Signing lessons continued, as did her own lessons in Gaelic. Whenever a few spare hours presented themselves, Alethia taught Hunter to use his bow while honing her own skill. Malcolm had given Hunter and Tieren wooden swords. The boys could often be found in the lists imitating the adults or engaged in endless mock battles with each other.
And, of course, there were riding lessons. Sometimes she, Malcolm and Elaine rode together. Other times, Lydia, Liam or Robley came along. Hunter often joined them, and Alethia passed on what she learned, even letting him take the reins for short periods of time.
Today, she and Malcolm would ride alone, and he’d promised to show her his favorite boyhood haunt. Thinking about it sent a thrill of anticipation through her. Drawing her cloak closer against the chill, she waited on the steps in front of the keep and looked forward to the exhilaration a good canter through the hills and glens would bring. Traveling through the wilderness surrounding the lake reminded her of hours spent in the bush with her relatives, gathering maple syrup in the early spring, checking their trap lines, hunting and exploring with her cousins.
“Are you ready, lass? The ferry awaits,” Malcolm said behind her.
She jumped at the sound of his voice behind her. “You do that on purpose.”
“Do what?”
His expression of feigned innocence made her laugh. “Sneak up on me like that. I’ve been watching for your return from the lists.”
“I came in through the kitchen.” He held up a burlap sack. “In case we get hungry during our ride. Come, the day is short, and we’ve leagues to explore.”
The stable master had their horses saddled and waiting by the ferry landing on the mainland. Malcolm helped her to mount, then swung up into his saddle in a single fluid motion that never failed to take her breath. “How do you do that? Can you teach me?”
“To become a knight a man must be able to mount his steed in a single motion. The feat takes years to master and requires a great deal of strength. If your mare were moving, you might be able to swing up. I dinna think it could be accomplished otherwise. Have you decided what to call her?” He reached over to pat the mare’s neck as they rode out of the village.
“I’ve narrowed it down to Onizhishiikwe or Wiishkobiikwe. In Anishinaabe, that’s Pretty Lady or Sweet Lady.”
“Ah, Lady it shall be.” He gave her a wry smile. “Am I correct in surmising the Ikwe part of the name is lady?”
“Loosely translated. There isn’t really a word for ‘lady’ in my language. Ikwe means woman, and can be used for lady.”
“How is your name said in your language, True?”
“In my culture a person has more than one name. We have a common name known to all, and then another which is more spiritual in nature, having to do with our character, who we are. Those names are given to us by our holy men and are not shared with everyone. Mine is Madweweshigewiin, ‘She Makes Music.’” His gaze met and held hers with such intensity, her heart took flight.
“’Tis fitting, and it suits you,” he said, his voice husky. “Are you up for a good run? Remember to grip with your knees, and hold on to Ikwe’s mane should you feel the need.”
They allowed the horses to stretch out, galloping to the edge of a forest bordered on either side by hills. Malcolm slowed his mount, coming to a stop at the beginning of a trail. He dismounted and helped her down. “We’ll continue on foot. We are nearly there, and the way is narrow and sometimes steep and overgrown.”
The path led them under a canopy of foliage at the peak of autumn glory. The red berries on the rowans stood out against the pale green-gold of their leaves. The deep russet of the oaks contrasted nicely with the pines, hemlocks and spruce. The trail wound a crooked path through moss-covered stone outcroppings, leading down into a grove of cedars growing on the banks of a small stream. Alethia took a deep breath, relishing the tang of the evergreens mixed with the loamy smell of the woods.
Malcolm tied his gelding’s reins over a low-hanging branch and secured her mare nearby. Taking her hand in his, he led her on a narrow path between two ancient cedars into a clearing. He did not speak, and once she entered the clearing, she understood why.
A spring bubbled up to trickle over stone steps forming a low fountain. Ancient cedars stood like sentinels in each of the cardinal directions around the clearing. Oak and rowans, like foot soldiers, took up their positions of protection behind the evergreens.
