by K. E. Saxon
After taking a last quick glance at her slumbering daughter, her son-in-law bolted to his feet and strode to the washstand, there splashing his ruddy cheeks with the water in the bowl and saying, “Aye, ‘tis as you say.” While patting his face dry with a cloth, he turned back to her and said brusquely, “Is there aught else you wanted?” clearly intent on her swift departure.
But, Gwynlyan was not near finished with this quest, and tho’ ‘twas a very fine line of proper deportment she trod, as slender as a blade’s edge, in fact, still she ventured forth boldly, saying, “Aye, Laird, there is. I’ve heard a tale from Wife Deirdre that the lady Vika admitted she is carrying your bastard bairn after you challenged her with the query in front of m’lady, and that is the reason m’lady swooned.” Are you the biggest oaf in all of Caledonia? “I thought surely the healer had wrongly kenned you, and so I came directly to ask what truly passed, so that I may end this false tale before it spreads further, Laird.”
‘Twas with no little satisfaction that Gwynlyan saw a renewed flush invade his cheeks before he said, “ ‘Tis no chatter you heard, but truth.”
“I...see. I would wonder at the reason for allowing your wife such a shock, Laird.” You dolt. “Although,” she rushed to say, “I am sure ‘tis merely my feeble, female mind that stumbles o’er the complex strategies of a great male mind such as yours, Laird.”
A metallic thud sounded near the bed and they both swung their gazes in that direction. Morgana had risen, but was swaying on her feet rather precariously. The pewter cup that had held her sleeping draught rolled on the floor and stopped a foot away from where she stood.
Gwynlyan and Robert moved simultaneously.
“—Here, let me pour you—” she said.
“—Morgana! Get back in—” he said.
...And collided mid-stride, with Gwynlyan unable to keep her balance and flying back. She would have toppled onto her bottom, had Robert not made a grab for her and saved her from that ignominious end.
* * *
Robert spent only the briefest second assuring himself that Modron was well-planted back on her feet before striding to his wife’s side and sweeping her up, then back on the bed.
She shook her head and tried to rise again, but he pressed her shoulders back down until her head touched the pillow once more.
When she shook her head again, caressed away the tightness and worry on his brow, around his mouth, with her delicate, sweet touch, then sat up once more, he relented and stepped back a bit, but kept his palm on her shoulder, tracing her slow pulse with the pad of his thumb on her warm, silken neck.
She swiveled her gaze to Modron and reached her hand out to the woman. After the too-perceptive-for-her-own-good servant had sidled up to the bed next to him with her hands primly clasped in front of her, his wife surprised him by taking Modron’s hand and squeezing it.
It didn’t take long for either him or the older woman to gather from Morgana’s mouth movements and gesturing at him with her free hand that she had heard the woman’s last statement to him. She was now intent on reassuring her that he’d acted rightly, as he believed also—even tho’ the woman had pricked the sore of his own self-doubt, making it chafe and bleed to the point where he, once again, and possibly for the hundredth time since his wife’s upset and swoon, questioned his decision to do so.
In truth, it had not been a thought-out decision, for he’d not even known she had followed him until he’d felt the quiet strength of her hand on his hot back as he strode up the stairs and, ‘twas truth also, that he’d been more focused on his anger and—aye—fear that his suspicions regarding the paternity of Vika’s unborn bairn would prove true. His wife’s presence had seemed a calming ray of sunshine in the center of the turbulent storm brewing in his insides, and knowing he’d be telling her of it despite her wish otherwise, he’d not thought….
Aye, he’d not thought, not until Vika had shot her barb, not until he’d seen it strike true by the look on Morgana’s face in the moment before she’d crumpled to the floor, and moments later, when she’d awakened and been so distraught o’er all that the news entailed.
A tug on his tunic brought him out of his troubled musings and he centered his mind and sights firmly back on his wife and her maid once more. Except, the maid was nowhere about. The blasted woman was as light-footed as a cat, much more nimble than he’d e’er conceived possible for one so late in years.
