My Noble Knight

by Cynthia Breeding

  His grandmother was sounding more intriguing with each thing that Gilead had told her. That her home was really a large cave—well furnished he had assured her—hidden behind a waterfall. Once, long ago, a person wandered far enough into the forest to the Loch—and returned—to tell the story of a young woman who disappeared into the water and presumably drowned. Yet, when someone else made the journey, albeit it on a dare, the maiden had been there again. That girl had been his grandmother.

  Gilead also told her other stories of how mischievous his grandmother had been when she was younger, appearing with a white brachet to startle hunters and then fading into the growth of the forest with no trail to follow. As a child, Gilead told Deidre, his grandmother had found a series of hollows throughout the forest that led to hidden burrows, deserted, at least temporarily, by whatever animal inhabited them. She enjoyed hiding in them and popping out unexpectedly. When Deidre had asked him if she wasn’t scared that the animal might return, he’d grown more serious. She had a way with the forest creatures, he’d said, and Deidre should be prepared to see tame wolves and bears resting alongside hart and hind.

  Deidre broke out of her reverie. “So she’ll be waiting for me when I disembark?”

  Gilead shook his head. “Nae. She’ll not venture as far as the dock. She dislikes the noise and bustle.”

  “Then how will she find me?”

  “Hire a cart man to take ye to the forest. To the edge of it anyway, for few will go farther than that. Doona be afraid. Walk in about ten paces and stand still and listen. Once the birds begin to chirp again, ye’ll hear one that sounds different from the rest. Follow that sound. Doona be surprised if my grandmother seems to appear from nowhere. She’s done it oft to me when I was a bairn.”

  Deidre smiled. “If your grandmother has such a sense of humor, why is your father so stern and intimidating?”

  Gilead thought a moment before he answered her. “Da told me once that when he was learning to fight, the other boys would gang up on him and call him a fey water boy since he lived by the Loch. He had to prove he was stronger than all of them.”

  “His father didn’t live with him?” Deidre asked in surprise.

  “Nae. He had a castle to run in Eire and warriors to keep trained. Twice a year my grandfather would visit my grandmother in the spring when he’d come for my father and take him back to Eire, and in the fall, before the winter turned, to bring him back. The only way my grandmother would agree to that relationship was if she didn’t have to give up her home.”

  “She sounds like a unique woman,” Deidre said quietly. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

  “Aye. She’ll like ye, too,” Gilead said. “Ye remind me of her sometimes. Ye’re willing to dream of what no one else will.”

  The captain returned and almost succeeded in wiping the smile off his face. “Sorry to interrupt, but the boatswain has spotted a ship to port. Another galley.”

  “Pirates?” Gilead asked as he got up.

  “Too far off to tell,” the man said, “but I’ve altered course and let out more sail. Ye’d best come forward.”

  “Wait!” Deidre called after them as they started off. Gilead turned around.

  “So I’ll know...what’s your grandmother’s name?”

  “Vivian. I’ve got to go.” With a wave of his hand, he followed the captain.

  It couldn’t be. Deidre’s skin tingled like a thousand needles had pricked her skin. The old magician’s book had mentioned Vivian. But so much of what had been written in The Book didn’t exist. There was no Camelot or King Arthur. The dreams of knights in shining armor rescuing damsels in distress were a far cry from anything she’d experienced, much as she wanted to believe in that perfect world. But the name of Vivian...it couldn’t be true. Was Gilead’s grandmother really the Lady of the Loch?

  ◊♦◊

  The seas had calmed considerably by the time they spotted the shores of Dumbarton early the next morning. The captain had kept them close-hauled all night, hoping to outrun the other ship, and his ruse worked, for there was naught but a line of blue upon deeper blue on the horizon. Whatever the ship had been, it was gone now.

  Deidre had no chance to ask Gilead further questions about his grandmother, for he stayed with the captain throughout the night. Elen had seemed distraught when Deidre asked her, so she’d dropped the subject.