A deep stillness and peace permeated the place. Sunlight and shadow played tug-of-war at the edges of the circle, casting patches of gold and hues of the deepest green and indigo. She strained to catch the echoes of timeless magic and spells cast by mystics long-gone from this world. Soft, inviting moss covered the gently rising slopes surrounding the spring, beckoning her to take a moment’s rest against the pillowy green velvet.
“This is a sacred place.” She spoke in a hushed voice and looked around her in awe. “There is magic here. I can feel it. If I had tobacco, I would lay some down as an offering to the spirits who dwell within this circle.”
“Aye. This spring has been here since the beginning of time. ’Tis said those who followed the old religion considered it a holy place. I dinna know what tobacco is, but I take your meaning. Come. Drink from the spring with me. The water is the sweetest and most refreshing you will ever taste.”
Malcolm knelt by the spring and cupped his hands under the steady trickle of clear water. He bent low to sip, and when she joined him, he offered his hands as a cup for her to drink from. Alethia placed her own hands under his and drank the water from his palms.
Time stopped, as if the moment were a ritual, something spiritual and pure. The grove took on a golden hue, and for a moment, she felt a bone-deep sense of rightness. A chilly breeze caressed her cheek, breaking the spell.
“What did you do here as a boy?” She searched Malcolm’s vivid blue eyes, his beloved face, and had to swallow hard as love for him welled up. Such a beautiful man, inside and out. How could she face leaving him? Her own soul would be ripped right out of her. She studied their surroundings to hide her turmoil.
“I’ll show you.” Malcolm took a woolen blanket from the sack he’d brought and spread it out on the moss. He lay down on his back, folded his arms under his head and crossed one leg over the other.
She laughed. “And what is it you are doing exactly?”
“See for yourself.” He patted the blanket next to him.
Malcolm waited with bated breath as she settled herself beside him. “Now, look up and let your mind go. Watch the clouds and daydream.” He winked at her, pleased he’d managed to maneuver her down to the blanket.
“Tell me.” She turned on her side and propped herself up on an elbow. “What does a young Scottish boy daydream about?”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I dreamed of becoming a great knight and of winning battles single-handed with naught but my claymore and the strength in my body.” He grinned at her. “I dreamed of what I would do differently than my father once I was laird and earl. Especially when I was in trouble for some mischief or other.”
“You hid here when you were in trouble.” She laughed.
“Aye.” He winked at her. “Here I plotted how I would make my fortune.” He turned on his side to face her. “I dreamed all manner of things.” I dreamed of finding you.
“And you grew to be an extraordinary man.”
What he saw shining from her ocean eyes when she looked at him caused his heart to leap in his chest. “Nay, lass, no’ extraordinary. I am but an ordinary man with extraordinary responsibilities.” He traced her lips with a finger. “I have neither the ambition nor the ruthlessness to become a great man. My needs are simple. I am content with my lot in life. What I do possess is the will, the wit and the strength to hold what is mine and to keep it safe.”
“I did not say a great man, Malcolm. I said an extraordinary man. There’s a huge difference.”
Her gentle smile, meant for him alone, mel
ted his insides. He leaned toward her and captured her smile with a brief kiss. “We should eat.”
He retrieved the sack and pulled out bread, cheese and apples. “Fill this with water from the spring.” He handed her an earthenware bowl and started cutting cheese with the dagger he kept at his belt. Once they were settled, he would tell her about the legend of the spring.
Malcolm knew she cared for him. He’d seen the precise moment during the harvest when she’d realized it herself. But did she love him? Nothing less than her whole heart would do, for he feared a time would come when she would have to choose. Would she stay with him, share his life, bear his children, or would she return to her home an ocean away? The fear of losing her consumed him, and he would use any means to keep her by his side.
“This is a sacred spring.” He handed her a share of their meal. “The water is said to have magical properties. Our people have been coming here for as long as anyone can remember.” He gestured with one hand toward the spring. “The stones you see forming the fountain were placed there by Druid priests eons ago.”
