He finally put his lips upon hers to kiss her, to taste her, to let her know through that kiss that he wanted her, needed her, and that he loved her. He traced the outline of her arms with one hand while the other clung to her waist.
He wished he could feel her bare skin against his own as he traced his fingers along her arm up to her shoulder before gently moving down her back. A passion swelled in him, a passion that ran deeper than any ocean as he felt his manhood begin to swell.
Fervent want, a desperate need to have her skin against his, to feel her naked and warm against his own body, the thought of taking her then and there became too much. No matter how badly he wanted it, he could not do that to her. Aishlinn was special, sweet and innocent. She was everything he never knew he would want in a woman.
Though he could no longer hide his feelings for her, he could give her the respect she deserved. He would take his time to court her before he would ask for her hand in marriage. A few months ago he would have laughed at such the notion of marriage, of settling down. Now it was all he could think of. How long, he wondered was a proper courtship? If he had not worried she would run from him in terror, he would have summoned a priest immediately.
Excitement began to swell in parts of her body that she had not known she even possessed until he had kissed her. She found herself aching, wanting and needing him with a hunger she had never experienced before. It was all so very new and very exciting yet it terrified her at the same time. How could he want her? Would she sorely disappoint him?
Duncan could stand it no more and knew well that if he did not end the kiss that he could not be held responsible for the actions that would most assuredly follow. Gently, he pulled her away. “Aishlinn, I fear we must stop now.”
Disappointed, she gasped, “Why?”
A broad smile came to his face. “I fear if we do not stop now, I’ll do all manner of quite sinful and wicked things to ye.”
Aishlinn took a deep breath, certain she knew what he meant. She was tempted to tell him that he could do anything he wanted to her as long as he continued to kiss her.
He rested his chin upon her forehead as he tried to steady his own breathing. He was glad that he had finally succumbed to the need if not to directly tell her, then to show her how he felt about her. His only hope was that he could be patient with her during the proper courting process.
When she felt her heartbeat begin to slow, she could not resist the urge to hug him. There were so many questions she had, questions she was terrified to ask. Did he want her as he would a wife, or would she be nothing more than a conquest? Not having the courage to ask it outright, she whispered into his chest, “What now, Duncan?”
He kissed her tenderly upon her forehead and smiled. “I would verra much like yer permission to court ye properly, lass.” He closed his eyes and prayed she would say yes. “If that is something ye would like as well.”
As she hugged him again, he could feel a sense of relief wash over her. “I would like that very much,” she said softly. “But I must warn you, I’ve never been courted.”
Duncan chuckled at her. “’Tis all right, lass. I’ll help ye through it.”
She could hear the mischievousness in his voice and found she rather liked it. She held on to him, wanting never to let go. She smiled when she thought of this tall, handsome Highlander who not long ago terrified her and now whose arms were the only place she felt truly safe. He wanted to court her. ’Twas delightful indeed.
Chapter Twenty
Too much whiskey consumed over the past few months had turned his eyes yellow and glassy. His skin hung loosely on his face and it held the gray pallor of someone much older than his true years. It gave one the impression that death was probably not far off. When death finally came for him there would be no one to mourn the loss.
He lay there in his dirty bed, propped up against dingy pillows. Attacked by a fit of coughing that brought large wads of phlegm to his mouth, he spat across the room. He wiped his sweaty face and phlegm-covered mouth onto the sleeve of his stained nightshirt. His lungs begged for fresh air but he was far too ill to leave his room.
It wasn’t a disease that had attacked him; it was his own mind. He tried yelling for the chambermaid but he was too weak to yell loud enough to be heard. Angry that he had been like this for far too long, he picked up the mug from beside his bed and threw it against the wall. Moments later, a very frightened chambermaid came rushing into his room to see what was the matter.
“Where is Edward?” His attempt at shouting sounded more like a harsh whisper. “I need Edward now!” The yelling brought about another coughing fit. The frightened young chambermaid curtsied and left quickly without saying a word.
