The Striker

by Monica McCarty

  The thought that her son might think less of her was something she couldn’t bear.

  Eoin was a few steps ahead of them, presumably to give his parents a quick warning, but it proved unnecessary. Lady Rignach’s gaze seemed to find hers instantly. Beneath the surprise, Margaret would have sworn she saw what looked like relief before the other woman’s eyes shifted down to the side. Her face lost every trace of color, and she might have slid to the ground had her husband not caught her by the arm.

  The proud chief looked almost as shaken when he realized why his wife had almost swooned.

  Eachann was not a timid boy, but when the two imposing figures stared at him as if he were a strange creature from a menagerie, he drew in tight against her.

  Lady Rignach’s fingers went to her lips. The dark eyes that turned back to Eoin were shimmering with tears. “My God, he looks just like you. I’d feared . . .”

  Her voice dropped off.

  Margaret stiffened, realizing what she’d feared: that the boy wasn’t his.

  But a few moments later, she wondered if she’d been mistaken. The gaze that met hers now wasn’t filled with derision or animosity but with gratitude. “Thank you for bringing him here. After what happened, I feared nothing could make you come back.”

  Margaret would have thought Lady Rignach would consider that a good thing, if she hadn’t been looking at her with such obvious relief.

  Feeling as if she’d just stepped into some kind of faerie hole, Margaret didn’t know what to say. But with her hand losing feeling from being squeezed so tight and the small body pressing against her side in danger of giving her bruises, she shook off the disquiet. “Eachann.” She drew the boy forward. “These are your grandparents, Lady Rignach and Laird Gillemore, Chief of MacLean.”

  Eachann, looking very serious, gave them a short, formal bow, murmuring that he was glad to meet them.

  Lady Rignach looked at the boy with such longing Margaret thought she might try to pull him into her arms.

  Apparently, Eoin thought so as well. To save the boy from being more overwhelmed than he already was, Eoin stepped in front of him. “Should we go inside? It has been a long journey, and we are all tired.”

  “Of course,” the laird said. “Your mother will have some rooms prepared.”

  “Room,” Eoin said firmly. “My wife and I will share my chamber, and my son will sleep in the antechamber.” If there was any doubt about her place, there wasn’t any longer. Even Margaret was surprised by the leave-no-room-for-objection tone.

  She quirked a brow, but his only reply was a forbidding frown, which she assumed was his way of telling her to behave.

  Trying not to laugh, she followed Eoin and his parents into the Great Hall. Not much had changed in the years since she’d been here last. The room could have rivaled one at any royal palace. Fine tapestries hung on the freshly limed walls, colorful cloths covered the rows of trestle tables, and the table on the raised dais was adorned with heavily embossed silver candelabrum and other rich plate.

  As it was late afternoon and the midday meal had already been completed, the Hall was relatively quiet. They hadn’t been expected, so a feast had not been prepared, but Lady Rignach promised that would be rectified on the morrow. The clansmen would be eager to meet the laird’s grandson. His first grandchild, Margaret realized. Apparently, Marjory had yet to have a child. Sensing the subject was a painful one, she did not ask any more questions.

  From the little Eoin had told her about his sister and foster brother, Fin had made his peace with Bruce and was now serving as the laird’s henchman. He and Marjory would live in a new tower being added to the castle, but for now were residing in a house in the village.

  Margaret admitted she’d wanted to turn back when Eoin had told her of his presence on the isle that first night of their journey, but pride had prevented her. She would not let Fin drive her away. She might not be as convinced as Eoin that Fin had changed, but she was willing to try to put the past in the past.

  Though she was just grateful not to have to do so right now. There were only a few clansmen gathered in the Hall, and Fin was not among them.

  Without thinking, Margaret almost took a seat at the table just below the hie burde—the high table—where she’d so often sat with Tilda (who had married and moved away a few years ago). But Eoin drew her forward to the place where his mother was waiting at the dais. She sat between Eoin and Eachann as they took their seats on the end of the long bench. Lady Rignach looked like she was contemplating squeezing in beside them, but the laird steered her to the middle of the table.

