My Noble Knight

by Cynthia Breeding

  Dallis nodded and wiped a tear from her eye.

  Comgall turned to Angus and gave a slight shrug. “It seems we fathers have been bested on this.”

  Angus was silent while he studied Gilead and then glanced at Dallis and Drustan. Finally, he nodded. “Ye have my permission, as well.”

  Almost giggly now, Dallis looked up at Drustan, her eyes luminous as she fit her small hand into his and repeated her vows—to the right man—firmly.

  And then it was Deidre’s turn.

  Niall grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him.

  “Not so fast,” Gilead said.

  “Get out of my way, lout.”

  “Nae.” Gilead removed his gauntlet and threw it on the floor in front of Niall. “I am free to challenge ye for Deidre’s hand, now. I’m calling ye out.”

  Niall’s eyes narrowed and his hand went to his sword hilt. “Ye miserable cur, I’ll kill ye where ye stand.”

  The priest blanched and clasped the edge of the altar. “This is a house of God!”

  “Outside,” Gilead said.

  Niall sneered at him and pushed Deidre out of the way as he stalked down the aisle into the bright sunshine of the kirk yard.

  Guests poured out of the church and a throng formed around the two men as they drew their swords and began circling each other warily. Niall lunged suddenly, but Gilead sidestepped him and his momentum sent him crashing into one of the onlookers, who pushed him back into the circle. Several ladies tittered.

  Gilead waited for him to return to guard position. Furious, Niall thrust, cutting low. Gilead parried and did a quick riposte, driving Niall backward. The crowd parted for them. Niall thrust again and this time they engaged, flats of swords pressed against each other until Gilead broke away. He feinted left and Niall cut left, giving Gilead enough time to step forward and draw first blood. The crowd cheered.

  Enraged, Niall bellowed like a bull and lunged again. Gilead met his blows with agility, light on his feet and moving the older man in circles. Niall began to pant heavily, his movements slowing.

  “Do ye yield?” Gilead asked as he disengaged from Niall’s blade.

  “Never! Ye’ll rot in hell before I give up that bitch!”

  Several people booed and some of Niall’s men began to slink away from the outer circle of the fight.

  “Fight on, then,” Gilead said grimly.

  Niall feinted and as Gilead moved to counter him, the ball of his foot caught on a loose cobble. For a mere second, he unbalanced.

  It was all Niall needed. He leaped onto Gilead, plunging his sword into his groin. Gilead dropped to one knee, blood gushing down his upper thigh. Niall pushed him to the ground, deliberately grinding dirt into the open wound. Gilead gasped in pain and went still. Niall laughed and stood, holding his dripping sword high. “She’s mine now!”

  He never saw the dirk flashing through the air from Deidre’s hand, finding its target directly in his heart.

  ◊♦◊

  “Ye are exhausted, lass,” Angus said quietly. “I’ll watch him for a while.”

  Deidre shook her head stubbornly, almost too tired to hold it up as she sat beside Gilead’s bed. He had passed out from loss of blood and, for the past two days, had lain in a feverish semicoma in the infirmary, due to festering. The medic had said only time would tell if he would regain enough strength to recover. The wound had sliced through muscles and nearly severed an artery.

  “I want to be the first person he sees when he wakes up.”

  “If he sees ye half dead yerself, what good will that do him?” Angus asked as he started to lift her out of her chair.

  “Doona...do...that...” Gilead moaned.

  Deidre bent over him, her hand caressing his cheek. “You’re awake!”

  “Aye.” He groaned again. “My leg feels afire.”

  “Ye’ve a nasty wound,” Angus said. “With no healer, it festered.”

  “I told the medic to stuff the wound with sphagnum moss to draw out the infection, but he wouldn’t let me apply it myself,” Deidre said as she brushed Gilead’s hair off his forehead. She wasn’t about to tell him that, when she’d tried to convince the medic that she’d seen male anatomy before, he’d said the damage was not a pretty sight and he only hoped Gilead would still be able to use his manhood.

  Gilead managed a wan smile. “Something’s down there. I can feel it.” He tried to move his leg and winced in pain.

  “Lie still,” Deidre said.

