Maldie only briefly considered refusing his kiss. There was so much they had to say. She did not even know why he had come after her. It had to have been for far more reasons than to say he understood why she had done what she had. Then he touched his lips to hers, and she decided that none of it mattered. If he had only come for another taste of the passion they could share it would hurt her, but she doubted her pain could be any worse than it had been since leaving Donncoill. At least she would have one last sweet moment of passion to add to her memories of him. She heartily returned his kiss, greedily drinking in the taste of him.
“We should talk,” she said, making one last weak attempt to grasp at reason even as she tilted her head back so that he could more easily kiss her throat.
“We will,” he said, unlacing her gown as he pulled her down onto the soft grass.
“But not now?” Maldie murmured with a pleasure she could not hide as he stroked her body with his big hands even as he continued to loosen her clothing. She was starved for his touch and did not have the will to hide it.
“I find that I am too distracted to talk.” He tugged her gown down to her slender waist and gently nibbled the hardened tips of her breasts so prominently visible beneath her thin chemise. Her soft groan made him tremble. “A wee respite will clear my head.”
“Only a wee respite?” She grasped him by his taut buttocks and pressed him close, the feel of his hardness almost enough to satisfy her need it was so strong and heedless.
“I fear I am too starved for ye to linger o’er this much missed feast.”
“Dinnae fear. ’Tis a feeling I ken all too weel. Ye will hear no more argument from me, though I may be compelled to urge ye to hurry.”
“Nay, I think not. Not this time, loving.”
Even as Balfour hurriedly removed her clothes, Maldie used an equal haste to pull off his. They both cried out with delight as their flesh touched for the first time in too long. Maldie could not get enough of the feel of his strong body pressed against hers, his warm skin beneath her hands, and the touch of his mouth as he feverishly covered her body with kisses. She tried to return each caress but their lovemaking soon grew wild, their desperate need for each other stealing away all ability to linger in the heady time that comes before the culmination of their desire.
When he finally joined their bodies, Maldie clung to him with all of her strength. She tried to pull him ever deeper within her, meeting each of his hard thrusts with a ferocity of her own. Even as her body convulsed with the power of her release and she called out his name, she felt him shudder with his own, his cry blending with hers. She closed her eyes and held him close, fighting to cling to the pleasure they had just shared, that blinding delight that could so easily disperse all fear and uncertainty.
With the return of her senses came an awareness of the chill in the late afternoon air. Maldie also became painfully aware of her nakedness. She hastily sat up and tugged on her chemise. For the first time since they had become lovers, Maldie felt the harsh sting of embarrassment. They had truly let passion rule this time, allowing it to hurl themselves into each other’s arms while there was still so much left unsaid between them, so many troubles unsolved and questions unanswered. She recalled that she did not even know why he had hunted her down. Now that her blood had cooled, she feared she had made a grave error in judgment. One last taste of passion would not be enough to ease the pain of being a fool and, if Balfour had come only to bed her, that was exactly what she would be.
“Ye are thinking the worst of me, arenae ye, lass,” Balfour said as he sat up and wrapped his plaid around himself. “Trust me when I tell ye, loving, that I wouldnae ride so long a way just for a wee tussle upon the grass, sweet as it was.”
“Sorry,” she murmured, casting him a weak smile. “As always I acted upon what I wanted, then, after I rushed ahead and was beyond redemption, I paused to wonder if I had done the right thing or the wise thing.” She laughed, a short, self-abasing laugh. “I ne’er do the right thing.”
Balfour pulled her into his arms. “Oh, aye, ye do.”
“I betrayed you,” she whispered.
“Nay, although I did see it as such for a wee while. I wish I could find the words to tell ye how verra sorry I am for any pain I caused ye with my mistrust, but what ye did wasnae betrayal. Ye told no one my secrets and helped no one to harm me in any way. Ye didnae act against me or my clan in even the smallest way. Ye just lied.”
She stared at Balfour in surprise. “Just lied?”