His wife’s hand movements caught and kept his attention when he realized she was telling him that Vika must stay with them at least until her babe was born and, ‘twas vexingly clear as well, that Morgana intended to raise the bairn herself—with, or without his consent!
“Christ’s Bones, you’ll not!” He needed uisge beatha. Now. “Nay!” His heart raced, his palms sweated, and the heavy burden of guilt—and the inevitable—weighed upon his conscience, but still he whipped around and stormed toward the door as if he could outrun the hounds of his own personal hell that growled and nipped at his heels. After swinging the portal wide, he halted midstride, turned, and warned: “We’ll not—argh! I’ll not!” With more than a little satisfaction, he yanked on the door and slammed it behind him, creating a quake that could be felt in the wood planks under his feet, and a bang so loud, King William himself no doubt heard it all the way in Perth.
CHAPTER 11
MORGANA RELAXED BACK against her pillow with a furrowed brow and nibbled her lip. Her husband, tho’ blustering about, would do what was right in the end, she was sure. And her cousin, whom, ‘twas now clear to Morgana, had had more as purpose for her visit than a simple desire to aid Morgana in learning the events surrounding the attack on her family, would no doubt be relieved by, as well as amenable to, her babe being left with them to raise.
Feeling restless and needing to set things in motion, she swung her legs off the bed and stood up. Light-headed and swaying, she grasped hold of the edge of the bedside table for support. The effects of the sleeping draught, which Wife Deirdre had promised would not harm her babe, had still not fully abated she realized. But, determined to see the task done, she remained where she stood. After a time, at last feeling more steady on her feet, she stepped over to where the deep-blue gown she’d been wearing earlier was hung on its hook and began dressing, pulling it o’er her head, wiggling and twisting until she had it well-settled o’er her frame and had the chemise she wore beneath adjusted and aligned properly as well.
After closing the clasp on the silver girdle around her hips, combing, and re-braiding her hair and placing a silk veil of the same silver hue as her girdle o’er her locks, then holding it in place with the silver filet made of the same delicate and finely linked chains as those of the girdle, she took a moment to caress the cool, smooth sapphire encased in silver filigree which hung as a pendant on one end of the girdle. The filet and girdle had been gifted to her by Robert not long after she’d given him the news that his seed had taken root in her, and because of that, they were now two of her most highly treasured possessions.
Gazing at the results in the silvered glass Robert had taken from his sister’s childhood bedchamber and brought in here for her use, she gave a small mew of satisfaction that all was neatly in place before turning to leave on her mission.
With luck, all would be settled by nightfall.
* * *
An hour later, Vika watched with more than a little ire Morgana depart her chamber. Her accursed head still pounded with as much pointed precision as it had all the day long, and she was now despairing that she’d be in any state to away from this holding, these irksome cousins of hers, in stealth in the next day or two as she’d originally hoped.
Taking another long swallow of the bitter draught Wife Deirdre had given her to dull the pain enough to fall asleep again, she closed her eyes and allowed her head to slowly fall back as she drank it down. Afterward, she settled back and rubbed her temples with the pads of her fingers, trying to clear the haze from her brain enough to think how to deal with thi
s new dilemma Morgana had foisted upon her in the past moments.
She was glad, she did admit, that Morgana and her babe had not suffered any lasting effects from her crash to the floor—nor from the distress Vika had caused her with the blunt lie she’d spoken. Nay, it seemed, her cousin was more than recovered, and ready now to remedy Vika’s problem with a solution of her own: She expected Vika to stay until the babe was born, then leave the bairn in Morgana and Robert’s care.
This, however, was not going to happen. She may not be the most honest, selfless person in the world, but she was not so deceitful she’d allow Robert to raise another man’s bairn, thinking ‘twas his own.
A growl of frustration erupted from her throat and sent answering spikes of pain pulsing into her brain. I must leave. And soon.