  Deidre had trouble hiding her excitement, though, as the sailors started to lower the sail and the rowers took their places to bring the ship alongside the pier. Not only was she going to escape Niall, once and for all, but she might just be venturing into the real truth from The Book. She began to feel light-headed, a sure sign that something was lurking at the edge of her consciousness.

  Gilead joined her by the rail. “I think ye’re in luck,” he said. “Two ships in dock and they both look like they’re preparing to sail. Ye just wait here until I make arrangements and I’ll come back for ye.”

  The ship thumped against the pilings and threw Deidre into Gilead’s arms. She felt his arms tighten around her momentarily and his lips brushed her forehead lightly. “I love ye, Deidre. Ye know that.”

  She wanted to cling to him and never let go. What a bittersweet moment. To be safe, she had to part from him. “I love you, too, Gilead.”

  Elen joined them, a worried look on her face as the gangplank was lowered. “I doona think yer plan will work, Gilead.”

  “Mother, we’ve talked this through. What’s important is Deidre will be safe. I’ll face Da’s wrath.”

  “It’s not yer father that is the problem,” she answered and pointed. “Look.”

  Deidre turned her head and her blood turned to ice, freezing her to the spot. Standing on the dock, looking up at them with an evil, twisted grin, stood Niall.

  “Welcome back,” he said.

  ◊♦◊

  “Mmmm,” Formorian murmured as her last bit of clothing fell to the floor in her chamber and Angus dipped his dark head to lap at a nipple. She arched into him and threw her head back, exposing her throat.

  He nibbled his way up her neck, his hard phallus pressed firmly into the soft roundness of her belly as he sidled toward her bed. “I like these midday delights.”

  Formorian rubbed her breasts against his bare chest and sucked his lower lip into her mouth. He caught her upper lip with his and for a moment she challenged him before he claimed her, their tongues frantically entwined. Angus’s large hands caressed the silkiness of her skin, kneading her buttocks and drawing her closer. With a contented sigh, she ran her fingers over the smooth, hard muscles of his shoulders and then laced her fingers through his hair, pressing the kiss deeper.

  The sound of horses’ hooves approaching the gate interrupted them. Angus lifted his head to listen. “That must be the escort Niall took to bring Deidre home.”

  “And Elen.” Formorian leaned back from him, but kept her arms linked around his neck. “Shall we get dressed?”

  “Nae. She’ll think me working somewhere and go straight upstairs to rest. Sailing tires her.” He turned his attention back to Formorian and nudged the juncture of her thighs with his cock. “Unless ye doona want this.”

  Formorian purred deep in her throat and lifted a thigh to wrap around him. Angus caught it and gently pushed it down, causing a look of surprise to flit across her face.

  “Not that way today,” he said as he encircled her waist with his hands and turned her around. “Bend over for me and hold unto that bedpost.”

  Formorian chuckled and bent low, thrusting her rump up, but Angus merely leaned over her and cupped the fullness of her hanging breasts, squeezing them gently and rolling the nipples between forefingers and thumbs. She closed her hands over his and pressed. “Harder.”

  Angus placed her hands back on the bedpost. “Doona let go of that again or I’ll stop what I’m doing.”

  She groaned. “Ye know I can’t bear to be still.”

  “I know it well,” he whispered in her ear an
d resumed his slow torture of her engorged, needy breasts. “’Tis why I ask it.”

  Formorian gasped as his warm, velvet tongue licked broad strokes down her spine, one hand now sliding down her ribs and across her belly while the other still teased her breast.

  “Spread yer legs for me, Mori. Wider.”

  She began to pant when a probing finger dipped into the hot, wet well of her womanhood and then spread that juice between her folds and began to circle her nub. His fingers flicked expertly over its tautness, then massaged the nether lips in flat strokes, returning to inflict more pleasure at her throbbing center. She bucked wildly against his hand, mewling softly as she felt the tip of his shaft at her entrance.

  Angus quickened his finger movements, not sparing the wildly pulsating nib a second of respite. With his other hand, he pulled on her nipple the way she liked and was rewarded to feel her trembling as her body began the rippling shudder that culminated in a giant contraction as she screamed out.