  Gilead closed his eyes and then snapped them open. “I lost the fight. Are ye...are ye wed to Niall?”

  “Nae,” Angus said, “the bastard dinna fight fair. You were right. I should ne’r have trusted him.”

  Gilead looked relieved and then he frowned. “Will there be war, ye think?”

  Angus’s mouth twitched. “Not unless the man rises from the depths of hell.”

  “He’s dead?” Gilead asked. “I’d ne’r have thought I’d wounded him badly.”

  “Ye dinna,” Angus replied, trying not to grin. “Yer bonny lass put a dirk through him, straight and true to his heart.”

  Gilead’s eyes widened as he looked at Deidre. She grasped his hand. “I thought he’d killed you. I don’t really remember doing it... I only saw the dirk leave my hand.”

  Angus nodded. “The fighting frenzy. It emboldens some men in battle, giving them the strength of a dozen.” He looked at her with something like respect or maybe even admiration. “Formorian was right, then, when she told me we could make a warrior out of ye.”

  Deidre shuddered. “No, thanks. I don’t want to do any more killing.” She paused and lifted her chin. “But I’m not sorry he’s gone.”

  “Aye. He wilna be missed by most. His men have already pledged their allegiance to me,” Angus said. “The priest took his body back to Lugaid and will explain what happened.”

  Gilead nodded and looked at Deidre. Then he hesitated.

  “What?” Deidre asked.

  He took a deep breath. “I doona know if I have the right to ask, not knowing how fully recovered I’ll be...” He held up a hand when Deidre tried to speak. “The medic told me I might not...er, might not be able...”

  “Shhhh.” Deidre soothed him. “What do you want to ask?”

  “Will ye marry me?”

  Tears sprang up in her eyes. “Yes! A thousand times yes, even if you never leave this bed! I love you, Gilead.”

  He tugged her head down and gave her a gentle kiss that was quickly met with moist open lips and an inviting tongue. He deepened the kiss into a passionate soul quest, arms wrapping around her as she pressed her breasts against his chest.

  Angus chuckled and closed the door quietly behind him.

  ◊♦◊

  “I think you should know who I am.” Angus turned from the solar window and studied Deidre after she’d spoken. She forced herself not to fidget under his scrutiny. His face was impassive and she could not even fathom what he was thinking. He sounded resigned when he finally spoke.

  “Sit down, then.”

  She slipped into a chair across the table from where he now poured a goblet of wine. He offered her some, but she shook her head.

  “I’m not Saxon,” she began, and thought she saw a fleeting glimpse of relief in his eyes before he masked his face again. She took a deep breath. Being Frankish might not be any better.

  “I am cousin to King Childebert of Gaul.”

  Angus raised an eyebrow. “And why would the king of Gaul send his...cousin...here? And alone without escort or coin?”

  She shook her head again and told him of her mother and the Beltane ritual that had made Caw her father. And how, after her mother’s death, Childebert had all but kept her prisoner, for her dowry was large and he didn’t want it spent. She even told Angus of her unsuccessful search for the Stone and her somewhat undependable gift of Sight.

  Angus stood and began to pace when she finished. “’Twould almost be better if ye were Saxon, lass. I’ve seen the foolishness
of Turius’s men searching for that damn grail. If yer cousin thinks ye have the gift to find this Stone, he will want ye returned.”

  She stared at him, feeling her heart thudding in her chest. “You’re going to send me back, aren’t you? Because you don’t want war with the Franks.”

  Angus paused and then sat down abruptly, elbows on the table and put his head in his hands. He was quiet for so long that Deidre was about ready to scream at him.

  He looked up, and, again, she saw the resignation on his face. She became aware that she was holding her breath and forced herself to exhale.

  “Nae. I wilna send ye back.” He gave her a lopsided grin when he saw her surprise. “I will not let Gilead make the mistake I did by sending away the one woman he loves. I will send a letter to Childebert and explain the situation. Since ye have not found the Stone, it probably isna here and he will let ye be.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Deidre hated to ask, but she didn’t want her hopes dashed by return courier.

