He was simply too tired to argue. With his head hanging low, he went to his chamber and closed the door behind him.
He sat on a chair and pulled off his boots. Women are so bloody confusin’, he mused. Sleep with me, but do no’ touch. Treat me with respect, but again, do no’ touch. He rested his head in his hands. All he wanted now was a good, deep sleep. Ye may think me beautiful, ye may compliment me. Ye may help me in all things, as a husband should, still, ye may no’ touch.
Mayhap on the morrow Mairghread would be in better spirits. Mayhap, on the morrow, she would tell him why she was upset, why she was tempted to drink this night. But at the moment, he didn’t rightly care. He knew ’twas best to just go to his bed, go to sleep, and start anew on the morrow.
Long moments later, the door to his chamber opened.
Mairghread stood in the doorway. She wore her sleeping gown, a heavy woolen thing. She could have worn a sack and still been just as beautiful. His manhood began to twitch.
“Are ye comin’ to bed?”
A wiser man would have told her he was too tired, she was too upset, and mayhap a night apart would do them good. Besides, ’twas no’ as if they were lovers. They were man and wife in name only right now. ’Twas one more thing that added to his growing frustration.
“I will be right there.”
Mairghread knew she had behaved foolishly toward Brogan. ’Twas not his fault her heart was breaking with sadness and longing and guilt. Nay, she could not blame him.
She went to him, fully intending to apologize. But when she saw him sitting in the chair, with his head in his hands, words escaped her.
Instead of apologizing, she asked if he was ready for bed. Her fingers trembled with wanting to go to him, to wrap her hands around his head and tell him she was sorry. Sorry for being rude, sorry for being such a bother all these past weeks. But most, she wanted to tell him how sorry she was for asking too much of him.
Brogan was a man, after all. He was not made of stone. He had feelings, needs, and desires, just like most people.
She heard the exhaustion in his voice, saw the weariness in his eyes when he said, I will be right there.
How many sacrifices could she ask him to make? Aye, he’d been making them since the day he arrived. Now, she was asking him to be a husband to her, to sleep with her so she would not be alone, wouldn’t be plagued with bad dreams all the night long.
She knew she owed her restful sleep to him. From the first night he stayed with her, the dreams had all but stopped. She found comfort in knowing he was there. Nay, ’twas more than just comfort. ’Twas a sense of peace and safety.
And look at him now. Dark circles under his eyes, dragging his feet as though they were made of led. He’d been working non-stop on one thing or another since he had arrived. He had helped her get through the awful takeaways and on the path to sobriety. He was bringing her clan together, building a much-needed wall, and heaven knew what else he’d been doing of late.
She had been so wrapped up with her guilt, her broken heart, and the past, that she hadn’t taken the time to think about him. Brogan, as a man.
Until the noonin’ meal earlier that day when she was suddenly beset with thoughts of desire and warm sensations she’d thought long dead.
That was when the guilt began again. Guilt for desiring him, guilt for wanting another child, and guilt for not being the kind of wife a man like him deserved.
She had painted a happy smile on her face all day long, when inside, she felt confused and even a bit frightened.
The past.
She had been stuck in it for years.
Brogan was, unbeknownst to him, helping her to gradually climb out of it and into the present. What frightened her most, was the future. A future as his wife in all senses of the word. A future where they worked together, building up this clan, mayhap having children of their own. Someday.
As he walked into her chamber and slid into the bed, she sent a silent prayer up to God.
Please, help me to be the wife he deserves. And please, keep him here long enough for me to be just that.
Chapter Twenty-One
As he’d been doing for days, he woke before dawn. Mairghread was snuggled next to him, her head on his chest, one arm draped over his chest.
Ye made her a promise never to kiss her again until she asked, he warned his heart as well as his manhood. His intent was to close his eyes, just for a few moments, to steady his breathing and push any yearning thoughts aside.
When he woke again, he had no good idea as to how much time had passed. The furs were drawn over the windows.
