Delight

by Jillian Hunter

  Douglas looked dashing in black velvet with a brocade hat and red sash on his shoulder that also served as a sling.

  A band of pipers escorted the bride and groom on their ride into Dunmoral for the wedding feast. Father Gordon followed on his donkey.

  Rowena looked radiant as she alit from the peat cart. "Humility before hierarchy," she had said when Douglas asked earlier if she wished to ride in a proper carriage.

  It was a custom in this part of the Highlands to throw a shoe for luck at the newly married couple. Henry hurled an old brogue into the air.

  Rowena ducked, and it hit Douglas on the side of the head, stunning him.

  "Oh, Douglas," Rowena said, covering her face in her hands. "My goodness, are you hurt?"

  "I don't know," he answered. "My body is too benumbed to feel any more pain."

  There was a Highland wedding feast with oatcakes, cheese, cold mutton and a gigantic Bride's pie decorated with Cupids in the crust. The guests drank elderflower wine and heather ale.

  The miniature pirate sloop Delight was floated in the loch with tiny candles glowing from its decks. Fire blazed from the miniature brass cannons.

  Mrs. MacVittie gazed upon the celebration with a look of pride. "I have accomplished my dream. A shipload of pirates and they didn't drop a single spoon." She sighed deeply. "I call that a job well done."

  "A shipload of pirates and they didn't murder anyone," Douglas said under his breath. "I call that a miracle."

  Desire unfurled deep inside Rowena. Her breasts swelled as Douglas kissed each one in turn, blowing on her nipples until she twisted under him. His tongue circled her navel. He began branding her entire body with burning kisses. And with each he whispered, "Mine."

  He seduced his wife in the winter shadows. A low fire burned in the hearth. Predator and pirate that he was, he plundered every ounce of sweetness from her body. Over and over.

  She learned quickly how to please him. She slid her hands down his broad chest, to his belly, taking hold of his shaft. He gasped.

  Shyly she explored his rugged body, the muscular ridges, the scars and healing bruises, the hard contours. His belly quivered. Her innocent touch aroused him so that it hurt to breathe. And when he felt her mouth at his manhood, his head fell back, and a low groan broke in his throat.

  "I love you," he said, tangling his large hands in her hair.

  "And I love you, my lord," she whispered.

  30

  Two days passed. Hasty preparations were made for the long journey to Hartzburg. Snow fell softly on the hills. Herds of red deer foraged for food in the pine forest. A magical mist shimmered above the loch and wrapped the castle in dreamlike seclusion. The autumn days of what was called Foghara in Gaelic had yielded to the sleeping spell of Geamhradh.

  The small army that Princess Rowena had raised was leaving Scotland before winter sank its teeth any deeper. She had found the perfect warriors to carry her father's campaign: The pirates of the Delight, and a more restless lot she had never envisioned.

  The pirates had dreamed of the legendary city of gold. They had hoped to serve their dragon-captain in one final burst of greed and glory. Instead, they were serving Douglas and his sainted brother in a raid to strengthen Prince Randolph's stand against the rebels.

  As Willie told Douglas, "Hartzburg needs us more than this castle does, sir. But don't you worry. We'll all be back together before long. The lads will never leave you."

  "That's what I'm afraid of," Douglas said.

  Douglas had awakened at dawn to see Dainty and Aidan off at the drawbridge. His two best friends had decided to help Matthew and Jerome liberate Rowena's uncle from the mountain rebels who held him hostage. Douglas, Frederic, and the pirates planned to join Prince Randolph in his fight. They would travel in separate parties.

  Douglas joked for a few minutes with Dainty and Aidan as was their custom before a raid.

  "Where will you go afterward?" Douglas asked them.

  "I don't know," Aidan said, looking restless on his sturdy roan. "Maracaibo maybe."

  Dainty said, "I have a friend in Marseilles who owns an inn. I might spend a year just fishing, building a ship."

  They looked at one another for what they knew could well be the last time. These were men who wouldn't shed a tear if you tortured them on the rack.

  "Go then," Douglas said as his brother Matthew, in white satin, emerged from the stables on his horse. "Be gone, you worthless dogs. I'm sick of your ugly faces if you want to know the truth."

  Aidan nodded.

  "The grace of God be upon you and your princess," Dainty said.

  Douglas turned away, his voice low. "And on you both."

  Baldwin looked at Douglas. A small crowd had gathered in the courtyard. "Well, Captain, I'm sorry to be leavin' ye, but Jerome has just asked me to be his man-at-arms, and I think the lad needs a good brain like mine on his side."

  " 'Parting is such sweet sorrow,' " Douglas said.

  Baldwin stared at him. "Do ye mean that, sir?"

  "No, but Shakespeare's Juliet apparently did," Douglas said.

  Baldwin narrowed his eyes. "Is yer dragon's pride keepin' ye from askin' me to join your army?"

  "Rowena's cousin needs that sharp brain of yours," Douglas said. "I have depended on it for too long."

  "He's always welcome to come back to us later," Rowena said. "Douglas, you must remember your manners with our friends."

  Douglas frowned at that, but not for long. He had captured his prize. He could afford to be gracious. He would, perhaps, persuade Rowena to move to another castle in an undisclosed location when they returned to Scotland. And he would, the minute he got her alone, remind his wife that a warrior must not be henpecked in public.

  Epilogue

  The Scottish Highlands

  September, 1663

  Bluebells and heather covered the hills surrounding the castle. Children waded in the cool waters of the loch and played pirates on the peaceful shores with wooden swords.

  The pagan flames of Needfire still burned hot and pure in the hearths of Dunmoral. With luck, and the Lord's grace, the ancient Celtic fire would never die out The castle had its protector, the eighth Earl of Dunmoral, even if he still didn't know Mary Queen of Scots from Queen Elizabeth, or a parapet from a pair of socks.

  The princess also had her pirate, and she intended to keep him, even if she had to lock him up in the tower for the rest of his days.

  In three months or so Dunmoral would have a genuine heir.

  Hartzburg had been liberated from the rebels. Prince Randolph's banner flew high from his rocky castle where he ruled unchallenged. He had blessed his daughter's marriage to her dragon. After all, he told everyone who would listen, his son-in-law had saved him.

  "What I want to know," Gemma said in the solar, "is did my brother turn Rowena into a royal hoyden, or did she reform him?"

  Hildegarde chuckled as she dipped her quill into the inkwell to write out a list for the nursery. "I'm not certain that it matters. Perhaps we should worry more about what wicked children the pair of them will give this world."

  Table of Contents

  Start