  Eoin and his father filled most of the conversation, as they enjoyed a light meal of roasted fowl and mutton, cheese, and bread. Eachann was very subdued, although he did revive a bit when a few pies and cakes were brought out for him to sample.

  Margaret was laughing to herself as she noticed how he and Eoin chose the exact same plum pie and spiced cake, when she looked up and caught her mother-in-law’s teary but also amused gaze. Clearly, she’d noticed it as well, and for the first time the two women who couldn’t have been more different shared a moment of understanding.

  Margaret didn’t know what to think. She’d expected politeness from Eoin’s proud mother, but this seemed to be something more. Was she perhaps not the only one trying to put the past in the past?

  It seemed so. Before they retired to their chamber, Lady Rignach pulled Margaret aside.

  “I owe you an apology,” the older woman said. Though over six years had passed since Margaret had seen her, Lady Rignach had not changed much. She was still an attractive woman, though she must be a few years past fifty.

  Margaret was too taken aback to respond.

  “You were my son’s wife, and I should have made you feel welcome. I should have made you feel as if you could come to me with whatever problems you were having with Finlaeie.” Her face hardened with distaste. “I knew something was wrong. I should have never let Marjory marry him, but she was so sure he loved her.” She gave a shake as if she’d said too much and met Margaret’s gaze again. “My deepest regret is that you felt your only choice was to leave. I . . .” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I was a fool and listened to gossip. You were right, I should have trusted my son’s judgment.” Her gaze drifted over to where Eachann stood with Eoin and the longing there was almost palpable. “It nearly cost me my son and my grandson.”

  Apparently Eoin had held his mother partially responsible for Margaret’s leaving.

  Seeing the proud lady humbled might have once been satisfying, but Eoin’s mother wasn’t the only one haunted by regret. Margaret, too, had made her share of mistakes. She hadn’t known how to relate to the great lady any better than Lady Rignach had known how to relate to the wild, backward girl she’d been. Margaret had stormed in here paying no heed to rules or customs. She’d done what she wanted without any thought for how that would reflect on her husband or his family.

  She doubted they could ever be friends, but perhaps they could learn to accept one another. Besides, they had two important people in common: Eoin and Eachann.

  “That was a long time ago,” Margaret said. “We both did things we regret, but as we cannot change them, perhaps we could try to start anew?”

  “I should like that,” Lady Rignach said solemnly.

  “Mother,” Eoin said with an unmistakable note of warning in his voice. “Is there a problem?”

  Margaret hadn’t realized he’d come up behind her. For such a large man, he moved like a cat. It was a little disconcerting.

  Before Lady Rignach could reply, Margaret put her hand on his arm reassuringly. “Everything is fine.” She did not need him to rescue her, although she appreciated the effort. “I was just going to ask your mother if she would like to go with me and Eachann to Oban on Monday. I should like him to meet the nuns at the convent.”

  “I could take you,” Eoin said, perhaps anticipating his mother’s objection.

  But Lady Rignach was
not about to object; she jumped at the opportunity to be with her grandson. “I should be honored to accompany you.”

  Margaret nodded. They had a long way to go, but it was a start.

  She turned to her husband and felt her heart squeeze with longing. A start. Right now that was all she could ask for.

  24

  MARGARET MOANED, twisting in her sleep. Her body felt so heavy, so languid. She gasped, arching, at a delicious flicker of sensation between her legs. The long slow circle, a gentle thrust, and stroking of a . . .

  Her eyes popped open. A tongue!

  Soft rays of sunlight spilled through the slits of the shudders, enabling her to just make out the dark-blond head of the man who’d roused her from her slumber.

  Not that she was complaining, especially when he . . .

  She moaned again as his tongue thrust deep inside her. So deep she could feel the intimate scrape of his jaw against her. And then he was licking her again, nuzzling tenderly—hungrily.

  It felt so good . . .

