than a good swordfight. He planned to take full advantage of that fact as soon as she tired of sparring.
A Rivenloch Christmas: A Wee Holiday Tale (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch Book 0) Page 2