HEARTS AFLAME

by Nancy Morse

  He put his big hands over her wrists. “Mayhap now de Rowenne will take ye to wife.”

  Her heart careened around her ribcage. She didn’t want Matthew to wed her because she might have a smidgen of noble blood in her veins. She loved him unconditionally and that wouldn’t change even if he were a blacksmith.

  She scrambled to her feet when they heard footsteps on the ladder leading to their garret. Gorrie grovelled when King William’s red head appeared, a broad grin on his face.

  “Get up, man,” he commanded, suddenly filling the tiny hovel.

  Gorrie struggled to his feet. “Yer Majesty, this is no place for a King.”

  William waved him off. “I was anxious to see if Brigandine had recovered from her shock.”

  She nodded. “I have, Yer Majesty.”

  “Good,” he replied. “You left before I had a chance to convey the second part of my news.”

  She furrowed her brow. The first news had been momentous enough.

  “You may have heard that I intend my new castle at Dumfries to become the main fortification in these parts,” the King began. “Lincluden will be more or less abandoned.”

  She risked a nod of understanding, unsure where this was leading.

  “However, I don’t want Gilbride to get his hands on Lincluden. The place will require a Master, or mayhap a Chatelaine.”

  Gorrie gaped.

  Brig remained silent.

  “Matthew de Rowenne would make a fine Master, but I have other duties in mind for him.”

  Brigandine grew uncomfortable beneath the king’s sudden steely-eyed glare. Was he expecting some kind of reaction on her part to the news Matthew was to be rewarded. “He’s a fine man,” she murmured.

  “Ha!” William retorted. “Is that all you’ve got to say about the man you risked your life to save? Here I am on the verge of investing you as Lady of Lincluden so that he can marry you—”

  She supposed it was the tears rolling down her face that silenced the monarch.

  “Why are you crying? It’s a great honor I’m bestowing on you.”

  She swallowed, hoping she didn’t sound ungrateful. “I am deeply honored,” she explained, “but I dinna want Matthew to wed with me simply because ye’ve given me a title.”

  The king stroked his beard. “I see. True love and all that.”

  “Aye,” she murmured.

  Gorrie scurried out of William’s way as he made for the ladder, but the king turned to her before descending. “Brigandine Lordsmith, I hereby invest you with the title Lady of Lincluden, and I pray you attend me in the Hall forthwith.”

  He was gone before she could protest.

  Her heart was in knots. She would never succeed as a Lady without Matthew as her helpmate.

  Matthew’s injuries were healing well. He felt stronger by the minute. But he hadn’t seen Brigandine for days and every moment spent apart from her was an eternity.

  Leighis was tight-lipped about what had transpired when Brig had been summoned before the King, though he suspected she knew. All she would say was, “Ye’ll find out soon enough.” He wasn’t sure if the strange look in her eye meant he’d be pleased when he found out or—

  He resolved to seek an audience with the King. He’d saved the man’s life after all. William had admitted he owed Matthew a debt. As his reward he’d beg forgiveness for whatever Brig was being punished for. He’d ask for her hand in marriage. It would likely mean bidding adieu to his dreams of advancement, and a knighthood would be out of the question, but Brigandine was right. He was the man for her.

  He sent word through Leighis he wished to speak with the King. An answer came more quickly than he anticipated. “Help me dress,” he growled to the woman whose skills had helped him heal.

  She glowered in reply, arms folded across her copious bosom.

  “I apologise,” he breathed. “I am anxious, and I cannot go to the king robed in a nightshirt.”

  The healer fetched his garments. He got his leggings and boots on with some difficulty.

  “Take off the bindings,” he said, feeling as weak as a babe.

  “Nay,” she replied adamantly. “Not time.”

  It was futile to argue. He’d tried it before.

  Dressing exhausted him. “I doubt I can walk to the Hall,” he admitted. “Call one of the routiers to assist me.”

  “Nay,” she replied. “Ye can lean on me.”

