Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2]

by Border Moonlight

  A large hand moved to where her legs joined, cupping her there.

  Surprised, she stiffened, her fingers tightening in his hair.

  His kisses continued, moving upward to her breasts again, while his hand stayed where it was, quiet but confident of its right to be there. He suckled again as a bairn might, then eased back up to capture her mouth.

  Realizing she was pulling his hair, she untangled her fingers and shifted that hand to his shoulder.

  As she did, his hand below moved and a finger penetrated her there, making her gasp again and grip him with both hands, her fingernails digging into his flesh.

  He moaned softly against her lips but uttered no other protest. His tongue continued to explore her mouth and his fingers below stayed busy as he eased over her more, his body hard above hers.

  Her fingers gripped him again when he moved his left knee between her legs, easing them farther apart. Soon he was on all fours with both knees there, and when she reached a hand to touch his belly and began to stroke there as he had stroked her, he caught the hand and put it up by her head, pressing it into the pillow as he eased himself down to her with his weight on that elbow.

  All the while, his fingers below kept busy, rubbing her there so she could think of nothing but how he was making her feel. Her body arched. His fingers stopped, and something larger touched her.

  Gasping, she went perfectly still.

  It was like slipping a living sword into a hot velvet sheath, he thought as he began to ease his way in. She was hardly the first woman he’d had, but never before had he been with one whose every breath, sound, and movement excited him.

  The little gasp he had heard and the way she had stilled made him want to plunge right in. But experience had taught him that resisting that impulse led to greater pleasure for both partners. He could not imagine that the sensations firing through him could intensify, but if such a chance existed, he did not want to lose it.

  He paced himself carefully, keeping his eyes open, watching her as he eased himself farther and farther into her softness.

  Her eyes were nearly shut, her eyelids fluttered, and he could feel her begin to relax beneath him. Then his cock met resistance.

  Her eyes opened wide.

  “Am I hurting you?” he murmured.

  “A little, but it will pass, will it not?”

  “Aye.” He stroked a breast with his free hand. Realizing he still held her hand against the pillow, he let go of it.

  Easing gently out and back in again, he repeated the movements slowly for a time as the pressure built within him. But when her hips began lifting to meet his, he could stand it no longer. Moving faster, then faster, he forgot all save energy and sensation, feeling the inner tension increase until the moment of climax, when his breath exploded from him, leaving him raggedly gasping, leaning on his elbows, gazing into the face of his beautiful wife.

  Tears glistened in her eyes.

  “Faith, lass, I did hurt you!” He brushed a tear away with his thumb.

  “Nay, ’tis only . . . we are truly married now, are we not?”

  “Is that so bad?”

  “In some ways, not at all,” she said, smiling softly. “But ’tis easier to remember you shouting at me in the kirk that day than to think of you as my husband.”

  His sense of humor stirred, and he said dryly, “Well, if it is any comfort, I don’t feel that way anymore. I think you will suit me well as a wife, lass.”

  To his surprise, she sighed and said, “Your mother said the same thing.”

  “Did she? I own, I did not think of pleasing her when I arranged all this. If I thought of her at all, it was with relief that our marriage would put an end to her persistent notion of wedding me to one of her English cousins.”

  “Sakes, I should be grateful that she approves of me,” Sibylla said.

  “It will go easier for us if she likes you, lass. We both know that.”

  Sibylla was glad Lady Murray had blessed their marriage, but the jolt of disappointment she’d felt when Simon had so casually said she would suit him as a wife had surprised her and stolen much of the delightful languor she had felt.

  He did not linger but got up, cleaned himself at the washstand, and then brought back a damp cloth for her. There was a little blood, but she had known to expect it, and Meg would not cavil over a few drops on the sheet.

  When he climbed back into bed, he put an arm around her and drew her close, saying, “We’ve a long day tomorrow, lass, so we’d best sleep now.”

  With an ear against his chest, she could hear his heart beat. In minutes he was sound asleep, breathing deeply. She soon slept, too.

  When she awoke the next morning, the curtain was open, letting gray dawn light into the room, and Simon was gone.

  Sitting up in bed, remembering that he thought of her as little more than a friend who would suit him as a wife, she wondered if she would regret marrying him.