  He drove himself into her, then, taking her hard and deep with strong thrusts. Formorian gasped again and held to the post while her hips undulated against his thighs, matching his fierce plundering of her body with an intensity of her own. Her body convulsed again in a series of spasms as he ground into her with a feral growl and released his seed.

  Totally sated, Angus leaned over her again, his head resting on her back, hands cupping her breasts softly. Formorian clung to the post, her head down between her arms, wet hair hanging loose, while she took in great gulps of air. Neither of them heard the door open.

  “Mayhap I should come back,” Turius said.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  DOOM

  Deidre clutched the rail and stared down at the wharf where Niall stood. “Dear God, what am I going to do?” She gave Gilead a wild-eyed look. “Can we turn the ship around? The men are still aboard...”

  But it was too late. Even as the last lines were cleated, the heavy gangplank was lowered and Niall sprang onto it, coming aboard.

  “This is the last time ye’ll be going anywhere without me.” He grabbed her arm and glowered at Gilead. “Ye’ll be leaving my wife alone.”

  “She’s not yer wife yet,” Gilead answered with a steady look. “And she doesna look too happy to be a bride, either.”

  Deidre jerked her arm away from Niall. “Why are you here?”

  He smiled sardonically. “I wanted to be sure my...property...arrived at its proper destination. I dinna want anything happening to ye.”

  She glared at him. “Gilead has enough men to protect his mother and me.”

  He gave her a cold-eyed stare. “I dinna want ye getting... lost, if ye know my meaning. I canna marry ye if ye were not to make it home.”

  Merde. How had he known? Or was it just a lucky guess? Deidre lifted her head and walked past him, down the gangplank and over to where Winger waited patiently. Angry as she was, Deidre softened a little as the gelding nickered a welcome. She stroked the satiny coat. “It’s good to see you too, boy.”

  “Ye’ll ride beside me,” Niall said as he approached her and offered a leg up.

  Deidre ignored him, thankful that Winger wasn’t as huge a horse as Malcolm. Once mounted, they set off at a brisk pace, leaving the lumbering wagons behind with some of Gilead’s men.

  Deidre stole a furtive glance back over her shoulder at Gilead. He was looking almost as miserable as she felt. Their plans were foiled—there would be no possible way of getting back to Dumbarton to catch a ship—and all because of this lecherous oaf who rode beside her.

  “Ye might be looking a bit more cheerful,” the oaf said. “Ye’ll be my bride in three days.”

  She looked at him sullenly. “I don’t want to marry you.”

  He shrugged, seemingly unfazed, but she noticed that his fist tightened on his reins. Deidre knew that it wasn’t wise to make him angry, but at the moment she didn’t care. She had only seventy-two hours to escape. Somehow.

  Elen had said she’d talk to Angus one more time and Deidre had felt a ray of hope from the determination in her voice. Clearly, being at her father’s had given Elen a renewed strength of will, but as they drew nearer the castle, Deidre could see Elen retreating back into her timid self. Damn the laird. Why could he not be brought down a peg or two and realize what he was doing to others around him?

  Gilead nudged his horse forward, abreast of hers. “Looks like Turius has returned,” he said as they rode through the gates.

  Deidre hardly noticed the extra twenty or so horses that were being unsaddled. Then she frowned. “I thought he was going to the south of Britain to meet his son.”

  “Nae. Turius summoned Maximilian to come to Luguvalium. I wonder how it went...” He broke off as a grim-looking Turius came out of the Great Hall and headed for the stables in long, hard strides. “Apparently, not well. He doona look happy.”

  They dismounted and handed their horses over to the waiting stable boys. Elen was climbing the steps to the Hall when the door burst open and Angus rushed through, nearly toppling her. Gilead caught her and glared at his father. “Have a care!”

  Angus hardly glanced at any of them as he hurried toward the barn. Deidre opened her mouth to comment and then closed it again at an almost imperceptible shake of Gilead’s head. Niall was staring after Angus with open curiosity on his face. Gilead was right to stay silent. Whatever was wrong, it wasn’t any of Niall’s business.

  “I’ll take you up to your rooms,” Deidre said to Elen.