  A man reliant on the support of an old woman was sure to impress the King. But what choice did he have?

  They made their slow way to the Hall. He bowed as best he could before William who was seated in the Lord’s chair. To his relief a servant brought a chair and placed it a few feet in front of the King’s. “Sit,” the monarch commanded, waving Leighis away after she’d helped him sit.

  She pouted but obeyed and left the Hall.

  A peat fire smoked in the grate. Matthew had never seen peat burning until he’d first come to Scotland. He filled his lungs with the comforting, earthy aroma.

  William stared at him, his fingers steepled under his bearded chin. Matthew got the strange feeling they weren’t alone, but supposed there were likely guards lurking in the shadows.

  “You asked for an audience,” the King said flatly.

  His tone worried Matthew. Had the man forgotten his promise of a reward?

  “I did, Your Majesty,” he replied.

  “Come to seek your reward.”

  It wasn’t a question. A nervous shiver crept across Matthew’s nape. For some inexplicable reason he felt he’d been kicked in the ribs, again. Nevertheless, he had a purpose in coming and he intended to fulfill it. “I ask only one thing,” he replied.

  “What is that? Command of Dumfries perhaps? It’s yours for the taking.”

  Matthew was thunderstruck.

  “Or mayhap a knighthood?” the King added. “Which goes without saying since only a knight can command a castle such as Dumfries.”

  It was everything he’d ever wanted, thirsted for, dreamed of. But in reality that was no longer true. He cleared his throat. “Before you bestow such honors on me, Your Majesty, do not think me ungrateful, but you need to know I have come to ask permission to marry.”

  William narrowed his eyes. “A knight can marry.”

  Matthew inhaled deeply, causing his ribs to spasm. “The woman I wish to wed is the armorer’s daughter, Brigandine Lordsmith.”

  He wasn’t sure what to expect, but a hearty grin wasn’t among the possibilities. Did the King think his injuries had addled his wits?

  “Why don’t you ask her yourself?” William suggested, looking off to the shadows.

  His heart leaped into his throat when Brig emerged from an alcove. He got up from the chair, sore ribs forgotten, and walked to her side. He took her hands in his. “Will you wed with me, Brigandine? Will you let the fire of my love consume you?”

  “Gladly,” she murmured in reply, a naughty glint in her eye. “Since ye asked me before ye knew.”

  “Knew what?” he rasped, wondering if it was appropriate to run his hands over her body in the presence of a king.

  “That’s she’s of noble blood,” William shouted, leaping from his chair.

  Matthew staggered under the blow the King clamped on his shoulder. Retaliation he supposed for the chains on the journey to Normandie. “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “A wonderful portent for peace,” William declared.

  Matthew was just as befuddled. “Portent?”

  “The marriage of the Anglo-Norman Commander of Dumfries, Sir Matthew de Rowenne and Lady Brigandine Lordsmith, Chatelaine of Lincluden, Galloway born and bred.”

  Brig smiled and linked her arm with his. “Yer face is as red as a winter beetroot. Ye look like yer on fire.”

  Matthew didn’t understand how it could be that Brig had become a Lady, and he didn’t care. He gazed into the eyes of the woman he loved but thought he’d never
have. “I am,” he replied.

  A Wedding

  Despite his animosity towards King William, Bishop Mortimer agreed to offer the nuptial mass at Lincluden Abbey “for Brigandine Lordsmith’s sake.”

  “I hope the King thinks the Bishop’s respect for you is because you now have oversight of the Abbey, and not because you helped Cadha escape,” Matthew whispered as they came together at the door of the chapel to exchange vows.

  Her eyes widened. “You knew?”

  He chuckled. “I sensed something was amiss with Belenus. I saw you ride off.”

  “Good thing Cadha knew how to control a horse,” she replied with a laugh that turned into a snort.

  The Bishop eyed her with disapproval.

  “She’s simply nervous,” Matthew explained, which seemed to appease the old cleric.