  Chapter 18

  Simon soon returned, and his warm smile eased Sibylla’s doubts. She felt self-conscious going downstairs to break her fast with the others, but everyone greeted them cheerfully and seemed intent only on departing as soon as possible.

  After a hasty meal, they were soon ready and mounted. With Buccleuch’s, Westruther’s, and Simon’s men— and all their servants—following, they made a large party. Buccleuch’s inaptly named captain, Jock’s Wee Tammy, took charge of the long tail of men, while Meg’s devoted Sym Elliot took charge of everyone else, giving orders to the other servants as if he were their steward.

  Pausing by Sibylla, he said, “I had them put everything for Elishaw together, me lady, and told the laird’s man. So when ye leave us, all will be in order for ye.”

  Smiling, Sibylla thanked him, having to remind herself that Sym was not yet as old as Rosalie. His confidence and demeanor were those of an old family servant.

  At Simon’s suggestion, and to draw as little attention as possible, their party followed the track through the abbey woods until it met the main road south.

  Sibylla rode with Simon until she saw that he paid more heed to Buccleuch and Westruther than to her, and urged him to ride with them. “Truly, sir, you are much in the way here,” she said cheerfully. “I want to talk with my new sisters.”

  He gave her a rueful smile but accepted her suggestion, and she did not mind. Amalie was full of energy and laughter, her mood contagious, and without Lady Murray and the girls, they traveled fast, passing Penkaet Castle before midday.

  Sym rode to and fro on his apparently tireless pony, checking on his mistress and the other ladies, and on the servants behind them.

  The road was wide enough most of the way for them to ride three abreast and still leave room to pass travelers they met without difficulty. However, their pace slowed considerably when they reached the winding, narrow track through the hills.

  They stopped after a time to rest the horses and take their midday meal. Afterward, Sibylla dropped back to ride alone, hoping the slower pace would give her time to think. But after only a few minutes, another horse eased up beside hers as Sym Elliot said, “Ye’ll no mind an I ride wi’ ye for a bit, will ye, me lady?”

  “You don’t fool me, Sym. You just want to ride nearer your mistress.”

  “Aye, well, I’m sworn to look after me lady Meg. The others, especially them great louts behind us, can look out for themselves. But I’ve no seen ye since last fall, and now me lady says ye’ve gone and married her wick— That is ye’ve wed the laird, her brother, wha’ she says I must now call the laird or Murray o’ Elishaw.”

  “What did you call him before?” Sibylla asked him.

  “I’m no to say it again, so I canna tell ye,” he replied with a virtuous air.

  Reining back to let Amalie and Meg draw farther ahead, Sibylla murmured, “I shan’t give you away, Sym. But I think you ought to tell me, don’t you?”

  “Why?”

  “Well, if you think he may behave badly, should I not protect m
yself?”

  He eyed her thoughtfully for a moment, then said, “Aye, that’s true. I dinna ken that he’s bad, but the man’s a Fifer, ye ken. As ye’ve served wi’ Princess Isabel as our lady Amalie did, ye’ll ken fine what a buttery-lippit scoundrel that one be.”

  “But you should not say so when anyone else can hear you,” she said gently.

  “Hoots, I ken that fine. I like me skin, sithee. But the sort o’ huggery-muggery he and his gallous lot get up to be enough to make a good man weep!”

  “Did you call the Laird of Elishaw a hugger-mugger, Sym?”

  His blue eyes twinkled. “As I’m recalling, it were ‘gallous hugger-mugger’ that chawed Himself into a fizz.”

  “Buccleuch?”

  “Aye, sure, who else? Said I’d nae business saying that Fife be a sneakster headed for the gallows and he’d skelp me good did he hear me say it again. I’m gey bigger nor what I were, but he’s one as can still do it,” he muttered.

  She wondered what Simon would think about a twelve-year-old imp of Satan calling him a sneakster bound for the gallows. But although she felt an urge to defend her husband, she said only, “Men do change, Sym.”

  “Aye, sure, and I ha’ seen him look after ye fiercely, but even so—”

  “I doubt the Laird of Elishaw is bound for the gallows,” she said.