“Oh?” She turned to study the spring. Getting up from her place, she broke off tiny bits of her food and set them on the edge of one of the stones.
“What are you doing, lass?”
“Making an offering of thanks to the spirits who reside here. It’s a common practice amongst my people.”
“Aye, my people oft do the same.” He waited until she returned to her place beside him to continue. “Legend has it, if a couple drinks together from the spring, they will fall in love. And if a couple already in love drinks from the spring, their love will remain as evergreen as the cedars that surround us.” He nodded toward the trees.
“You’re making that up.” Her eyes grew large, and a blush rose to her cheeks.
“Nay,” he protested, giving her a smug smile. He watched her intently, wondering how she would react.
Her thumbnail came up to her mouth as she pondered the matter. She frowned at him. “You didn’t tell me this until after we drank together.”
“Aye.” He grinned at her, unrepentant. “The spring has one more boon to offer. If a couple is having difficulty conceiving a child, they come here, fast for a day and drink only water from the spring. Then they spend the night together within the circle of the cedars. If they do this, they’ll soon have a bairn.”
Her eyes searched his, focusing on him the way he’d noticed she did when listening for truth. He wished he could hear her thoughts and prayed his heart would say to her the words he feared to utter.
“Humph.” She gave him a disgruntled look. “It’s a lovely myth, nothing more.”
“Mayhap you are right.” Picking up the bowl she’d filled with spring water, he took a drink and handed it to her in challenge. “Drink. If, as you say, ’tis myth and nothing more, it matters not. Besides, you’ve already partaken.” He watched the emotions play across her face as she considered his words. The moment she made up her mind, her countenance changed, and her chin raised a determined notch. Pleased, he smiled and placed the bowl into her outstretched hands.
She drank.
Malcolm took the bowl and placed it on the ground beyond their blanket with the remnants of their meal. Drawing her close, he cradled her body next to his and kissed her with all the love he felt for her. Only kisses. He would take only kisses, he promised himself.
True freed the shirt from his belt and ran her warm hands over his back and around to his chest. He groaned, his passion flaring as she pressed her soft, womanly curves against him. His tongue thrust into her mouth to taste her sweetness as he sought the laces of her gown. She helped him free her arms as he tugged the garment free. Malcolm raised himself to gaze upon her perfect breasts. Enchanted, he watched her nipples harden as he traced around one dusky bud. Only a touch, he promised himself. Aye, and mayhap a taste.
Nuzzling the soft skin on her neck where it curved to meet her shoulder, he inhaled her clean, floral scent and kissed a trail down to the swell of one breast. She sighed. He took it as encouragement. Cupping her breast, he ran his thumb over the nipple while tasting the other. The sharp intake of her breath, the way her body tensed and stilled in his arms, let him know he’d pleased her, and his own pleasure and desire heightened.
Malcolm’s heart pounded; his whole body throbbed with need. He took the hardened nipple into his mouth and suckled, swirling his tongue around it until True writhed beneath him, arching her body into his. Her sighs and moans inflamed his senses. She twined her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer, offering an open invitation.
He took that as encouragement as well, and accepted.
Lifting his head, he beheld the vision in his arms. Long lashes fanned her delicate cheeks. Her brow furrowed in sensual concentration, and her lips, swollen from his kisses, were slightly opened as if ready to sigh his name. Something greater than passion flowed from his heart into his soul: the primal need to lay claim to his mate, to make her his, and the certain knowledge he’d walk through fire for this woman. His entire body tightened, and the promise to wait until they were wed went up in smoke.
“I want you, Alethia.” He pressed against her. “More than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. Let me touch you. I swear only to touch.” He groaned into her neck, “I need to touch you.” Her eyes opened. Full of trust and vulnerability, they met his and did not waver. His breath caught.
She whispered, “Yes.”
