My Noble Knight

by Cynthia Breeding

Angus’s voice was surprisingly calm when he spoke. “There are things between us ye would not understand and I wilna explain them to ye. If ye continue to chase after the lass’s skirts, knowing she be handfasted, ye’ll be as big a hypocrite as ye think me.” He spurred his horse forward, leaving Gilead sprayed with muddy droplets.

  Gilead stared after him. What he had done was wrong; he knew that. But he still wanted Deidre. Wanted to taste her again, to feel himself clenched by that powerful, warm wet contraction. Lust for someone he couldn’t have was a horrible thing, but God help him, he wanted Dee—needed to be with her—again. Even if she was angry with him. He would find a way to win back her favor. Forget Niall. Forget if it meant war.

  He had prided himself on controlling his emotions, of staying within his own self-made boundaries. Dee had brought down those walls last night, taken away the defenses he was so proud of.

  Didn’t his mother’s priest say, “Pride goeth before a fall?” Well, he had fallen hard. With a growing sense of mortification, he realized he had become what he always feared. He was as bad as his father.

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE PROPOSAL

  Angus leaned back against Formorian’s silk bed pillows the day after they returned and fisted a handful of the fiery curls that spread across his belly. “Ye bolted the door?”

  “Uh-huh,” she murmured as she cupped his ballocks with one hand and alternated squeezing them lightly and kneading them harder. She bumped her buttocks against his shoulder and he groaned as her hot mouth covered the end of his erect shaft. Her tongue began to tease the rim of his head in spiraling circles. His cock jerked and Angus felt the telltale drop spurt. Obligingly, Formorian took him deeper into her mouth.

  Swiveling her hips, Angus lifted a thigh and buried his head between her legs, his tongue thrusting deep inside her. She began to tremble as he spread her juices over her core and sucked on the nub. Her mouth and hands were working him frantically now, driving them both into a frenzy. His tip touched the back of her throat and he plunged his tongue into her damp, warm center once more. Her body gave a great shudder as she came, and he reveled in the muscles contracting around his tongue. With a groan, he released his own need and felt her swallow.

  “Thank ye,” he whispered as she nestled against his shoulder a short time later. “I always like it when ye do that.”

  Formorian looked up and gave him a wicked smile. “We’ve naught but started. Turius won’t be back for hours.” She ran a hand through his hair. “What would ye like me to do next?”

  Angus sighed and took her hand. “Not today.”

  “What’s wrong, love?”

  He sighed again and tugged her toward him, laying her head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her. “It’s Gilead.”

  “What of him?” she asked as she nuzzled his neck.

  “The lad has gone and tupped Deidre.”

  Formorian raised her head to look at Angus. “He told ye that?”

  “Nae. He dinna have to. It was in his eyes.”

  She rolled off Angus and sat up against the headboard. “Well, ’tis natural, I suppose. With the excitement of rescuing her and then being chased and finally getting to safety... It’s what any young, red-blooded man would do.”

  Angus pushed himself up, too. “Aye. But Gil thinks differently than most. He barely notices the lasses who all but throw themselves on the ground in front of him. If I didn’t know he paid silver coin to a woman or two in the village, I’d worry about him.”

  “Then mayhap it was time for him to find out what a lass will do willingly, without being paid,” Formorian said as she brushed her fingers along Angus’s cheek.

  Angus kissed her fingertips. “That’s what I’m afraid of, Mori. He has that strange sense of honor; he’ll think he’s responsible for her now.”

  “She’s handfasted to Niall.”

  “I pointed that out to him,” Angus said drily.

  “And?”

  “He told me he wouldna let her marry the man.”

  Formorian’s eyebrows rose. “Niall will never let her go. It will mean war.”

  “I told Gilead that, too. He said he dinna care.”

  She grew thoughtful. “Do ye suppose he loves her? Really, I mean?”

  “Bah!” Angus said. “Why would he? Half the time, they avoid each other like the plague. Nae. It’s just...” His voice trailed off and he stared into space.

  “It’s just what?” Formorian asked curiously when Angus grew pensive.

  Angus grinned suddenly and turned to her. “I know what the lad needs. ’Tis simple.”

