My Noble Knight

by Cynthia Breeding

  Deidre pressed his head to her breast, begging him to suck. Obtusely, he flicked his tongue over the tip and then blew cool air on it as he began to ravage the other breast. She wanted to scream in frustration and she didn’t want him to stop. What exquisite torture it was waiting for that moment when he would take it in his mouth and the pressure of the suckling would send a jolt that vibrated to her very core.

  Already she was pulsating there and when he shifted his weight and she felt his velvety steel sword press against the softness of her female sheath, her body shuddered.

  With a growl, Gilead plunged into the hot wetness of her, burying himself to the hilt. Deidre wrapped her legs around his buttocks and arched her back to receive him.

  He thrust wildly, ramming her and grinding himself into her over and over. She clung to him and cried out for more. If he were going to hate her for this, she wanted to at least savor the moment.

  Her body tingled. The thrumming that had begun in her hardened, throbbing nub, built and spread itself like a wave building in momentum, threatening to pull up the very bottom of the ocean into its vast curl as it rushed forward, cresting in an orgasm that wracked her very soul in its intensity. She screamed as her body contracted and erupted, sending the wave crashing back into the turbulent sea of her emotions.

  With a mangled shout of his own, Gilead butted the wall of her womb and she felt the strong spurt of his seed hot and juicy inside her.

  He collapsed on top of her, their bodies sweaty, their wet hair clinging to their faces. Deidre kept her legs locked around his, holding him inside. For a long time, neither of them said a word and the only sound was the rasping of their breath as their hearts slowed.

  Gilead eventually propped himself up and kissed her softly. “There is an oath, Dee, that the Scotti take when they find the one mate they love. If the vow is taken inside a standing circle, it binds them for eternity. Do ye want to take it with me?”

  Deidre looked into his chiseled face, at the sinfully sensual lips that had kissed her with such savage, passionate desire and just now with such gentle caring. She looked into his brilliantly blue eyes, still dilated, but filled with tenderness and love. Feelings that weren’t real because of the woodrowel. He only thought they were. She bit her lip.

  “I cannot.”

  He frowned. “Why not? After this, ye surely doona think I will let ye marry the likes of Niall?”

  Dear Gilead. So gallant, so noble. “You are betrothed, too.”

  He hesitated just a fraction of a second. “I doona think Dallis will be overly disappointed. Somehow, I’ll get Comgall to understand.”

  She smiled and traced the corner of his delectable mouth. He would soon hate her. “You would not be saying these things if you were yourself, Gilead.”

  He grinned. “Who would I be, if not me?”

  Gently, she wiggled out from under him and sat up, bringing her knees to her chin and putting her arms around them. “I slipped something into your wine.”

  He looked puzzled and then the dawn of understanding appeared. “Ye wished to arouse me?” He narrowed his eyes when she didn’t answer. “Ye wanted me to be unfaithful so ye could have yer sport? Is that it?”

  “No!” He was already angry and he didn’t even know the real reason. And she couldn’t tell him. Not if she wanted to have a horse available to her as a means of escape. She desperately needed to escape.

  “What, then?” Gilead demanded and when she just shook her head, he made a disgusted sound and dressed quickly. He gathered up the cups and wineskin. “Since ye’ve had yer fun, ye best get dressed. ’Twill be dark by the time we get home.”

  Deidre tried to keep the tears from brimming over as she hurriedly dressed. She hated having him think she was a wanton who had deliberately lured him into breaking his betrothal vow. She should have stopped him. She stumbled over to Winger and mounted before Gilead could assist her. Not that he looked like he wanted to. She swiped at her eyes and kept her head averted.

  She should have stopped him. But, Goddess help her, it had been good. Somehow, she couldn’t be all that sorry.

  ◊♦◊

  By the Dagda! He was a fool. Gilead shoved the cups and wineskin into the saddlebags. How many times had the Sassenach beguiled him? And now she had spelled him with her witchery. He couldn’t blame the herbs alone for what had taken place. The entire ride over here he had pushed thoughts that they were alone together out of his mind. He had tried not to notice how her golden hair caught the sun or how silky her hair looked as it streamed wildly behind her when they galloped. And the tight trews showed off every delectable curve of her body.