“Aye, and ye did a poor job of it, too. Ye twisted your tongue into knots trying not to tell me the truth, yet not tell too big a lie. ’Twas mostly half-truths or no answers at all.” He idly began to try and tidy her hair, knowing it was useless, but enjoying the feel of her thick, soft hair too much to stop. “After I calmed enough to see beyond my anger and hurt, I looked more closely at all ye had told me. I thought o’er every talk we had shared and every answer ye had given to all the questions I had asked. What lies ye did tell me were ones meant to hide the truth. Ye didnae want me to ken who your father was. And ye were right to hide that truth from me. Once I kenned it I would ne’er have trusted you, ne’er have believed that ye would do naught to help him.” He shook his head. “’Tis unfair to hold a child at fault for what was done by a mother, a father, or any other kinsmon. I ken it weel. Howbeit, learning that Beaton had sired you would have made me do exactly that.”
“After all Beaton had done, ye cannae blame yourself for that.” She reached up to stroke his cheek, delighted beyond words that he had forgiven her for her deception, that he even understood why she had deceived him. “I told ye so little about myself ye had naught with which to decide my guilt or innocence. And would ye have believed me if I had told ye that I ached to kill the mon, that I was there to fulfill a vow of revenge?”
Balfour grimaced. “Nay. ’Tis hard to believe that a child would kill her own father, bastard though Beaton was. ’Twould also have been hard to believe that a wee lass such as your own self would do so.”
“I almost succeeded,” she protested, her pride stung, then she sighed. “’Tis probably best that I didnae.”
“Despite your vow to your dying mother and the fact that Beaton deserved to die, aye, ’tis probably for the best. Heartless filth though he was, that mon’s death wasnae worth your immortal soul. For a time I wasnae sure which ye would find harder to forgive, that I had robbed ye of your vengeance or that I had killed your father.” He fought the urge to heartily return her brief kiss, knowing that they needed to talk before they let passion rule them again. “I then began to hope that ye faulted me for neither.”
“None of it troubled me.” She snuggled up against him, savoring the feel of his strong arms wrapped around her. “I had come to see the hard, cold truth about my mother. Margaret cared naught for me. From the moment I was born she had but one use for me—to avenge her lost honor. Aye, she would have also liked me to become a whore, so that she wouldnae have had to work so hard, but mostly she wished me to kill Beaton for her. I think I have always kenned the truth, but I pushed it from my mind for it was a painful one. E’en when I could no longer turn away from the truth, I struggled against thinking on it much for I didnae wish to let loose all the ugly feelings it stirred within me.”
Balfour held her a little tighter, knowing there was nothing he could say or do to ease that pain. “’Tis they, Margaret and Beaton, who lost the most, Maldie. They denied themselves the joy of a child, one who would have loved them weel and done any parent proud.” He smiled when he saw her blush, even the tips of her ears turning a faint red. “I fear we cannae choose our kinsmen. ’Tis sad that ye were cursed with such a heartless pair, but ye rose from that mire clean and bonny, in soul as weel as in body.”
“I think ye had better cease speaking so kindly,” she said, her voice unsteady as she struggled to control a surge of emotion. “’Tis odd, but I feel near to weeping.”
He laughed and kissed her cheek.
“I have no skill with flattery and pretty words and ye have no skill at accepting them. We make a fine pair.” He slipped his hand beneath her chin and turned her face up toward his. “Now, ’tis past time I tell ye why I hunted ye down. Aye, especially since I begin to think of forgoing talk again.”
“Why are ye here?” she asked, her heart beating so hard it pounded painfully in her ears. The soft look in his dark eyes held such promise she was almost afraid to look into them.
“For you. I have come for you.” He touched his fingers to her lips when she frowned and started to speak. “Nay, let me say it all. Then all ye will need to say is aye or nay. There will be no confusion. I want ye to come back to Donncoill with me. Since ye left ’tis as if all the life has fled the place. I need ye there. I need ye at my side. I want ye to be my wife, to be the lady of Donncoill.”