* * *
Late in the night, and several hours now since he’d stumbled back to his chamber, calmer with the liberal quaffing of ardent spirits, and fallen into bed beside his slumbering wife, Robert awoke with a jolt and sat up. His heart hammered against his rib cage as he blinked the sleep from his eye and looked around the chamber. What had awakened him? And then he heard it. The sound. Not just any sound, but one that was so rare and precious, one that, even tho’ he’d grown to know the hearing of it could only be more proof of some inner turmoil within his wife’s mind, still, he had begun to crave its beauty more with each passing day. ‘Twas his wife’s voice. She lay curled on her side away from him, only the light from the hearthfire illuminating her, silhouetting the curve of her hip and limbs.
‘Twas the softest of sounds, almost too slight to hear.
He leaned o’er her a bit to see her profile. Aye, her eyes were closed. Just as he’d expected. Once again, ‘twas only in her sleep that she gained her voice. But, ‘twas not a song this time. Nay, this time, she spoke; almost as if she were speaking to someone. Answering them. And her eyes came open, looked right at him.
“But King William said I could have the mare!”
At those last, much louder, words, Robert sat back a bit. Despite the seriousness of the moment, he chuckled. After all these moons of waiting to hear more from her, she spoke of a horse! Recalling the strange affinity she’d shown for the palfrey her uncle had brought for her to ride from the stables at the abbey that day he’d discovered them at the hunter’s cot, Robert wondered now, if ‘twas that same horse she spoke of now. Tho’ that made little sense, as she’d not have remembered the beast—or, mayhap, ‘twas only that she remembered the feeling and not the event? He shook his head. Yet another riddle in his wife’s past.
He waited for more from her, but naught emerged. She’d had a shock earlier that day—due to him—and he had little doubt that ‘twas for that reason her sleep was restless. Was his babe affected as well? He placed his palm o’er the slight mound of her warm belly, willing his babe’s continued health with the strong protection of his large hand.
Her generosity of spirit still had the power to humble him, and she forced him to be a better man because of it. How she knew, even before he did, that he would ne’er be able to forswear any offspring of his making, whether bastard-born or of legitimate stock, astounded and warmed him to his very soul. ‘Twas a boon—a boon disguised as a blight—that Vika had tricked him into bedding her impoverished, mute, but oh-so-lovely cousin and that the unctuous, angered uncle had done as he’d done to force a wedding on him.
Brushing a kiss on her brow, he thought again of the irony of all that had come to pass. He’d planned to get Vika with his babe in order to gain her hand and with it, her inheritance, and now that he was well wed to the cousin she’d believed she’d been foisting on him, and that lady bore his babe ‘neath her heart, Vika, too, now bore a babe of his as well. And, there was little doubt in his mind, or his heart, that were the tables reversed, if ‘twas Morgana who carried his bastard, and Vika the legitimate heir, Vika would have expected he forsake his bastard child, and may have even banished Morgana from her home.
As he gazed down at his slumbering wife, her eyes came open again. Thinking ‘twas yet another dream she was having, he remained still, watching her, and allowing her to lead the way through her dream.
She surprised him by raising her head up off the pillow and touching her lips to his. His tarse grew heavy, lengthened. This, he would ne’er try to halt. When she drew him down to her, he opened her mouth with his tongue and tasted the sweet nectar within. After a moment, she pressed him to his back and crawled on top of him.
As he cupped her full breasts in his hands, he asked low, “Do you sleep? Do you dream?”
She raised up and looked at him with mirth dancing in her eyes and shook her head, then leaned down again and began kissing him in earnest. As he rolled her nipples between each of his forefingers and thumbs, making them pucker, he felt her hand trail down his torso until it found his eager cock. His hips lifted and immediately he wanted to fuck, but this was so new. A side of Morgana he’d not seen, yet was thoroughly enchanted by. If he could be patient, if he could wait, then there might be more surprises from her to come.