  Brig screwed up her nose at him in disapproval. “I am not nervous,” she hissed.

  Matthew rolled his eyes. “Very ladylike,” he quipped. “Remember there’s a King present.”

  She straightened her shoulders and pursed her lips, obviously trying not to laugh as the Bishop began the rite that would bind him to the fascinating creature he loved.

  He too wanted to shout out his joy. The wit and common sense and love of an urchin who’d spent her life working in a forge had helped him see that his legacy wasn’t tainted by any curse. It was simply a remarkable piece of jewellery that she’d insisted he wear today. Her biggest worry seemed to be what they’d do if she bore only girls and no sons. “We’ll dress one of them up as a boy and give it to her,” had been his reply.

  Thinking back on the giggling and tickling that had gone on after that remark had him pleasantly aroused. He’d enjoyed it despite some tenderness that remained in his ribs.

  How much longer before I can strip off the green satin gown?

  He suddenly realized the bishop was looking at him expectantly. He wasn’t sure what question he’d been asked. “I so swear,” he said with great solemnity in the hope that was the right answer.

  Apparently it was!

  Brigandine swore her vows in such a sultry voice, he wondered how he could ever have thought she was a boy.

  They processed into the chapel for the mass, then walked amid a crowd of well-wishers back to the castle.

  Brigandine had never imbibed wine, and would have preferred to keep a clear head for what lay ahead after the wedding banquet, but when an inebriated king offers a goblet or two of the finest brought from his cellars in Scone—what’s a woman to do?

  She felt the effects of the heady wine as Matthew carried her to his chamber. He’d insisted, despite his newly healed injuries. “I’m going to carry my bride over the threshold if it kills me,” he stated flatly.

  He rubbed his ribs once he’d deposited her on her feet next to the big bed, leading her to believe it had been a strain for him. She made a mock curtsey. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  He returned the gesture with a courtly bow. “Anything for my Lady,” he jested.

  Another first for her was the notion of sleeping in a proper bed. He chuckled as she walked around the four poster, trailing her hand over the bedspread. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

  He cupped her face in his hands and pressed his manhood to her mons. “You are the thing of beauty in this chamber, Brig. Thank you for being my wife. Are you nervous?”

  He had sensed her uncertainty. “I am, though the wine relaxed me a little, but I havna had much practice being a woman.”

  His arousal hardened at her words. “I will be happy to teach you,” he rasped. “Do you know what will happen this night?”

  Emboldened by the wine, she reached down and stroked the back of her fingers against his manhood. “Leighis said it has something to do with this.”

  He put his arms around her, trapping her hand against him, his hips thrusting gently. “She was right,” he murmured, nuzzling her ear.

  She stepped away from his embrace and touched fingertips to her mons. “And this,” she whispered, wishing she had the courage to tell him of the need that throbbed there, of the wet heat.

  He inhaled, his eyes darkening. “Again the healer was right, and I’ll wager you are already wet for me.”

  He knew!

  He cupped her breasts, brushing a thumb over the nipples. Her longing intensified.

  “I have thirsted to look upon you again after the night in the druid circle,” he said. “You cannot know how relieved I was to discover you’re a woman.”

  “Relieved?”

  “Lusting for a boy is worrisome for a warrior,” he quipped with a rueful smile.

  “Ye lusted for me, even before?”

  “Almost from the first moment I met you,” he admitted.

  She put her hands on her hips, elated by his admission. “This bears out what I’ve kept telling ye. We are destined to be together. I fought my attraction to ye thinking I didna need a man.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers. “And do you need one now?”

  “What I feel is more than need, Matthew. I burn with love for ye.”

  He growled, his lips on her neck. Once more the wine brought out a naughtiness she didn’t know she possessed. “And I long to see that magnificent male part o’ yers—again.”

  His eyes widened. “That’s right. I forgot you saw me naked at the river.”

  Did she dare tell him?