  “Aye, well, there’s time enough yet for him. And if he don’t hang through serving the Governor, his luck’ll change gey quick does he kittle the man again.”

  Aware that Simon had angered Fife and was now treading on more dangerous ground with him, Sibylla decided to change the subject. She had already said more than she ought to a lad as skilled as she was at prying information from others.

  At a brief loss for a safer topic, she asked how he liked his lady’s eight-month-old daughter and the young heir to Buccleuch, now two and a half.

  That subject proved fruitful enough to keep Sym chatting amiably until Jock’s Wee Tammy rode up and sternly addressed him.

  “Cease your nash-gab now, lad,” Tammy said. “Take yourself back wi’ the other men, and stay there till the mistress wants ye.”

  Sym looked as if he might object. But when Tam’s lips tightened, he said to Sibylla, “I’d best go, me lady, but if ye ever need someone to ride like Auld Clootie for ye, dinna forget that, unless me lady Meg needs me, Sym Elliot’s your man.”

  “I won’t forget,” Sibylla said. Then, as he turned back to ride with the men-at-arms, she said, “Don’t scold him, Tammy. In troth, I do enjoy his company.”

  Tam said, “He’s an amusin’ scruff, to be sure, m’lady. But do we no squash him now and again, he gets above himself. Aye, and here’s the laird comin’ to see why ye’re entertainin’ so many menfolk, so I’d best be goin’ along, too.”

  As he turned back to join his men, Simon reined his black in beside Sibylla’s bay and said, “I know that lad. But I cannot recall where I saw him.”

  “He is Sym Elliot, your sister Meg’s devoted slave,” Sibylla said.

  “Aye, sure, Wee Sym. He has grown since last I saw him.”

  “Bairns do that, sir, but I doubt Sym grows fast enough to suit himself. He told me Buccleuch can still skelp him, as if that is how he measures his size.”

  “I do recall that he’s a cheeky one,” Simon said.

  “He is,” she agreed, suppressing a grin.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “He has small opinion of Fife, or of men he calls Fifers.”

  “In which group he certainly counts me.”

  “And other gallous hugger-muggers,” she said.

  “Sakes, if those were his words, he deserves skelping,” Simon said. “Aye, and so do you if you encourage such impertinence.”

  “One does not have to encourage Sym,” she said with a chuckle.

  He smiled and said, “I came to see if you might be growing tired. But I must say you don’t look it. Even Meg is drooping, and Garth is threatening Amalie with a horse litter. But you look as if we’d been riding for just an hour or so.”

  “I don’t flag easily, sir. Traveling too slowly wearies me quicker. If we ride all the way to Elishaw, though, I’ll fall asleep the minute I lay my head down there.”

  “We’ve some distance yet to Selkirk, and Hawick lies eleven miles beyond. The others plan to stay the night at the Black Tower there, if you’d like to do that.”

  “Do you want to stay in Hawick?”

  “If we go on to Elishaw, darkness will fall before we arrive, and yonder moon is already dropping to the horizon. So we’d have to carry torches through the forest, and I’d liefer not. But I ken fine that you’re gey fretful about Kit.”

  “ ’Tis only a few hours betwixt tonight and tomorrow morning,” she said. “I expect that by the time we reach Hawick, I’ll be ready for supper and a good bed.”

  “I don’t know about a good bed or even one for the two of us,” he said with another smile. “Buccleuch says we’re more likely to have the men all in one chamber and lasses in another. But I don’t doubt we’ll all be glad to rest.”

  When their party rode into Hawick at last, they were all looking forward to supper and bed, and lost no time in finding both.

  Early the next morning, Simon and Sibylla dressed quickly, broke their fast, and bade the others fond farewells. They reached Elishaw two hours later.

  Jed Hay, Simon’s captain of the guard, greeted them in the bailey with visibly rueful surprise as he motioned gillies to tend the horses. “Sakes, laird,” he said, “I told your cousin ye were in Edinburgh. He rode on earlier to find ye.”

  “Cecil Percy?” Simon said as he dismounted and moved to aid Sibylla.

  “So he said,” Jed said, frowning. “But ye should ha’ met him on the way.”