With her bottom nestled against his groin, ’twas next to impossible to keep his desire in check. She stirred, paused, then gasped. Rolling over, she looked into his eyes.
“I be the worst kind of wife,” she told him with tear-filled eyes.
He was wholly confused. Reaching out, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What do ye mean?”
“I ask ye to be a husband to me, to keep me warm and safe at night. But,” she swallowed back tears. “But I am unable to give meself to ye.”
His brow furrowed and he was at a loss for words.
She nodded toward his lower half. “James used to wake up like that. I ken what it means. And I lay here each night, enjoyin’ yer arms around me, likin’ the way ye feel next to me, and how do I repay ye?”
He chuckled softly and shook his head.
“I do no’ ken when I will be able to give all of meself to ye, Brogan, and it scares me.”
“Mairghread,” he said, hoping to find the right words to set her heart at ease.
“I worry ye will grow weary of me and leave. And ’tis the God’s truth I do no’ want ye to. I be so confused, Brogan. I want ye, I do and it tears me insides to shreds, fer I still feel as though I would be bein’ unfaithful to James. And to Connell.”
“I understand,” he told her. “I felt the same way about Anna. I still think of her every day.”
“Ye do?” she asked, wrinkling her brow.
“Aye, I do. I loved her. She was me entire world, ye ken. For a very long, long while, even after I put down the bottle, I could no’ even think about takin’ another wife. Hell, I couldn’t even visit a brothel—” he stopped himself when he saw her blush. “I still love Anna. I will always love her.”
She stared back at him in confusion. “Mairghread, I will never ask ye to stop lovin’ James or Connell. I want ye to talk about them. ’Tis all right to share with me yer memories of them.”
“It is?”
“Of course, lass. Ye loved them, aye?” When she nodded her head and swiped away a tear, he smiled warmly. “Then never hide yer love or yer memories.”
She breathed a relieved sigh.
“And ken with a certainty that I will never leave ye. I made ye a promise and I mean to keep it. When ye’re ready, I will be here.”
There was no doubt in Mairghread’s mind or heart that Brogan was speaking from his heart. He knew, for he had gone through a loss similar to her own. He understood how much she had loved, and still loved, James and Connell. And he wasn’t asking her to stick them into a private part of her heart only to visit those precious memories when she was alone. He was not asking her to stop loving them.
He wasn’t demanding anything of her. Nay, he was giving her everything she needed. Time, patience, and understanding.
’Twas gratitude that propelled her toward him, to kiss him sweetly. She had meant to offer him her thanks, to explain how relieved and thankful she was for his understanding. But something happened a heartbeat later, after her lips touched his.
Passion took hold. From the very tips of her toes to the tips of her fingers, and everywhere in between. She couldn’t stop and realized moments later, she didn’t want to. Especially when Brogan groaned deep in his throat. ’Twasn’t annoyance or disgust. Nay, ’twas a groan of desire and passion.
He pulled her closer, holding her tightly, pressing her body again
st his. Their breaths were jagged, desperate, as they fought to remove any barrier between them, their lips parting only long enough for him to pull her night rail over her head. Before her arms were out of her sleeves, he was kissing her again.
’Twas sheer pleasure to feel his skin against hers. The way the soft hairs of his chest tickled her breasts. His hands caressing her buttocks, her back and shoulders.
Using her tongue, she pried his lips open, though there was very little resistance on his part. Touching, searching, seeking, pleasing.
Passion, pleasure, desire, all burned as hot as a blacksmith’s forge. She needed him. Wanted him inside her. Now. Without delay. Telling him thus, he happily complied. Albeit not nearly as quickly as she would have preferred.
He fit snuggly inside her and ’twas a blissful, exciting sensation. ’Twas a slow in and out, in an out, all the while he kissed her lips, her cheeks, her neck. Prisoners of war suffered less torture.