  “Aye, and again after that,” she teased.

  He teased her nipples, a curious smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Tell me.”

  A spark of guilty pleasure fanned the flames of desire. “When ye were lying witless after the beating. I lifted the linen and peeked.”

  His eyes danced. “You took advantage of an injured man?”

  “Aye,” she laughed. “I enjoyed it.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to show it to you again,” he quipped, untying the laces of his leggings and shoving them down over his hips. She was completely unprepared for what sprang forth, but an inner voice pushed her to curl her hand around him. “Leighis was right again. Ye are a bonnie man,” she said hoarsely.

  She must have looked nervous.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “It will fit. I’ll prepare you.”

  She had no notion what he meant, but was anxious for preparations to begin.

  Matthew had Brig sit on the edge of the mattress while he quickly shucked his boots and tore off his leggings. From the way she was swaying he feared she might topple over if she didn’t sit down. The doublet and shirt came off in a trice, but before tossing the doublet to the floor, he slowly unpinned the brooch. He stood before her, the jewel in his palm.

  “Ye’re naked,” she whispered, raking her eyes over his body.

  “And the idea is we both be naked,” he jested, handing her the pin. “Hold on to it—for courage.”

  She came to her feet and he undressed her slowly, tossing her garments and shoes to the four corners of the chamber. He had a feeling she was concerned about his treatment of her new finery and the mess, but she held her tongue. It was going to be interesting living with a woman who wasn’t used to having servants.

  He brought their bodies together, relishing her soft curves, her warmth. He slid his shaft between her thighs. “You’re hot and wet,” he rasped.

  She responded to his slow rhythm, clinging to him. “This feels wonderful,” she said. “It does fit.”

  She must have felt his erection buck at the innocence of her words. He certainly did.

  “This is only the beginning,” he replied, lifting her on to the bed. “Open your legs for me.”

  She averted her shy gaze as he stared at her most intimate place. He should explain to her what he was about to do but might babble like a lunatic. The promise of her soft pink folds had his heart beating too fast. “Trust me,” was all he could manage.

  She startled when he put his lips on her, but he anchored his arms around her thighs
and suckled and licked, revelling in her sweet female taste. Soon she moaned and whimpered, tossing her head from side to side on the bolster.

  When she screamed out her fulfillment, he came to his knees, closed his eyes and gently slid inside her throbbing sheath. She was tight, despite the wet heat, and he went slowly, deeper and deeper until he felt her maidenhead tear.

  He opened his eyes. She was staring at him, a smile of utter joy on her face, his legacy nestled between her breasts.

  Love consumed him as his seed erupted inside her.

  About Anna

  Thank you for reading PASSION’S FIRE. If you’d like to leave a review where you purchased the book, and/or on Goodreads, I would appreciate it. Reviews contribute greatly to an author’s success.

  I’d love you to visit my website and my Facebook page, Anna Markland Novels.

  Tweet me @annamarkland, join me on Pinterest, or sign up for my newsletter.

  Passion smolders in my page-turning adventures, turning to ashes whatever obstacles a hostile medieval world can throw in its path.

  Besides writing, I have two addictions—crosswords and genealogy, probably the reason I love research. I am a fool for cats. My husband is an entrepreneur who is fond of boasting he’s never had a job.

  I live on Canada’s scenic west coast now, but I was born and raised in the UK and I love breathing life into the history of my homeland.

  Escape with me to where romance began.

  More by Anna Markland

  If you prefer to read sagas in chronological order, here’s a handy list for the Montbryce family books.

  Conquering Passion—Ram and Mabelle, Rhodri and Rhonwen

  If Love Dares Enough—Hugh and Devona, Antoine and Sybilla

  Defiant Passion-Rhodri and Rhonwen

  A Man of Value—Caedmon and Agneta

  Dark Irish Knight—Ronan and Rhoni

  Haunted Knights—Adam and Rosamunda, Denis and Paulina