  Gilead cursed silently. She had told him she dinna love him. Said it in so many words. Why could he not comprehend that? And yet she had put those herbs in his wine. She had planned to seduce him. But why? If she had not been a virgin when he had first taken her, he would think that she was a skilled courtesan of the Gaulish court. Her hands alone kindled a fire that set his whole body ablaze. He knew his father would laugh at him for resenting being used—if he ever found out—and tell him to lie back and enjoy it. But Gilead was not his father. The act meant more than just tupping a lass to seek his own release. He wanted it to mean something. He wanted to make love. To Deidre, who wasn’t his.

  The thought of Niall actually having access to Deidre’s naked body did little to settle his temper. And it angered him further that he had not been able to convince his father to break the handfast. He would try again. Whether Deidre loved Gilead or not, she dinna deserve to be doomed to a life with a cruel brute who would beat her into submission. He thought about what Niall had said when they left. He wished he could call the man out, duel with him one-on-one for Deidre’s hand. But he couldn’t champion her while he was betrothed to another.

  He had one foot in the stirrup when the wind stirred the grass and he saw his sash fluttering against one of the standing stones. He’d forgotten it in his haste to get dressed.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  As he approached the circle, the sash caught on the wind and sailed into the circle. Gilead stepped through and bent to retrieve it. For a moment he felt dizzy and when he straightened, his eyes widened in wonder.

  A mist gathered, shielding him from the outside world, and he could barely make out the looming forms of the stones. An eerie silence invaded the place. Birds should have been chirping and he should have been able to hear the horses stomping and the jingle of harness. But there was nothing. Only stillness and a fog so dense he felt as though he were in a cloud.

  The Cromlech began to glow. A subtle light, like a candle behind a shaded window, at first. Then it grew brighter, until its luminescent brilliance overpowered him. He sank to his knees, his arm shielding his face from the radiance.

  “Look, Gilead.”

  The voice, soft and melodious as it was, sounded like thunder in the evasive quiet of the swirling mist. He lowered his arm slowly.

  A maiden with golden-red hair sat on the altar stone, holding something oblong in her hands. Tendrils of fog curled around her with an otherworldly air and obscured his view.

  “Are ye real?” Even as he asked, he knew she wasn’t. He was having some kind of illusionary vision because of those herbs. Or the faerie world really existed and he had walked into it.

  She smiled and held out the object “Seek the gar-al, Gilead.”

  The stillness deepened and a feeling of complete serenity and tranquility washed over him. He blinked. The maiden, dressed in white, blended in with the vapors that danced around her. Whatever the object was, he couldn’t get a clear glimpse of it.

  Gilead tried to think. He was probably temporarily mad, but if this really were the Philosopher’s Stone that Dee sought... He reached out “I will take it to her.”

  The maiden shook her head. “Ye must quest for it”

  “But I’m looking at it…I think.” Even as he said the words, the image faded and the mists lifted, baring the surrounding
landscape to him again.

  He heard Malcolm snuffle even as Deidre called to him. Unsure exactly of what had taken place, he picked up his sash and walked slowly toward his horse.

  Deidre was watching him. “You’ve seen her, haven’t you?”

  He feigned ignorance. “Who? There’s no one here but us.”

  “The woman,” Deidre said. “The one in white with the red-gold hair.”

  Gilead stared at her. If he thought that they were sharing the same illusion, that probably meant that he was completely crazy. Deidre hadn’t been with him in the circle.

  “I’ve seen her too,” Deidre said quietly. “The last time I was here. I told her I was seeking the Stone.” She leaned down in her saddle and put her hand on his shoulder. “Please. What did she say to you?”

  The warmth of Deidre’s hand felt real enough and there was definitely the smell of horse and leather. Birds chirped again and the sun was sinking low in the afternoon sky. He was back in his world. But if Dee had seen the lady too... He took a deep breath. “She said that I must seek the gar-al if I am to help ye.” When Deidre looked puzzled, he added, “‘Gar-al’ means ‘stone cup’ in Gaelic.”