  Sibylla noted Jed’s frown, saw him glance warily at Simon, and thought Jed seemed more worried than such a minor mischance warranted.

  “How many in Percy’s party, and when did they leave?” Simon asked.

  “He had six men. They were up afore dawn, sir, and away soon after.”

  “We must have just missed them,” Simon said. “We stayed the night in Hawick but we, too, were up and away betimes.”

  “I expect they rode past the town without entering,” Sibylla said.

  “ ’Twould be sensible,” Simon said. “Hawick has but one entrance and is rife with Douglases at any hour. I was not expecting Cecil so soon,” he added.

  “They came yestereve,” Jed said. “Percy said ye were expecting them, that he had news for ye and would ride on to Edinburgh to find ye. I did tell him that, truce or nae truce, he’d be wise to ride under a banner other than his own. But he did say he had your safe-conduct and would trust that to protect them.”

  Sibylla, watching Jed closely, said, “Have you aught else to tell us?”

  He gave her a wary look, then licked his lips and said to Simon, “There is summat, aye, laird. That lad, Dand, wha’ our lads plucked out o’ the Tweed . . .”

  “What about him?” Simon asked impatiently when Jed hesitated.

  “He had an accident, sir.”

  Sibylla felt a chill sweep through her.

  “What sort of accident?”

  “They said he were still gey weak from the river and from bein’ sick. He got up in the night, they said, and . . . and he did fall down the stairs, laird.”

  “Mercy,” Sibylla breathed as tension gripped her. “How badly was he hurt?” Simon demanded. Jed grimaced.

  “He’s dead, isn’t he, Jed?” Sibylla said.

  Jed nodded, gave her another look, and then turned warily back to Simon.

  Before either man could speak, Sibylla said urgently, “Where is his sister?”

  Jed grimaced again. “We dinna ken, m’lady. Nae one has seen her today.”

  “We’ll find her,” Simon said, reaching to touch her hand.

  She said flatly, “We’re too late, sir. They’ve taken her.”

  Simon stifled a curse and forced h
imself to say calmly, “What would Percy want with her, lass? Doubtless, she’s just upset by what happened. We’ll find her.”

  “I hope you are right,” Sibylla said, her tone suggesting strong doubt.

  Seeing Jed look from Sibylla to him and back in puzzlement, Simon said, “I should tell you, Jed, that the lady Sibylla has become my wife.”

  “Then I wish ye both happy, laird. Welcome to Elishaw, m’lady.”

  “Thank you.” Turning back to Simon, she said, “We must not dally, sir. I fear she is not here, but if she is, we must find her.”

  “Jed,” Simon said, “did you see any bairn with the Percys when they left?”

  “Nay, laird.”

  “Were you on the gate yourself?” Sibylla asked him. “Aye, m’lady.”

  Sibylla said, “Do you know Cecil Percy, Jed?”

  With a wary glance at Simon, he said, “I canna say I do, my lady. But they did carry the Percy banner and had the laird’s message with his signature. I saw that myself. I recall, too, when that messenger came to beg the laird’s leave to visit.”

  Simon’s first impulse had been to cut the questions short and find Kit, so he could sort things out about the boy’s death. However, Sibylla’s last question raised a new one in his mind. “Describe the man who called himself Cecil Percy, Jed.”

  “Aye, sure, laird. He were as tall as ye, I’m thinking, and built much the same, too. Sithee, though, he wore a helmet coming and going, and I never did see him inside, because I ate my supper late in the kitchen.”

  “Did you note what color his hair is?”

  Jed thought before he shook his head. “Nay, sir. I’d guess it were brown, because his eyebrows were, but I canna say for sure.”

  “Send men up to the lads on Carlin Tooth and the Pike to ask what they’ve seen,” Simon said, putting a hand to Sibylla’s back. “We’ll go inside now, lass.”

  “Wait, sir,” she said. “Jed, did the men wear jacks-o’-plate or light armor?”

  Jed’s eyebrows shot upward. “Jacks, m’lady.”

  “And cloaks?”

  “Aye, good, thick, long ones,” he said. “It were cold last night.”

  “Come along, lass,” Simon said. “No one carried Kit out under his cloak.”