  Her body started to tremble. Her nipples strained taut beneath the sheets—he’d stripped her bare last night—as her back arched and her hips lifted shamelessly to his intimate kiss. Hot swirls of pleasure raced through her. She could feel the sensations building . . . intensifying.

  “Oh God, I’m going to . . .”

  She didn’t realize she’d cried out until he lifted his head. “Privacy, remember?”

  He wouldn’t dare stop. “Eoin!” She looked down at him with murder in her eyes. Although it was too dark for him to see her expression, he must have guessed from her tone and started to chuckle.

  “We don’t want to wake Eachann.”

  “He will sleep through anything.”

  “I hope you’re right because I’m going to make you scream.”

  He did. Cupping her bottom, he lifted her to his mouth and ravished her. Those long, wicked strokes . . .

  He kissed her harder, sucking and licking until she thought she’d go mad with the pleasure.

  And when he brought her to the very peak, he held her there, forcing the spasms deeper, slower, harder. She felt the release rock through her, and then explode in a shattering wave.

  She put the pillow Eoin gave her to muffle her cries to good use. And when she was done, she handed it to him.

  He was going to need it.

  Eoin didn’t realize what she was doing right away. It wasn’t exactly what a man expected from his wife.

  When she’d handed him the pillow and taken him in her hand, he’d been amused. Their games in the forest after they were married were a long time ago. A hand—even her hand—bringing him pleasure wasn’t going to make him lose control enough to shout.

  But his smile fell as the lips peppering kisses over his mouth and jaw started to trail down his chest and stomach.

  They didn’t stop.

  What was she doing?

  He stiffened, feeling something almost like alarm. The hand that was gripping him had stopped pumping and his cock was pounding.

  She stopped when her mouth was inches from the throbbing tip and looked up. There was just enough light peeking through the shadows for him to make out her naughty, catlike smile.

  He knew exactly what she was doing—and so did she.

  He was holding himself so tightly he didn’t realize his hands were gripping the sheets until she laughed. “I think you might need that pillow after all.”

  He couldn’t talk. Her mouth was too close and he was so damned taut with anticipation he didn’t know how much more teasing he could take before he started to beg. Before he gripped the back of her head and moved her mouth over him.

  Suck me . . .

  Just the thought of her warm mouth closing over him made his cock jerk in her hand and a bead of pleasure seep from the tip.

  She licked it. With one slow flick of the tongue she licked and swirled the plump, sensitive hood as if he were a juicy plum.

  Pleasure shot through him like an arrow. He nearly came off the damned bed. But it was nothing compared to the incredible sensation when her mouth finally wrapped around him, those sensuous crimson lips stretching to take him in. Lower. Deeper.

  Oh God. How many times had he imagined this? But he’d never come close to the reality. He wanted to thrust. He needed to thrust. His body shook as sensation coiled at the base of his spine.

  When he couldn’t take the torture anymore of her innocent kisses, he told her what to do. He told her how to milk him with her tongue and hand, and how to suck him deep and hard.

  She didn’t need much instruction. It didn’t take her long to bring him to the edge. He would have pulled out, but she wouldn’t let him. She took him deep in her throat, coaxing the thick vein with her tongue, and he couldn’t hold back. He started to come in hot, fierce, pulsing waves that tore from him in a roar of pleasure so intense, he probably could have used two pillows.

  How had she known . . . ?

  Eoin didn’t let himself finish the question that he had no right to ask. He’d let her think he was dead. He had no right to expect fidelity from her. She’d been betrothed to another man, for Christ’s sake.

  No good would come from knowing or wondering. It would be better for them both if they erased those six years from memory and never spoke of it.

  But it wasn’t going to be easy. The jealousy and irrationality that had always been his weakness where his wife was concerned did not listen to reason.

  Margaret should have no complaints. The first few days at Gylen were much better than she could have expected. Eachann’s natural cautiousness had eased a bit, and he seemed to be coming around to the idea of new grandparents—especially a grandmother who had made no secret that she intended to indulge him beyond all good measure.