  She knit her brows together. “I’m searching for a Stone, probably a tablet, not a cup. I wonder why she’s said the same thing to both of us.”

  It didn’t make sense to him, either. He shrugged, hoping to appear nonchalant, and vaulted onto his stallion’s back. “I think it would be better if neither of us spoke of this when we get back.” His father would truly think he had gone daft.

  Deidre nodded, but he could see the excitement in her eyes. As they rode along, Gilead tried to tell himself the herbs had taken effect, but he could not deny the feeling of absolute peace that had descended on him when the object—whatever it was—had been extended to him.

  And Deidre...he glanced over at her. She had a look of calm contentment on her face. Whatever he thought of the incident, there was no doubt that Deidre believed it. Now the question was: could he?

  ◊♦◊

  Niall had gone by the time they returned and Deidre gratefully slipped up the back stairs to change hurriedly for dinner. Even so, everyone was already seated by the time she got to the dining hall.

  Formorian glanced from her to Gilead, whose hair was still damp from his quick cleanup, and smiled. Deidre hoped she wouldn’t make one of her pointed comments, since Gilead’s friendship with Deidre was dubious, at best, right now.

  “Did ye have a good ride?” Elen asked as the meat was passed.

  “Yes,” Deidre answered, “we rode to the circle of stones.” She was aware of the quick look Gilead shot her. “It’s interesting to see.”

  “Ye should have taken an escort to ride that far,” Angus said. “Even if we’ve cleared the area of Saxons, there could be highwaymen lurking about.” His dark glance raked over Deidre. “Ye are familiar with that, are ye not?”

  Deidre knew he still didn’t quite believe she might not be a spy. She doubted that Turius had mentioned capturing her guard, for Angus would have made a connection and she wasn’t about to enlighten him now. He’d probably think a Frankish spy as bad a Saxon one. “I felt safe with Gilead, my lord.” When she saw Gilead’s ears turn pink and Formorian grinning at him, she quickly added, “I like to look at old ruins.”

  Angus’s smoke-colored eyes turned darker. “Aye. Ye’ve been digging at the old church, too. What are ye looking for?”

  Deidre inhaled sharply. She had been so careful to slip away unseen. Now that she knew the Stone wasn’t here—and how had her Sight been so wrong?—she still had to keep secret that the Stone was missing. “It’s just a hobby of mine. Once I found an old Roman coin and another time some silver.”

  “And I would think, if ye found the same on my land, it would belong to me.”

  “What harm would it do if Deidre found a coin or two?” Elen asked in a rather strong voice. “Ye have no need of it.”

  Angus looked at her in surprise and Formorian arched an eyebrow, but Elen seemed not to notice. “In fact, I’ve decided I want Deidre to come with me.”

  Deidre didn’t think Elen could have stunned them more if she had suddenly jumped on the table and begun dancing like the biblical Salome. But Deidre was proud of her; Elen’s health had been steadily getting stronger and she doubted Angus had ever expected her to talk back to him at all.

  “And where is it ye want to go?” Angus asked.

  “Eire,” Elen answered. “I want to visit my father.”

  Deidre’s heart leapt. A perfect way to get away from Niall.

  Maybe Elen would help her escape. She felt bludgeoned by Elen’s next words.

  “Eire has the finest lace in the world,” Elen continued and looked at Deidre. “Ye must have some for yer wedding dress, and I’ll order some for Dallis, as well.”

  Angus exchanged a furtive look with Formorian. “When would ye be leaving and how long will ye be gone?”

  Elen glanced at Formorian, too, and then back at Angus. “Not long. The weddings are in ten days. If we leave day after tomorrow, we should be back a good four days before. Enough time for the seamstresses to attach the lace.” She turned to Formorian. “Should Dallis and Comgall arrive before we return, I’m sure ye can entertain her?”

  “I’m sure Gilead can entertain her,” Angus said.

  “Why, nae, husband, he canna.”

  Angus frowned. “And why not? ’Twould be most proper.”