  Deidre wondered where Formorian was as they went through the entrance and into the back hall that led to the guest rooms and the stairs. It was unusually quiet, except for the distant sound of pots and pans banging in the kitchen. If Meara was in one of her rages, no wonder no servants were about.

  Deidre got Elen settled and was about to brave the downstairs in search of Una and a hot bath for Elen when the castellan burst through the doors.

  “Aye, and it’s glad I am to see ye home, Lady Elen,” she said as she swooped in like a great grey hawk and gathered the fragile woman in her large arms. “Things will be just fine now. They will.”

  Deidre knitted her brows. “Has something happened?”

  Una glared at her. “Nothing that’s any of yer business. ’Tis a family matter. There, there,” she said to Elen as she started to speak. “Doona fash yerself. I’ll fetch ye a hot bath and then ye should rest from yer long trip.”

  As she left, she muttered to Deidre. “The lady is not to leave this room. Ye stay with her until ye’re summoned. Do ye hear me?”

  Deidre nodded, puzzled. If Elen needed protecting, she would do it. From what, she didn’t know, but she was more than happy to stay hidden away from Niall. She picked up the fragile, hand-bound Bible that Elen kept beside her bed.

  “Shall I read to you?”

  Elen sank down in the great chair by the window and nodded, her face pale.

  Deidre sat down across from her and carefully opened the book. “The Gospel of John, Chapter Eight. ‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone...’ Does this sound good to you?”

  Elen closed her eyes. “I fear it may be appropriate.”

  ◊♦◊

  Gilead finished fastening the brooch to his sash as he slipped into the chair beside his mother. His father hated for anyone to be late for the evening meal. Gilead squared his shoulders to take the verbal rebuke, but Angus just looked at him mildly and cut some slices of capon for his mother.

  He was grateful that his father was paying attention to her, for he needed to think. His wedding—and Deidre’s to Niall— was in three days. Comgall and Dallis would be arriving on the morrow. He knew he didn’t love Dallis, although, docile as she was, life would be tolerable. Boring, more like. She had none of the fire and spirit that Deidre had. Deidre...he had failed miserably in his plan to help her escape. There must still be something he could do. Had to do, to keep Niall from hurting her.

  He let his gaze wander to one of the lower tabl
es where Deidre sat with Niall. She was hunched over her trencher, arms close to her sides, as though she was trying to curl herself into a ball well away from Niall. Gilead watched in disgust as Niall took a long draw on his tankard and then slammed it down on the wooden table, bellowing for more. He lurched toward Deidre, hand reaching to turn her face to him, but she shrugged him off and pushed his hand back with her shoulder. He fisted a hand and Gilead saw the look of anger flash in his not-quite-drunken face, but he must have remembered where he was because he slithered a look at the high table. Gilead stared him down and he sat back, muttering.

  Gilead lost his appetite. If he were a free man and not betrothed, he could call Niall out. Challenge him for Deidre’s hand. But there was Dallis. To call off the wedding when some of her clansmen had already arrived and were camped outside the walls would tarnish her honor. Comgall would have every right to go to war with Cenel Oengus. Just then he noticed Niall’s hand lecherously reaching for Deidre’s thigh and saw her shift her weight away. By the Dagda! He must halt this. Gilead took a deep breath. War or not, he would speak to Dallis and her father on their arrival. And then he would prepare to face his father’s fury.

  He glanced at his father. Angus was being unusually attentive to Elen. Had he actually missed her? Looking at his mother, he noticed that she was paler than usual and seemed about ready to burst into tears. Why? Formorian, for once, wasn’t vying for Angus’s attention. His mother should be happy.

  His gaze slipped to Formorian. She was uncommonly subdued this evening and Turius had not lost the grim look from earlier in the day. Even her attempts at drawing her husband into a conversation were met with silence. Gilead saw a small look of annoyance flit across her perfect face and wondered what had happened that both men would ignore her.

  Then, suddenly his blood chilled and he knew. What he had feared and what he had tried to prevent for the last several years had happened. Angus and Formorian had been caught. In the act, judging from Turius’s demeanor.