At first, she tried to hurry him along by grinding her hips quickly against his manhood. He refused to go faster.
’Twas difficult for her not to compare his loving ways with James’s. She had always enjoyed joining with him, and he her. James hadn’t necessarily possessed a world of experience, but together, they managed to find their way.
Brogan was so very different. Where James had been just two years older than she, Brogan was a decade older. Where James had been thin and wiry, Brogan was taller, thicker, and nothing but hard muscle.
For weeks, he had been imagining this moment. The moment when he and Mairghread would finally become man and wife in the truest sense of the word. He had years of celibacy and weeks of torment bottled up inside him.
As much as his groin ached with a need to find a long overdue release, he fought and resisted. He took his sweet time, exploring her glorious curves. He found great pleasure in her moans and soft sighs. There was even greater pleasure, and aye, a good deal of pride, in hearing her pleas for more.
Her skin was as soft as silk against his calloused hands. Her breath was warm and hot and jagged from unrestrained passion.
When he sank himself into her, ’twas sheer bliss. Though she pleaded with him to go faster, he refused her desperate entreaties. Determination set in. He was going to enjoy every sweet, blissful moment, even if it killed him.
Taught nipples of her plump breasts scraped against his chest, turning his skin to gooseflesh. Hearing no protest on her part, he exposed the peaks with his tongue.
“Please, Brogan,” she said breathlessly as she ground her hips against his.
’Twas a desperate need he had to ensure she found her own pleasure before he found his. Soon, as he increased his rhythmic motions, they found their pleasure together.
Sated, content, covered in sweat, they lay on their backs staring up at the ceiling. Each had blissful smiles that Brogan thought would take a few hours to dissolve. He was wrong. It took only a few heartbeats, for there soon came a knock on their door.
“Wheest!” Mairghread whispered as she sat up. “They will go away.”
Brogan had serious doubts, but remained quite still. He was too busy staring at her plump breasts.
They knocked again. “Brogan!” Henry shouted.
Brogan groaned, let out a heavy sigh, and started to sit up.
Mairghread stopped him with a wink. Before he could stop her, she was out of the bed, pulling on her robe and heading toward the door. Not wanting Henry to see him fully naked — though God knew he had numerous times over the years — he pulled the covers up.
Mairghread opened the door a crack. “Yer laird will be stayin abed this day,” she told him. “He is no’ well.”
“No’ well?” Henry asked, his brow furrowing with concern. He tried to peek inside, but Mairghread stood on the tips of her toes. Little good it did for the man was as big as her husband.
“Ye will have to get along without him,” she told him. “Now be gone with ye and allow yer laird his rest.”
He replied with a big, knowing grin when he caught sight of Brogan in the bed. Henry knew that look. ’Twas the look of a man who had just been thoroughly, exhaustively loved by his wife.
When he looked back at Mairghread, he cleared his throat and quickly got rid of his grin. “I understand, m’lady. From the looks of him, he might need a day or two to recover.”
“That is me thinkin’ as well,” she said, with a most serious tone.
He bid her good day and left. She shut the door after him and put the bar firmly in place.
“I am unwell?” he asked with a raised brow.
“Ye most definitely are,” she said as she unwrapped the robe and let it fall to the floor. “Me recommendation is that ye stay abed the remainder of the day. Mayhap, even the morrow.”
“And who will be tendin’ to me?” he asked as he gave a long, slow perusal of her body, with hungry, greedy eyes.
“I hope ye will allow me to tend to ye, husband,” she said as she walked slowly toward the bed. “Unless ye want Gertie or Tilda.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “I want no one but ye, lass.”
Brogan woke just before dawn, with Mairghread lying naked and warm beside him. There was no need for him to resist any urges. He woke her with soft, tender kisses, which led to loving her fully and thoroughly.
She fell back to sleep with a contented smile on her face.