  Seeing Lady Rignach with Eachann showed Margaret a different side of Eoin’s formidable mother. It gave Margaret an idea of what she must have been like with her own children. She must have loved them fiercely, protecting them like a lioness did her cubs. Margaret coming out of nowhere, throwing her son’s life in a tumult, would have been perceived as a threat. It did not excuse all of her coldness, perhaps, but it explained some of it.

  With Eoin, Eachann was still reserved—if not so wary—but that lessened considerably after Eoin showed him his personal library and promised to arrange for a tutor to instruct him until he was ready for schooling. The lad’s excitement knew no bounds. He’d even relaxed enough to join some of the other young boys in the yard for training one day.

  The wall of animosity and suspicion that had faced Margaret at Gylen the first time did not seem so thick, although vestiges of it remained. Some of the clansmen still whispered and stared, and there were subtle reminders of her status as the daughter of one of Bruce’s greatest enemies. A plaid that she’d left behind woven of wool from Galloway somehow found its way to the top of her trunk; one of the laird’s “luchd-taighe” guardsmen looked at her whenever the word “traitor” was spoken; and another stared at her whenever John of Lorn and his rebellious cohorts were mentioned. Apparently the exiled MacDougall chief had been put in charge of the English fleet and was making it difficult for Bruce to get supplies from Ireland and France.

  Her short trip to Oban with Lady Rignach and Eachann had gone about as well as could be expected. After Margaret’s departure, Eoin’s mother had learned the truth of what she’d been doing there and had made a substantial gift to the convent that—fittingly—had been used to set up a school for the children in the village. As apologies went, it was a satisfying one.

  The most difficult moment thus far had been when Margaret had been forced to confront Fin at the feast. As he was Marjory’s husband, he could hardly be avoided. But after an awkward greeting, both Eoin’s sister and her husband had kept their distance. Margaret knew she had Eoin to thank for that.

  Eoin’s knee had improved enough for him to walk around without the brace Magnus had made for him, and he’d promised to take her riding around the isle s
oon.

  Though he’d been locked up with his father and his men for most of the days, the nights had belonged to her. As always, their passion was explosive. They made love fiercely and tenderly, with an intimacy of which she’d never dreamed.

  It was almost perfect. But she couldn’t escape the feeling that something was bothering him. On the fourth morning after their arrival at Gylen she had to know. As always, Eoin rose early, before the light of dawn was strong enough to fully light the chamber. He’d already drawn on his tunic and had just finished tying the breeches at his waist when she spoke.

  “Have I done something wrong?”

  He turned to her in surprise. “Of course not. Why do you ask?”

  She drew the sheet up around her chest and scooted up to lean back against the carved wooden headboard. “It seems as if something is bothering you.” She paused. “It’s been that way since the first night we arrived.” She thought for a moment, the sudden realization of what it might be dawning. “Since I . . .” Her voice dropped off in embarrassment. “Did what I did not please you?”

  He sat on the edge of the bed, putting the sporran he’d picked up to tie to his belt on the bed next to her. His hand found her cheek. “Are you crazed? Of course you pleased me. Could you not tell from all that shouting?”

  She almost let the boyish smile stop her. He looked so handsome and relaxed, so different from the grim, angry man who’d showed up at the church four weeks ago. But she knew she was not imagining it. “Don’t, Eoin. Please, don’t do this again. If there is something wrong, tell me. I don’t want there to be any secrets between us this time. Don’t you see? It cannot work otherwise.”

  He drew back, his expression hardening. “Some secrets are best hidden. The truth is not always a great panacea. Sometimes the truth can hurt. Sometimes we are better off not knowing.”

  “What does this have to do with me? I don’t have any secrets from you.”

  “Don’t you?” He was angry now, his eyes hard and his mouth white. “Then should I ask you how you knew to do that? Should I hear about the men you’ve shared your bed with? Should I learn all the salacious details? Will that truth be good for me?”