  “I know that gleam in yer eye, Angus. If ye mean to set a different wench at his door every night until he forgets the episode with Deidre, I doona think it’ll work.”

  He shook his head. “It wouldna. That’s why I’ll set just one.”

  Formorian looked puzzled. “One?”

  “Aye. If Gilead were married, he’d turn that sense of duty to his wife and not Deidre. Ye remember the council meeting where Comgall mentioned that his daughter was of marriageable age?”

  Her look turned to one of wariness. “Aye. And Gilead ignored it.”

  Angus shrugged. “’Twould be a good alliance. Worse matches have been made.”

  “But what if Gilead doona want to marry her?”

  “To hear Comgall tell, the lass is a beauty. Gilead needs to marry someday to beget an heir. Comgall is a powerful laird. Why wait?”

  “I can think of a few reasons,” Formorian said.

  “Ah, Mori, doona fight me on this,” Angus said as his fingers caressed the side of her breast lightly. “I’ll send a messenger this afternoon. If Comgall doona completely agree with me, I’ll drop it. I swear.” He leaned down and licked her nipple with the flat of his tongue, causing a satisfying quiver in her. “Let’s not argue.”

  Formorian slipped down and under him and pressed his head against her breast. “No argument from me, Angus. But Gilead will be a different matter.”

  “Leave Gilead to me,” he growled and slipped a thigh between her legs.

  “Gladly. We’ve spent too much time talking about him already,” she answered and then smiled as she wrapped her legs around Angus’s waist. “Now, tell me what I want to hear.”

  He entered her slowly, allowing her to savor each inch of him. Formorian sighed and tilted her head back, exposing her throat to him. He nipped sharply once, lapping the tiny drop of blood onto his tongue and letting her taste it. “Blood unto blood... ye are mine for eternity.”

  ◊♦◊

  To Deidre’s relief, Angus sent Gilead to Lothian to alert the king to Ida’s location. It spared her the embarrassment of seeing him and remembering how naïve she had been during their lovemaking. If only she’d known what to do. For one wild, crazy moment, she even considered asking Formorian...

  This was the fourth morning she’d been back and, as she looked out her window, she saw Gilead riding through the gates. So he was home. She’d better make her time with Elen short because he would be sure to visit.

  She was picking up Elen’s breakfast dishes when Angus walked in. He set the customary wine in front of Elen and Deidre excused herself to take the tray down.

  “Stay,” he said.

  For a moment, Deidre bristled under that commanding tone. She wasn’t a dog, after all. But Elen was nearly cringing and Deidre couldn’t leave her like that.

  “Sit.”

  Really. Did he want her to bark next? Why did the man have to be so domineering? She considered defying him, but couldn’t see what good it would do, other than to be personally satisfying. With a lift of her head, she sat back down.

  “I’ve news,” Angus said, “that should please ye, wife.”

  Elen looked disconcerted. “News?”

  “Ye’ve wanted a grandson, nae?”

  Deidre started. How could he know she was with child? She didn’t even know; it was far too early to tell. Then she felt the blood drain out of her face. Was so
me other woman with Gilead’s child?

  Angus’s dark gaze swept her face and then he turned back to Elen. “Gilead is four-and-twenty. ’Tis past time for the lad to wed and produce offspring to carry on.”

  Deidre felt the blood rush back into her face as though a geyser had sprung from somewhere. Had Gilead told his father what happened? And Angus was actually going to allow her to marry him? She was soiled goods as far as Niall would be concerned. It was the honorable thing to do, after all. Her face grew even hotter as hope plunged to shame and despair. If she hadn’t pleased Gilead in bed, she didn’t want him to marry her because of duty. Then the thought of his hands on her, where his tongue had gone and what... what he’d done to her with his manhood...she shivered slightly. Perhaps she could make him love her. She would learn to please him. Do whatever he wanted. She’d even ask Formorian if she had to.

  “The messenger got back at dawn. Comgall agreed,” Angus was saying.

  Comgall? The laird to the west of Niall? What were they talking about? Deidre chided herself for letting her imagination take over again. Daydreaming when she should be paying attention.

  “And what of Gilead?” Elen asked weakly.

  “I’ll talk to him later,” Angus answered and looked at Deidre evenly. “Doona ye agree, lass?”