“Once I’m well again,” he said to the closed door, “You’ll not be looking at me that way, ye whore!”
He lay there for a long while before his champion, Edward, came into the room. Trying to hide the pity and disgust he held for the sickly man, Edward said, “What is it you need, sire?”
“Have you found the whore yet?” he demanded to know, needed to know. Death might be nearer than he wanted to admit to, but he refused to die until the wench was returned to Penrith and he had killed her with his bare hands.
“As I told you earlier sire, we are still looking for her.” Edward had returned just that morning from searching the lands north of Castle Firth. There was no sign of the one the earl referred to simply as “the whore”.
Their search had begun not more than a month ago, days after the earl had been found stabbed and near death. Days had passed while he lay unconscious and unable to communicate to anyone what had happened. The list of suspects who might want to see the earl dead was quite long. It included nearly everyone in the castle. Truth be told, Edward’s own name was very high on that list.
When death had decided to leave the earl be, he awoke several days after the event. Delirious with fever and infection, it had taken several more days after that before he was able to confide in Edward what had taken place.
The earl would have nothing short of killing the young maiden with his own hands.
Some three weeks after the stabbing, the horse the maiden had stolen in order to flee had returned. The gray mare had come galloping in from a northerly direction and they had assumed that must be the direction in which she fled.
They had ridden as far north as they possibly could with no visible sign of her. Of course the many spring rains had washed away any trail she might have left behind. It was pure conjecture on their part in which direction she had gone.
Edward was convinced that either the maiden was dead or she had fled east and was now living quietly in London. He had tried sharing his thoughts with the earl but he could not convince him of it, therefore the search continued. The earl was possessed, consumed with finding her, and that made the ill man unable to think clearly.
Quite frankly, Edward had grown weary of searching for the maiden. He had no desire to return her to the earl if he did find her. He was simply doing what he must until the bastard finally succumbed to his own madness or whatever disease seemed to be attacking his body. Edward told himself that if he ever did run across the maiden, he would probably thank her, if not for actually killing the disgusting man, then for at least speeding up the process.
“Have you men been searching the south?” he demanded.
“Yes sire, we have.” Edward had answered that same question many times before. He hoped the earl did not see the distaste he held for him. It was true that the earl was too sick at the moment to fend off anyone, let alone to bring any type of physical pain to a person. But unfortunately, he was still the Earl of Penrith and certain customs must be maintained.
“Then go west, into the Highlands,” he said fighting back the urge to cough again. “I want that whore found and returned to me. Do you understand Edward? I want to feel her body grow cold as I take the life from it!”
“And what if we find she is dead, sire?” Edward asked.
“Then bring me her bones. I’ll grind them into a fine powder!”
Edward was convinced the earl had gone completely mad. He had even shared his thoughts with the king just days ago. But the king would not make a decision on who should replace the earl; instead the king chose to wait until death finally claimed the man.
“I want every village, every cottage and every castle from here to Ireland searched for her. I want her found and returned to me, do you understand that Edward? And if you come back again, without the whore --dead or alive -- then I shall hang you myself.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The official courting between Duncan and Aishlinn began at sunup the next morning. Duncan had met with Aishlinn outside her bedchamber holding a bouquet of tiny yellow flowers that he had himself picked. He had risen early in order that he might pick them without the scrutiny of his men. The needling and taunting would have been endless. When he gave them to her, she smiled sweetly before turning red. Casting her eyes to the floor she said, “Thank you, Laird McEwan.”
Shaking his head and rolling his eyes be pulled her to him and kissed her. Aishlinn felt as though she were a willow bending in the wind when his lips touched hers. She could not stop the shudder that flooded over her and it took several long moments before she could breathe again.
“That,” he told her as he kissed her forehead, “is the proper way to thank me.”