  Angus lined his head and squared his shoulders. “If he wants war, then he will have it. ’Tis time I look at something more important than binding the clans. Doona fash, Deidre. I’ve seen the look in Gil’s eyes when he gazes on ye. ’Tis the same with me and Mori. I wilna take that from him.”

  In that moment, Deidre understood what Angus had given up and that there truly was a compassionate side to him. She could have hugged him, then. Well, almost.

  ◊♦◊

  Gilead was mending in the warm sunshine of a late autumn day, his leg propped up on a bench along the wall near the herbal garden. Deidre sat beside him, reading the letter that had just arrived by messenger from Gabran.

  “He says they finally found Brena.” Angus had felt sure she would head straight back to her clan, but no one there had seen her. Or would admit it.

  “Where?” Gilead asked.

  “In a Highland crag.” Deidre scanned the writing. “She seems to have saved the life of a laird there when she was young and he gave her refuge. Only when Gabran threatened Mac Erca sailing across the sea with full force to avenge Elen’s death, did the man let her go. Gabran sent her to Eire for Mac Erca to mete out justice.” She paused. “Brena named Niall as her accomplice.”

  Gilead’s face tightened. “It’s a good thing the bastard is dead.”

  “Your poor mother,” Deidre said softly.

  Gilead drew her back to lean against him, arms around her waist. “Does Gabran say why Brena did it?”

  “Ummm, it seems that Brena is the fraternal twin to Formorian’s fanatical nanny. They were worshippers of the Old Ways and the Mother Right. A warrior queen had the right to choose her escort. And they knew Formorian had always loved Angus, so they hatched up a plan to get Elen out of the way.” Deidre let the letter slip to the ground and turned to Gilead, tears in her eyes. “What an insult to the Great Mother, who seeks for peace in the world instead of violence.”

  He reached up and wiped a tear away with the pad of his thumb and smiled at her. “Like that holy grail ye told me about? The one that would bring peace if Turius’s men but found it?”

  “But they’ve given up looking, haven’t they?”

  “Aye. He’s recalled them to strengthen his ranks and bring his son to heel.” He nuzzled her neck. “But let’s think of pleasant things. I’m nigh well, and Samhain is but a fortnight away. The beginning of a new year and a new life with ye as my wife.”

  His wife. She definitely liked the sound of that.

  ◊♦◊

  Two days before Samhain, Formorian unexpectedly arrived, wearing widow’s black. “Maximilian killed him,” she told a shocked Gilead and strangely quiet Angus in the solar that afternoon.

  Deidre handed Formorian a goblet of wine and then poured some for Angus and Gilead. The queen’s hand shook slightly and she was a little paler than usual, but her green eyes burned with intensity as she watched Angus. A look quite different from the subdued parting they’d had three months ago.

  “When... How...” Gilead and his father both spoke at once.

  “There was a battle near a small river. Maximilian was riding with Aesc... they were supposed to parley, but something went wrong.” She sighed. “I found out a fortnight ago. It took the messenger near a sennight to reach me.” She looked at Deidre. “Did ye not wed Niall, after all?”

  “Nae,” Angus said and told her what had transpired. She gave a satisfied nod. “I told ye throwing a dirk would be a good thing to know.” She glanced sideways at Angus. “It keeps a man in line.”

  He smiled at her. “Aye. Where in line would ye like me to be?”

  The look on her face left no doubt in anyone’s mind.

  Turius had been dead nearly a moon. Elen was gone. Nothing would stop Angus and Formorian now. Deidre wondered how long it would take before they would be in bed together.

  And then she smiled. They had both done their duty. Maybe the Goddess was finally smiling on them.

  Deidre’s smile broadened. Tomorrow was her wedding day and Gilead would be bedding her tomorrow night. She shivered a little in anticipation, the tingling in her swelling breasts jolting through her belly to gently pulsate at her core. She could wait. But just barely.

  ◊♦◊

  Their wedding was a quiet and subdued affair on the day before Samhain. To honor Elen’s wishes, they were married by the priest in the little kirk in the village. So soon after his mother’s death, neither Gilead nor Deidre wanted a festival atmosphere. They would wait and hold the great feast come Beltane, when enough time had passed. He hoped, Gilead had told Deidre, they would be celebrating the coming of a child too. To Deidre, though, the important thing was to slip away to the circle of stones this eve and say the Oath that would bind them for eternity.