  “I...” She gulped, wishing she had heard everything Angus had said. She planted a smile. “Yes, my lord.”

  Angus cocked an eyebrow at her and then nodded at Elen. “Ye’ll need to have the two best rooms prepared. Comgall will be bringing Dallis for a get-acquainted visit within a few days.” He grinned, obviously pleased with himself. “The soldier said Comgall was so eager for this arrangement, he was ready to come back with my escort, but Dallis needed time to pack.” Whistling, he went to the door.

  Deidre sat quietly, holding her hands tightly together to keep them from trembling as the full impact of his words drove into her brain. Angus had arranged a marriage for his son. It was done all the time. She should have known the laird would never let his only heir marry a woman of unsure parentage and no wealth. If only she could tell him! And now, this girl was coming here and Deidre had no doubt that once Dallis looked at Gilead she would fall madly in love with him. What woman wouldn’t? She didn’t want to be here to see that. She had to get away. Now.

  “Would you excuse me, Lady Elen?”

  “Certes.” Elen reached over and took her cold hand. “Are ye ill? Brena should be here in a few moments with my potion. Shall I send her to ye?”

  Deidre shook her head, hardly trusting her voice. “No. I—I just need to rest a bit. I...I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  Elen nodded. “Go, then. I shall be fine.”

  “Thank you.” Deidre forced herself to walk out the door and not run. This had to be the worst news she had ever heard, other than being handfasted to Niall. Just a few more steps down the hall. Turn a corner. Her room was close. She would make it.

  She heard Gilead’s steady tread on the stairs. There wasn’t any way she could face him, now. She sprinted the last few steps and slipped through her door, closing it softly just as Gilead’s boots turned the corner. He had not seen her, thank goodness.

  Then she threw herself on her bed and wept her rage silently into the pillow until the feathers were flat and sodden. Her fists pounded into the soft mattress and she wished with all her heart that it was Angus’s hard body she was hitting.

  ◊♦◊

  Her eyes burned, the tear ducts dried up, and still her body heaved in noiseless sobs. The sun had risen high in the sky and she sat hunched in the window seat, her arms hugging her knees, and stared woodenly down at the bailey, seeing nothing.

  Surely, Gilead would not agree to this preposterous proposal. Not after their night together. She worried her lip, remembering how somber he’d looked the next morning, like he regretted ever touching her.

  How could Angus be so cruel? Could he really force Gilead to marry? She sighed. Yes, he could. He was forcing her to marry Niall, even when he knew what a drunken sod the man was. Well, that wouldn’t happen. One way or another.

  Her door burst open and she looked up to see a distraught Una. Her impeccable snowy apron had streaks of brown on it and her steel grey hair, always tightly knotted in a bun, had loosened, allowing wisps to stand off from her head.

  “What is it?” Deidre asked uneasily.

  “Lady Elen,” Una answered with a crack in her voice. “Someone’s tried to poison her again.”

  Deidre flew off the bench and rushed past the housekeeper. This was her fault! She should have stayed with Lady Elen. Sheila had claimed to be ill this morning and Janet had been sent to gather herbs. Elen should never have been left alone. Hadn’t she told Gilead she’d protect his mother?

  Brena was already in the room, holding the basin beneath a gagging Elen. She lay curled up on her side, clutching her stomach, her head hanging over the side of the bed.

  “What happened, lady?” Deidre asked as she wrung out a cloth and pressed it to Elen’s forehead.

  Elen sank bank into her pillow and closed her eyes for a moment. “I...was feeling fine. Janet returned and showed me the basket of herbs she’d collected.” She gestured toward the frightened girl huddled in the corner. “I crushed a bit of snakeroot into my wine to sooth my stomach.” Elen looked up at Deidre and managed a weak smile. “I fear I ate too many of those delicious figs this morning. Angus should never have bought them.”

  Angus. Could he really be trying to poison his own wife so he could be with his leman? After hearing how coldly and ruthlessly he could ruin Gilead’s life, Deidre began to believe it. But she’d had several of those figs this morning, even though Meara would probably have beaten her if she’d known that even one of those expensive imported tidbits had gone to a maid. Elen had insisted on sharing, and Deidre tasted her food, anyway. The only thing she hadn’t done, because she was too upset to think, was drink any of the wine Angus brought.