Aishlinn did not think she would ever have the courage to be so bold as to take a kiss from him. Although she enjoyed receiving his and felt he could kiss her nearly anytime the desire came to him, she was not certain she could ever be the instigator.
He took her hand and placed it upon his arm as he escorted her to the kitchens. “I would like nothin’ more than to spend the day with ye, Aishlinn, but I’ve much work to do this day,” he told her as he gave her hand a slight squeeze. “I trust however that ye’ll not allow anyone else to court ye before I’ve finished my duties,” he said.
She had not realized he was being playful with her. “Duncan! How can you even suggest such a thing?” She asked, horrified that he would even let the thought cross his mind.
Shaking his head and rolling his eyes again, he kissed her sweetly. “Mo chuisle,” he whispered in her ear. She had no idea what he had just said, only knowing that whatever it was, it sounded beautiful coming from his lips. Smiling, she turned from him and stepped into the kitchen to begin her day.
Her smile rarely left her face that morning as she peeled vegetables, washed dishes and swept. Each time she thought of Duncan, her smile would grow broader and when she thought of the kisses they had shared, she’d often turned crimson.
Before the morning was half through Mary had caught on that something was definitely different with Aishlinn. “Aishlinn, what has gotten into ye?” she asked with a knowing smile. “I’ve never seen ye smile so much!”
Aishlinn blushed and said nothing, clamping her lips closed as she peeled more vegetables. She wasn’t sure if it was proper yet to let anyone know that Duncan was courting her. Mary studied her closely for a moment. “’Tis someone yer in love with, isn’t it lass?” Mary said, winking at her. “Love be the only thing that can put a smile like that on a girl’s face. I’ll wager I ken who it is that put it there too!” she said, tossing leeks into a bowl.
Laren, one of the other kitchen workers, had overheard the conversation and came to them, eager to find out more. “Love ye say, Mary?” She looked Aishlinn up and down before pulling a chair to join them. “I think yer right, Mary! Look how the lass smiles so.” She elbowed Mary. “Have ye kissed him yet?” she asked, winking at Mary.
Another flush of red came to Aishlinn, but she was resolved to remain quiet on the matter. Mary and Laren exchanged glances with each other before leaning in closer to Aishlinn. “Ya have kissed him!” Mary exclaimed. “How was it, lass?”
Aishlinn shook her head but could not contain the smile. The kiss was beyond anything she could have imagined but she would not share that thought with anyone. “Och!” Mary said, looking to Laren. “I think Aishlinn be one not to kiss and tell Laren!” The women giggled at each other.
“Who be it lass? Tell us!” Laren asked with eager anticipation. Aishlinn shook her head and tried to concentrate on the task before her. Although it was rather difficult and she really wished she could shout to the world that Duncan was the one who had put the smile on her face, she remained quiet.
“Now, Laren!” Mary said, chastising her. “It’s apparent the lass dunna want to tell us, although I’ve a good suspicion as to who the beasty is,” she said leaning in to her friend and winking at her. She righted herself and looked back at the leeks. “Black Richard be a good man.”
“Nay!” Aishlinn said loudly as she shook her head. She leaned in and whispered, “It isn’t Black Richard!”
Mary knew full well it was Duncan. She was merely having fun pulling the secret from the young woman. “Nay?” she feigned surprise. “But he be such a fine, braw man!” she said, trying to look disappointed.
Aishlinn shook her head again and leaned closer to the women. “It is not Black Richard, Mary.” She looked to the two women unsure if she should trust them with her secret. “I’m not sure if it is proper to say who it is.”
Laren laughed at her. “Lass, whether ye tell us or not, everyone’s bound to figure it out sooner or later. Besides, Mary and I have our suspicions.”
“Yes and your suspicion was wrong when you guessed Black Richard.”
Mary chuckled. “Lass, we know it be Duncan.”
“How did you know?” Aishlinn asked bewildered.