Although he would have enjoyed nothing more on God’s earth than to stay abed for yet another day, he had to resist that temptation. Quietly, he slipped from the bed, went to his auld chamber, washed up and dressed.
Before he left to begin his day, he pressed a sweet kiss on her cheek, and pulled the covers around her.
In the gathering room, he ate like a prisoner of war. Henry, Liam, and Comnall soon joined him. Each of them bore mischievous grins. The kind of grin that said, we know what ye have been doing.
Ignoring them, Brogan wolfed down sausages, bread, and eggs. “We have much work to do this day,” he told them.
“Have ye the strength?” Henry asked most seriously.
“Aye, we ken ye were no’ well yesterday,” Comnall added, doing his best to hide a smile.
Ignoring them, he said, “How many logs were set yester-day?”
“Five,” Henry answered.
“It still be right muddy,” Liam added. “If we get more sunny days, we’ll be able to increase our pace.”
Five logs. Even with the added help of extra men, ‘twas frustrating. He could only hope Liam’s assessment was correct. “Then pray fer sun, lads. Pray fer sun.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
August had come and gone, and thankfully so had the rain. September brought with it shorter days, and crisper, clearer weather.
Brogan and Mairghread had settled into a comfortable state of wedded bliss. Once they had finally gotten around to officially consummating their marriage, everything betwixt them changed. And for the better.
With each passing day Mairghread grew stronger and more determined to see her clan grow and prosper. Even more determined, however, to see her uncle get what was coming to him.
In turn, Brogan was more determined than ever to finish the bloody wall. There had been too many delays for his liking. If it wasn’t the rain, ’twas a bad case of the ague that swept through the clan. Thankfully, it had taken no lives. However, they did lose at least ten full days of good work.
The clan seemed at peace as well. Mairghread was making good progress in restoring their faith in her. Which she was going to need when she finally made a decision on whether or not to be chief.
Carefully, he had broached the subject with her on several occasions. Each time, she answered that she hadn’t made up her mind yet. Just what she needed to think on baffled him. She was, for all intents and purposes, as well as by rules of inheritance, the rightful chief.
All in all, those were the best of days. With good weather, a healthy clan, and much progress being made on the wall.
Brogan
received a letter from Alec Bowie the first week of September. Their crops were coming along splendidly, as was his wife Leona. She was due to have their babe in early October. Because of that, he might have to send his cousin Dougall as his emissary. Brogan was fine with that and passed the information on to Reginald.
Reginald was happier than a pig in mud these days. While he had been gone back in August to procure more men, Mairghread — with Gertie and Tilda’s help — had moved the man’s office out of the alcove and back to where it had once been. With mayhap a little too much giddiness, the women had packed away all of Aymer’s belongings and stored them in the alcove.
Aye, things were looking up for him, for Mairghread, and the clan Mactavish.
He should have known it wouldn’t last long.
On a crisp, cool day at the end of September a messenger arrived. He was a younger lad, named Archibald. Skinny, with dark hair and bright blue eyes, he was exceedingly loyal to Mairghread.
He came thundering into the courtyard on horseback, covered in dirt and grime from his long and hard journey. He raced to the stables and asked Seamus to tend to the horse. “I have an important message fer our lady,” he explained.
With most of the men working away from the keep this day, ’twas Evelyn who met the lad in the gathering room. Quickly, he begged to see Mairghread. Evelyn rushed off to fetch her from the kitchens, leaving him alone in the gathering room.
He paced back and forth. He had been gone from the keep since the day after Mairghread and Brogan had married. Though he had no idea what the missive in his pouch said, he knew ’twas important.
“Archibald?” Mairghread called to him as she entered the gathering room. Evelyn and Mairi had come with her.
She had not seen the boy in an age. He looked anxious as well as road weary.
“M’lady,” he said as he bowed at the waist. “I was able to catch up to yer uncle.”
Her uncle? Her mind was a complete blank. She had no idea at all what he was speaking about.
Brogan's Promise: Book Three of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 33