It took all of Maldie’s will to stop herself from loudly crying out an immediate yes. He had said so much, yet not enough. He needed her, he wanted her, and he would marry her. She knew most women would think her mad to even hesitate, but she needed more. He was speaking of marriage, of being bound by law and God for life. She needed him to love her.
For a moment she wondered if she could make him say it before she had to, then decided that that could take a long time. Men were so reluctant to bare their souls to a woman that, even if Balfour did love her, she could be wedded, bedded, and the mother of three of his children ere he finally made mention of the fact. Although she dreaded baring her soul, she knew it was the only way. And, she mused as she steadied herself, he deserved the full truth. If they were to be married, it was also the best way to begin. She prayed that she was not taking too great a gamble with her heart. Once she had exposed all she felt for him, it would be that much easier for him to devastate her even if he did not want or mean to.
“I want to marry you,” she began and, when he started to hug her, she placed a hand on his chest and firmly kept a small distance between them. “Howbeit, I may yet say no. Ye speak of need and want, and we both ken that our passion is weel matched. What ye cannae know, for I have worked hard to hide it from ye, is that I love you, Balfour Murray.” She could tell little from the wide-eyed look upon his face and the sudden tautness in his body, so she doggedly continued, “I may love ye more than is wise or sane and have done so since the beginning. Mayhap it will make little sense to ye, but I cannae wed ye, cannae bind myself to ye for a lifetime, if ye dinnae feel the same.” She cried out from surprise and some discomfort when he crushed her to his chest.
“Ah, my bonny wee lass, ye are such a fool. Or, mayhap we both are. Aye, ye will have love, possibly more than ye want at times.”
“Ye love me?” she whispered, wriggling in his arms until his hold loosened enough for her to look at him. Her heart was pounding so hard and fast she felt a little nauseated.
“Aye, I love you. I, too, think I fell in love the moment I set eyes upon you.” He eagerly returned her kiss, gently pulling her down onto the ground. “Then your answer is yes? Ye will marry me?”
“Aye.” She started to kiss him again, then frowned as a familiar sound cut sharply through the air. “Was that a hunting horn?” she asked as she sat up and looked around.
Balfour laughed, sat up, and reached for their clothes. “Aye, ’twas a hunting horn. ’Tis your uncle, Colin, telling us that we have been alone long enough and,” he tossed her her gown, “if we dinnae appear before him verra soon, the hunt will indeed be on.” He smiled at her when she frowned in doubt. “Trust me, lass. If we arenae dressed and walking back to that keep verra soon, we will be encircled by your grinning kinsmen.”
Maldie grimaced as she got dressed. She was no longer alone in the world, able to do as she wished without answering to anyone. It delighted her, made her feel wanted and cared for for the first time in her life but, as Balfour paused for one brief kiss before walking her back to her uncle’s keep, she began to see that a big family could also be a big problem.
“I think the days until we are wed are going to be long ones,” she murmured.
Watching as nearly a dozen widely grinning Kirkcaldys appeared as if from nowhere and began to escort them back to the keep, Balfour nodded in heartfelt agreement. “Verra long indeed.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Maldie grit her teeth and tried to sit still as Jennie fought to comb the tangles from her hair. She cursed herself for forgetting to braid it last night, for her restless sleep had left it in a sadly gnarled mess. It was going to take a lot of work to make it look good for her wedding, or, at least as good as her thick, unruly hair could ever look.
Her wedding, she thought, and sighed. She found it odd that her stomach could churn with fears and nerves while her heart soared with happiness. It had been exactly one month since Balfour had told her that he loved her and asked her to be his wife. Aside from the time they had been apart and she had thought him lost to her forever, Maldie was sure that this had been the longest month of her life. Balfour and she had seen less and less of each other, as the days had slipped by and more and more Kirkcaldys had arrived for the wedding. It had quickly become clear that her uncle was determined to keep them apart until their wedding night. They had not even been able to steal a kiss in days. Worse, she had not been able to woo those three sweet words out of Balfour again, and she was beginning to wonder if she had actually heard him say that he loved her or had just dreamed it.