Shaking her head, Mary said, “Och, lass! Everyone be seein’ the way he looks at ye, and ye him.” She raised an eyebrow. “Ya haven’t bedded him yet have ye?”
She blushed at such a notion. “Nay!” Aishlinn said rather offended by the question. “Duncan has been quite honorable in that regard.” Finished with peeling another carrot, she tossed it into the bowl before her. “He wants to court me first.”
“He wants to court ye? Did he tell ye that?” Laren said suspiciously.
“Aye. He asked me if he could.”
Mary looked quite shocked at the news. “My Duncan said he wants to court ye?” Aishlinn nodded her head and wondered why Mary looked so surprised.
“Duncan’s never courted a lass before,” Laren said breathlessly. “Though he has bed many of ’em in his day!” she laughed.
Mary shushed her when she saw the embarrassment in Aishlinn’s face. “Ye’ll be scarin’ the poor thing, Laren! But ye be right, he has bed many and not a one did he court. Must be love he has in his heart for her.”
Aishlinn increased the pace and energy with which she worked so that she might flee this room and these women quickly. The more the women talked the more she worried that there might be only one thing Duncan had in mind and she was not certain she could take it. Could it be he was only going through a courting ritual in order to obtain that which he wanted? Doubt began to creep into her heart with regard to Duncan’s attentions.
Mary read the doubt on Aishlinn’s face. “Lass! Don’t look so forlorn. ’Tis a good thing, him wantin’ to court ye.”
“Aye,” Laren said. “If Duncan’s wantin’ to be takin’ his time to court ye, then it won’t be long before he’s a proposin’.”
“’Tis true.” Mary smiled. “I know me Duncan. Just this winter past I asked him when he was goanna to quit beddin’ lasses and marry one of ’em and settle down.” She smiled across the table at Aishlinn. “He told me, ‘Mary, if ever ye find me a courtin’ one, then ye’ll know she be the one whose stolen me heart. Ye can plan on preparing a marriage feast within a fortnight or two after that’.” She nodded her head to Aishlinn.
Of course, Mary left out the part where Duncan adamantly told her twould never happen for why should he settle for one woman the rest of his life when he can have as many as he wanted. There were far too many young women willing to share his bed, marr
ied to him or not. Mary had worried for a long time that the lad would never settle down.
“I knew it would take a very special lass to settle that lad down!” Mary said with a smile. She looked to Laren. “So I suppose this means we have at least a fortnight or two to plan a marriage feast.”
Aishlinn sat in stunned silence. She had not dared let herself to think, even for the briefest of moments, of the future. He had thrown her completely with his kisses last evening and again this morning, making her knees buckle and her stomach ached with want for him. “Marriage?” she murmured.
“Aye,” said Mary as she eyed Aishlinn. The girl had paled at the thought. “Ye’d marry him if he asked, wouldn’t ye?”
She had been so caught up in the fact that he had kissed her, had told her he wanted her and had wicked thoughts of her. He said nothing of a future.
“Well would ye?” Mary began to wonder if the lass was becoming ill at the notion of marrying Duncan. Perhaps marriage was not on the lass’ mind.
“I don’t know,” Aishlinn whispered. “I had not thought of it.” The truth was she had not allowed herself to think it.
“Och!” Laren said. “Of course she would, Mary!”
Mary studied Aishlinn for a moment. “Maybe it not be the weddin’ of him she’s worried after, that causes her to go pale, but it be the beddin’ him part!” Both women looked at each other before they burst out with more laughter.
Aishlinn’s mouth fell open, embarrassed and shocked that these women would say such a thing. Mary was old enough to be Aishlinn’s grandmother! While Laren was not nearly as old, she had been married for many years and had three children. Aishlinn thought that a mother would know better than to speak of such things.
“Aye, that be it!” Laren said, laughing again when she saw the look of horror on Aishlinn’s face. “She be innocent, ye can see that, can’t ye Mary?”
“Ye’ve not bed a man before, have ye lass?” Mary smiled.
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