  Gilead closed the door to their chambers at twilight and helped her out of the silk dress she had once refused to wear. Tiny flames pricked her bare skin wherever his hot hands touched. His fingers caressed her shoulders and breasts, stroked down her back and cupped her buttocks, lifting her against him.

  “We have waited nigh three moons,” Gilead whispered as he backed her toward the bed. “I doona want to wait any longer.”

  Deidre tightened her hold around his neck and pressed her breasts into his chest. “I want you inside of me. Now.”

  It was all the invitation he needed. Settling her beneath him on the bed, he spread her legs wide with his thighs and ravaged her mouth with his, his tongue mimicking his other movements as he plundered her hot, wet sheath, ramming his sword to the hilt, butting against her womb in long, hard thrusts.

  She arched her back to receive him more fully, seconds later feeling the pulsing at her core quicken until her body racked in one great shudder. Gilead growled, lifting her partially off the bed, and spilled his seed deep inside her.

  They lay panting for some moments and then Gilead gently turned her on her side, facing him. “This time we’ll do it slow,” he said as he nibbled a trail from her ear to her nape, his tongue lightly flickering across the damp skin.

  Deidre shivered in delight as he licked circles around her breasts, teasing the nipples with his breath, but not quite touching them. They hardened immediately into perky little nubs, and the more time he took in tonguing across her belly and then back up to the mounds of her breasts, the more swollen and achy they became. Softly, he rolled one tight peak between his forefinger and thumb, stirring desire that jolted straight through her. Deidre moaned as the tip of his tongue flitted across the other one. She mewled helplessly as he continued to lave at her damp breasts, titillating her in ways she didn’t think possible. When he finally, mercifully, began to suckle fully, her whole body convulsed.

  Gilead slid himself lower, his lips mouthing the throbbing little bud between her swollen folds, and sending her body into new, rippling waves of sensation. He entered her slowly this time, inch by inch, letting her feel the thick fullness of him before he began an easy rhythm, allowing the delicious warmth spreading through
her to kindle into flames that soon roared through her blood like wind-driven fire over dry brush. Muscles deep inside contracted as her body spasmed, and she cried out in pleasure as they melded together.

  Gilead held her close, his fingers playing with the strands of her hair. “I have looked forward to this night since the day I woke up in the infirmary.”

  “Mmmm,” Deidre murmured sleepily. “The first times were wonderful, but tonight has been...fantastic. I had no idea I could be so satisfied.”

  “Well, doona go to sleep yet, Sassenach. We’re not through.” He rolled over on his back and pulled her on top of him. “’Tis yer turn to ride me and do as ye will.”

  Shy at first, she ran her hands across the broad width of his shoulders and down his chest, pinching gently at his nipples until he groaned. “Do you like this, too?”

  “Aye, lass. It pierces straight through to my shaft.” He swiveled his hips under her and grinned. “Canna ye feel it?”

  She widened her eyes as his once relaxed member began to grow again and she wiggled her own hips, sliding her juices across the length of him. Obligingly, his manhood jerked upright, prodding her.

  “Ah, Dee, what ye do to me,” he said as she impaled herself on his now granite shaft and he felt the hot, tight clenching of her muscles grip him. He rocked upward, driving himself deeper. To her surprise, she found she could control his movements with hers. She concentrated on experimenting, angling herself forward, rocking backward, and then lifting and slowly lowering herself again onto his shaft. He groaned as she ground against him, her hips gyrating until he was full bucking under her. Their arousal grew into a torrid frenzy and they exploded together, Deidre collapsing on top on him, their breathing ragged, their hearts pounding. Not wanting to separate, they lay like that for some time.

  Well sated, Deidre snuggled into the warm bend of Gilead’s arm and rested her head on his shoulder. “We should probably leave for the circle soon,” she said, “but I’m not sure I can move.”

  His hand brushed against the side of her rounded breast as he planted a kiss on the top of her head. “Nae, Sassenach, can ye be worn out already?”