The thought had barely made it across the transom before she rose up on her knees, then came down again, drawing his tarse all the way inside her in one long, swift glide. He arched, cried out.
And there it was, the next surprise. She was as ready to fuck him as he was her. So he settled his hands on her hips with the intent of helping her find the rhythm, but she gripped his wrists, shaking her head, and lifted them o’er his head.
“ ‘Tis like that is it?” he ground out in some amusement between panting breaths.
She nodded and began to move, and a shudder ran through him.
“All right,” he croaked. “Do to me what you will, my wanton wife.”
All Robert’s attention, all his strength, was centered on the delightful tug and slide of her tight, warm canal o’er his cock. His ballocks drew up so tight they ached. “Please. Faster, love. Deeper,” he begged. The urge to find fulfillment clawed at his groin, and he gritted his teeth against it. Not until she’d found hers first.
Her breasts bounced to the same tempo as her fucking, and he took a chance and brought his arms down from above his head and molded the ripe mounds in his palms. She leaned forward, settling her hands on his chest and leveraged her weight on her palms. He pinched her nipples and she threw her head back, squeezing her eyes shut, and started to move in earnest.
“Ah, God! Aye, like that,” he growled, and this time, when he put his hands on her hips to help her retain the rhythm, she allowed it.
Her breath came in small puffs, and when he lifted his hips high at the same time he brought her down on to him, her mouth came open on a silent scream. In the next moment, the walls of her canal gripped him tight and didn’t release him for a sustained moment. It made it difficult to thrust into her, but it also made the pleasure so pure, ‘twas near to unbearable.
As she continued to come, a rare, prolonged moan fell from her lips. He rammed her down hard on him and, on a prolonged moan of his own, shot his load deep inside her.
Morgana bent forward and dropped one final sweaty, carnal kiss on his mouth, then collapsed onto her back, lungs blowing.
“That was magnificent. You were magnificent,” he said.
When she only lay there, still as a stone, he realized she’d fallen back to sleep, and he chuckled. He could use some more sleep as well. Yet he lay there awake for a while. Enjoying the pleasant glow of utter fulfillment—and contentment.
A time later, tho’ his head still spun, he managed to rise and bathe himself, then bring the cloth to his wife, and bathe her as well. Afterward, he settled again beside her and wrapped himself around her before falling back into the blissful sleep he’d come to enjoy since their first night together.
* * *
The next morn at the table, as Morgana and her husband were quietly, and companionably, breaking their fast, Robert, with some concern in his tone, abruptly said, “Do you remember tossing me to my back
last night, and riding me like I was prime horse flesh?”
Morgana’s cheeks flamed. She dipped her head and gave him a shy nod.
“Good. I’d wondered….” He leaned close, caressing the shell of her ear with is lips, with his warm breath, and rumbled low, “Do it again later.”
She shuddered, felt her nipples pucker, but forced herself to glance up and give him another nod.
He planted a quick kiss on her lips, and said brusquely, “Good. Finish eating,” and he crammed another bite of bread into his mouth and began to chew. It didn’t pass Morgana’s notice that she’d managed to gain a shadow of a smile from him, and had also sparked a twinkle in his grey eyes.
She swallowed a sigh, then bit into her own crust of bread as well.
* * *
Later that same morn, Robert went to Vika’s chamber with the decided purpose of learning her original plan regarding their babe she carried, as well as learning a bit more of the events that led up to her fall down the stairs two days past.
He was more than a little worried, however, when he arrived and found that Vika was still suffering from an ache in her head. ‘Twas clearer and clearer that the fall she had taken, and the injuries she had suffered were even more serious than he’d originally believed. Even if Morgana had demanded her banishment, he would not have been able to fulfill her wishes in that regard, for Vika was not, nor would she be for some time to come, in any condition to travel.
Because of the distress he found her in, he took a much more gentle tack with her than he’d originally planned, taking up a stool and bringing it to her bedside, then resting his hand o’er the one she had limply lying at her side. “Were you able to rest at all during the night?”