  She narrowed her eyes. Where was he, anyway? Every time something happened to Elen, he was conveniently away. She turned to Janet, who was still cowering, as though, somehow, this was her fault.

  “Go and find the laird. Search all the rooms if you must. Bring him here.” Surprisingly, Janet didn’t protest. Deidre watched as she scurried away, wondering if the girl would find him with Formorian. She hadn’t been seen, either. Interesting.

  ◊♦◊

  Gilead looked at his father incredulously. “Ye did what?”

  Angus turned away from the solar window. “Ye heard me. I arranged for ye to marry Dallis.”

  Gilead clenched his fists and then unclenched them. “Doona ye think I can pick my own wife?”

  “Mmmm. And who would that be? Deidre?”

  “Mayhap.”

  Angus snorted. “She be handfasted to Niall. Understand that, once and for all. It wilna be undone.” He held up a hand as Gilead started to protest. “Even if she weren’t, she wouldna suit.”

  A muscle twitched in Gilead’s jaw. “I think I can decide that.”

  His father’s voice barely concealed his growing anger. “She is not Scotti. We doona really know where she comes from or who she is.”

  If his father only knew. Deidre was more than well-matched for him. But he had promised to keep her secret. “I doona care about her past. I’ve taken her maidenhead. Niall will beat her for it. I want to do the honorable thing.”

  Exasperated, Angus slammed down the wine cup he’d been holding, sloshing the watered contents onto the polished oak table. “Ye tupped her, son. That is all. Men tumble wenches every day. Did she fight ye? I wager not. Did she like it? I wager she did. Was she good? Aye...or ye’d not be so besotted.” He turned and started pacing. “If it werena Niall she is bound to...if I didna need him as ally, I’d say go ahead and have yer fill of her. Rut until ye be raw. ’Twould get her out of yer head.”

  “Rutting hasna gotten Formorian out of yer head, has it, Da?”

  Angus swung back, hi
s eyes stormy. “I’ve told ye, I wilna speak of it. Mori and I made a pact...” Suddenly, he reached for the wine and took a huge swallow.

  Gilead’s eyes widened. “Ye took the Oath? The one that binds for eternity?”

  Conflict played across Angus’s face and then he set the goblet down. “Aye,” he said more quietly. “Now ye know. We’ll speak no more of it.”

  “But—”

  “No more.” Angus’s voice was dangerously flat and low.

  Gilead bit back a retort. He’d seen what happened to men who ignored that tone. So his poor mother never had a chance, and Turius probably never did, either. From time beyond Time, and long before the Christians had entered their lands, priestesses had held the Mysteries, much like the secret of the Stone that the magician had taken from Deidre’s people. His own grandmother had imparted the knowledge of the love-binding oath, woven from the ancient magics of Brocéliande. But it only worked if the two people were truly each other’s soul’s mate. He sighed, knowing he could not change that.

  “I canna marry Dallis.”

  “Certes, ye can,” Angus said. “The lass is quite comely and Comgall well pleased. I need not remind ye what gross insult it would be for ye to turn down a well-matched offer. And do I need to remind ye that Comgall’s lands border Fergus? If he were to turn against us, Niall would most like follow, weasel that he is. Cenel Oengus would be overrun. Even Turius’s Roman-trained legions couldn’t hold back three powerful cenels and the Saxons.” He paused and studied Gilead’s face. “Sometimes a man—or a woman—has to think beyond what he wants and do what he must.”

  Gilead knew his father was thinking of the sacrifices he and Formorian had made and the risks they still took, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Just the opposite. If Turius ever decided to acknowledge what his siren wife did behind his back and wage war himself, the Scotti would have to stay united to stand even a chance of survival. Gilead knew he would lead the clan one day and he knew, too, that he must marry and produce heirs. His father’s logic was solid; marriages were arranged all the time. He had just hoped he could choose a woman he would love. Maybe if he hadn’t met Dee—had left her alone and untouched—he could stomach this. But he couldn’t change what he had done. Somehow, he must get Comgall to understand. A rapid knock on the door interrupted them. Angus flung it open and Janet nearly fell into the room. “Come quickly,” she gasped, out of breath from the stairs, “someone has tried to harm Lady Elen.”