  Deidre almost laughed. Angus had never been concerned with propriety before. If only they knew just how improper Gilead had been...

  “I’m sure it would,” Elen said demurely, “but Gilead will accompany me.”

  Deidre felt her mouth drop open and she quickly closed it. What was Elen about, giving her a chance to spend nearly a week with Gilead?

  Angus’s frown deepened and Gilead looked dismayed. Deidre chewed on her inner cheek. Was he upset with leaving Angus to Formorian’s embraces or was he upset about having to spend time with her? His anger had lessened somewhat after his experience in the circle, but Deidre was only too aware that he still thought she had used him. He was probably the only man in the world who would be offended by that.

  “I’ll send a strong escort with ye, Elen. Ye’ll be well protected. Gilead doona have to go.”

  “He does,” Elen said firmly. “Have ye forgotten my father’s treasury? When Gilead was born, he asked for our pledge that our son would come and choose his own pieces of silver for his bride.”

  Another knifelike pain slashed through Deidre. So Elen wasn’t trying to play matchmaker, after all. And Gilead would be thinking of his bride the whole while.

  Still, she would be going to Eire. Away from here. Away from Niall. Away from the wedding from Hades.

  Angus was quiet for several minutes and Formorian resolutely studied her well-tended fingernails. Finally he nodded. “Ye may take Gilead with ye.”

  In spite of herself, Deidre’s heart quickened and she felt her blood racing through her veins. She could at least spend his last days as a free man with him. Maybe he would even talk his grandfather into letting her stay in Eire. He knew how much she dreaded the thought of being anywhere near Niall, let alone married to him.

  So why was Gilead looking so angry? She knew he hated leaving Angus alone with Formorian, but Turius would be there. They would still have to exercise caution. She looked around. Turius had not put in an appearance at dinner.

  “Where’s the king?” Deidre asked suddenly.

  “Maximilian is stirring up trouble again. This time he’s aiding some Franks who are accusing Turius of harboring a cousin of Childebert’s who’s a fugitive,” Formorian answered, giving Deidre a lingering glance. “A messenger came this afternoon. Turius sent a man to tell Max he wanted to meet with him and then he rode to Luguvalium.”

  Deidre turned pale. So Childebert was still looking for her. Another reason to get to Eire before someone discovered her.

  Elen interrupted
her thoughts. “I was not aware that he had gone.”

  Formorian smiled. “Ye were having yer nap at the time.”

  “When will he return?” Gilead asked sharply.

  Angus gave him a level look, his dark eyes inscrutable. “Not for at least a week.”

  “Then I—”

  “Will go, as your mother wishes,” Angus said.

  Formorian gave Gilead a wide-eyed look and folded her hands sedately in her lap. “Doona fash. We’ll be just fine.”

  Deidre stared at her in amazement. Did she mean she and Angus would really behave themselves or was she openly admitting that they would have a fine time together? Formorian was the perfect picture of respectability at the moment, but Deidre knew there was no innocence in her soul. The woman had dauntless nerve.

  Elen looked like a small, trapped bird, caught between a gyrfalcon and a feral cat. Deidre could almost hear Formorian purring. Poor Elen. If her intent was to help Deidre, she had been outfoxed by her husband once again. Much as Deidre wanted to get away, she must try to mend this.

  “It might be a little late to travel to Eire and back, so close to the wedding date.” Deidre managed to keep her voice from trembling. “I’m sure that Gilead could pick out his silver after the wedding.”

  He threw her a grateful smile. It was a bittersweet victory for her that he wasn’t angry any longer, but was he looking forward to picking out the silver for Dallis? With Dallis? And now, she would have to plan a different escape. But it would be worth it if Elen’s staying home kept Angus and Formorian apart.

  So she was as surprised as everyone else when Elen lifted her head and took a deep breath. “We are going, lass.” She gave Angus a long look. “Gilead must fulfill the rite of passage that his grandfather wished.”

  His pieces of silver. Deidre suddenly felt as betrayed as the Christian Jesus had been. Gilead’s wedding would take place.