There was a sharp rap at the door and, even as she turned to bid the person enter, her uncle strode in. She frowned at him as he sat on her bed. He really was a fine figure of a man, tall and strong, his kind, good-humored nature clear to see in his handsome face. Maldie was continually amazed that her mother could believe such a man would turn her and her bairn out into the cold. That Margaret would deprive her child of knowing such a good man was something else Maldie struggled to forgive her mother for. She even appreciated the similarity in their looks, the same wild black hair and green eyes, for it gave her a sense of belonging. Colin’s constant guard over her and Balfour, however, was not endearing him to her at the moment.
“I havenae hidden him under the bed,” she drawled.
Colin laughed. “I ken it. I just saw the lad pacing his room.”
“Pacing? That implies that he is troubled. Do ye think he has changed his mind?” she asked, cursing the uncertainty that made her even ask such a question. She knew it was unreasonable, but she blamed her uncle for that, as his efforts to keep her and Balfour apart had ensured that all of her fears were not soothed by sweet words of love from her betrothed.
“Foolish child,” Colin scolded, but his smile was filled with gentle understanding. “Nay, he but suffers as all men do when they take a bride. Dinnae tell me that ye arenae uneasy, for I willnae believe ye.”
She smiled faintly and shrugged. “I am, yet I dinnae understand it. This is what I want.”
“Aye, and what he wants or he would ne’er have chased ye down.” Colin shook his head. “’Tis just the way it is. Ye have more than most couples who are oftimes set before a priest barely kenning each other’s names. Makes no difference. Ye are swearing vows afore God and kinsmen. ’Tis a grave matter and no one should do it easily.” He stood up and walked over to Maldie as Jennie helped her into her gown. “Ye go and help the women, lass,” he told the maid. “I can help my niece now.” He began to lace up Maldie’s gown the moment Jennie left the room, pausing to touch the heart-shaped birthmark on her back. “’Tis a bonny sign God set upon your skin.”
“’Tis Beaton’s mark,” she muttered. “My mother often pointed to it as a sign of the cursed blood I carry in my veins.”
He turned her around to face him. “Your mother was a fool, God bless her soul. A bitter fool. Did ye not stay with an old couple, Beatons by blood, who were good and kind and held no love for their laird? Who were, in truth, all the things Beaton was not?”
“Weel, aye, but…”
“Nay but. The laird of Dubhlinn was a bastard with
no heart and no honor. That doesnae mean that all Beatons carry the same taint upon their soul. Isnae the boy Eric also a Beaton?”
“Aye, ’twas the fact that he, too, carries this mark that told him that sad truth, but ye ken all of this.”
“I have met the lad and he is a fine boy who will become a good, honorable mon. The Beatons of Dubhlinn will be weel blessed if he can gain the right to be their laird. Are ye nay proud to be a Kirkcaldy?”
“Of course.”
“Weel, as I have said before, our clan hasnae been free of sinners. We have had a traitor or two, murderers, thieves, and men who wouldnae ken what honor was if it grew legs, walked up to them, and spit in their eyes. Trust me, the Murrays, too, have had and will have a bad seed from time to time. Ye cannae fault a clan for wishing to keep such things a dark secret, but, if ye shake the tree of any family, some rotten fruit will fall out. Ye have grown into a fine lass despite your parents. Be proud of that.”
Tears choked her throat and a deep blush seared her cheeks as she stared up at her uncle, deeply touched by the honest affection she could see softening his eyes. “Thank ye, Uncle,” she managed to whisper.
“Ye havenae been told your worth verra often, have ye, lass,” he said, shaking his head.
“It doesnae matter.”
“Oh, aye, it does. A child needs to be told his worth from time to time if he is to grow up hale and strong, in spirit and in body. ’Tis that lack of deserved praise that makes ye so quick to fear that your big brown mon is about to change his mind about marrying you.”
“My big brown mon?” she muttered, biting back a smile.
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