A low groan came from somewhere deep inside him, and his mouth found hers in a crushing kiss. He plunged his tongue deep into the moist sweetness as his hand found the hem of her gown. His breath came fast and hard as he skimmed up the length of her bare leg, coming closer and closer to that secret feminine place that promised ecstasy. The silky, warm feel of her inner thighs as they opened for him drove him wild. His member, hard and throbbing, strained to follow.
She fumbled with his belt, finally getting it free. With a single tug, his plaid fell to a heap on the blanket. She gasped at the same time he did, as her hand came around his hardened length. She stroked him from tip to base, finally cupping his weight in her hand.
He lost his mind.
Frantic for the feel of her bare skin against his, Malcolm tugged and pulled the clothes from her body, laying her bare beneath him. In wonder, he could only stare, mesmerized by the sight of her beauty. “You are more lovely than the dawn, Alethia.”
Tracing a single finger from her collarbone, through the valley between her breasts, to her navel and lower to the sable curls protecting her sex, he watched transfixed as goose bumps rose on her skin in the wake of his touch. Following the path his finger had traced with his mouth, he pressed kisses onto her warm, soft skin. The way she felt, her scent, her taste and the way she responded to him made him forget all of his self-control.
Today he would make her his, here amongst the cedars under the sky in this sacred place. Together they had partaken from the spring. Even after he told her of its significance, she drank with him. Their hearts were bound, their fates sealed as if they’d already said their vows before God. Mine. Mine, now and forever.
“I cannot wait until spring, True.” He came up to kiss her, his voice raspy and hoarse with need. “I want you now. All of you.” Crushing her to him, he moaned the words into her ear. “Do you understand what I am asking, love?” He leaned back to look into her face, needing to be certain she understood.
“Spring?” Her eyes, dilated and unfocused, looked at him in confusion. “What happens in the spring?”
“It matters not.” He nuzzled her neck. “Do you know what I am asking?”
Her brow furrowed, and she raised herself onto her elbows. Her breasts, nipples like the buds of the loveliest roses, thrust out at him, as if chiding him for the interruption. “Something to do with…spring?” She canted her head and gazed at him.
Chuckling, he drew her back into his arms and pressed his forehead against hers. “Nay, lass. I’m asking to make love to you.”
> “Yes, Malcolm.” Her voice came out a throaty whisper. “Yes.” She drew his mouth back to hers and kissed him as she lay back down on the blanket, bringing him down with her.
He brought his hand up between her thighs and pressed against her mons. She tensed in his arms and moaned. Swearing he would be gentle, take things slow, Malcolm parted the folds of her femininity to find the bud of her sex. Stroking her gently with his thumb, he pushed a single finger inside her. She was hot, tight and slick with passion for him. Malcolm’s heart pounded so hard he feared it would jump right out of his chest.
He increased the pressure of his strokes, and her hips moved against him as she sought release. He bent to suckle her breast as he brought her to a frenzy of heated need. True came apart in a rush, calling out his name as her body trembled in his arms. He whispered words of encouragement and praise, holding her until the shudders ceased.
Covering her body with his, Malcolm positioned himself between her thighs, the tip of his manhood pressed slightly against her opening as he struggled for control. He needed to go slow and to be gentle. This first time would cause her pain, and she would need time to adjust.
Two blasts from the village horn sounded in the distance. Malcolm froze, his body tense as he listened. Two tones. Who could be returning to Moigh Hall? Only his father’s party had left, and they would not return until spring. Several seconds passed, and still he remained tense, listening.
“Two blasts means one of our own returns.” True wiggled beneath him and tried to draw him back to her. “Three means danger. You said so yourself. Don’t—”
In that instant, three warning blasts sounded from the village horn.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Before Alethia’s eyes, Malcolm changed from gentle lover to seasoned warrior. It took mere seconds for him to dress and gather their things. Her own mind refused to function. Hovering between fear of what the horn meant and passion, she couldn’t seem to move.
True to the Highlander (The Novels of Loch Moigh) Page 14