by Amy Isan
Chapter 16: Elyn
1540 — August 31st
Elyn joined the men in the mess hall, caterwauling and cheering with the best of them. Her voice grew more and more hoarse as the night went on, but her eyes kept finding Gavin in the crowd. He always seemed to be just out of reach, just out of touch of her hand.
The battle had been hard won. She could barely handle the excitement on the battlefield, arrows whizzing past her hair and the screaming howls of the men on both sides as their swords clashed against metal and flesh alike. She had weaved in an out of groups of men, making her way to the weak-willed Maxwell clansmen that were attempting to prey on injured MacKenzie or MacDonald men. She finished any men that tried to pick her up and take her away. When she was in danger, MacKenzie and MacDonald clansmen picked up the slack and cut their way to her, saving her life countless times.
Elyn slipped out of the mess hall and went to the chambers to find her sister and family. She hadn’t had the chance to tell them very much since Gavin and her had left for Strome Castle. It was doubtful they were ignorant of the ruckus downstairs, though.
She found Sheena and her parents in one of the servants quarters. Sheena stood to her feet as Elyn opened the door, her expression looking worried. As Elyn stepped inside, Sheena’s face softened.
“Elyn!” She said, moving to embrace her sister. “What’s happening down there?”
“You haven’t heard?” Elyn said, surprised. She looked at her parents who seemed just as dumbfounded. “We defeated the Maxwells. They didnae stand a chance.”
“We...?” Elyn’s Ma said. “Ye didnae — ”
“I did. I was in the battle.”
Sheena’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh my God, Elyn! You could have been killed!”
Elyn shook her head, her hair bouncing against her cheeks. “Gavin protected me.” She smiled and felt a warm blush creep to her cheeks. She tried to hide it, brushing past her sister and moving to the window. The moon glowed brilliantly against the clear sky. Stars twinkled gently on the black sheet.
Sheena came up behind her.
They stood together on the balcony for a moment, contemplating what would happen now. The strife that had clouded the highlands for decades was finally lifted. Soon, Elyn was sure, the King would find out about the Maxwell’s betrayal and and punish them as he saw fit.
She touched her chest and pulled her necklace out of her dress. The back of it had a small M engraved on it, and she finally knew what it stood for. Her bloodline.
She invited Sheena back to the mess hall to join the celebration. There, Sheena drifted off with Alec Macrae, leaving a blushing Elyn with Laird MacKenzie, who was getting increasingly heady as the night went on. She couldn’t stop giggling when she looked at him, his eyes bouncing up and down her body. His cheeks were as flushed as hers, but she didn’t mind.
The Laird wasn’t presumptuous. The other highlanders in the hall were loud with cheerful cries, but their murmuring seemed to fade into the background as Elyn watched Gavin saddle up next to her. Their thighs touched as they sat on the bench together, pouring over their flasks of drink and plates of food. As they shared a small moment of requited admiration, Barron shocked them both by appearing behind them with his hearty laugh, slapping them both on the back and jostling them from their reverie.
“You two are making awful doe eyes to each other,” Barron said. Gavin shrugged and looked up at Barron, who had forced himself between their shoulders, his cheeks rosy and his breath smelling of ale.
“Shove off, Barron,” Elyn said. He adopted a stern face and lowered his gaze at her. She didn’t flinch.
He burst into laughter and straightened up. He held his stomach as he couldn’t contain his joy. He patted Gavin on the back, more gently this time. “You caught a winner here, mate, I assure you of that.” He lowered his voice for a moment, “Have you seen Alec and the other Douglas lass? They seem to be getting along as well.”
Elyn nodded, grabbing Barron’s attention. “She’s been all giggles around him since she came to the castle.”
“Aye,” Barron said, nodding. “Sounds like someone else I’ve seen around these parts as of late.” He glanced at Gavin. “Since you’re a MacDonald lass, what is yer feelin' in all this?”
“My feelin'?”
He grinned. “The contract for yer marriage with Gavin is still pending, lassie, they donae tear those up just because someone goes missing.”
Elyn blinked hard and stared at Barron, unable to pull her eyes to Gavin. She could feel herself blush, goosebumps rising over her arms and legs. She rubbed them furiously to try and quell her chills. “Marriage?”
“Aye. I’m sure the clans will still be interested in the union, especially after this battle. I’d reckon it is more important than ever.”
She tore her gaze from Barron and looked to Gavin, who had a wide grin. He opened his mouth, but Elyn cut him off with a kiss. When she broke away, she gazed into his eyes. “Do you even have to ask, Gavin MacKenzie? Of course I’ll marry you.”
***
Barron had vanished during their kiss, leaving with a knowing smile on his lips. He chuckled to himself as he joined another fray of clansmen throwing their ale on each other, making a loud mess of themselves. When he looked back to Gavin and Elyn, their spots on the bench were gone. He laughed even louder at that revelation.
“Those sly dogs,” he muttered under his breath. “All wound up I bet.”
***
Elyn took Gavin’s hand, leading him from the mess-hall and toward the living quarters. In the carpeted hallway, he traded places with her, lowering his arm and swinging her over his shoulder. She laughed as he hoisted her up the stairs, her stomach pushing against his shoulder and her long red hair hanging down over his back. Every ascending step seemed to lift her spirits higher.
They reached his chamber and Gavin threw the door open, moving in large strides to the bed and tossing her on it. He moved and closed the door with a flick of his wrist. The smell of fresh rain filled the air, a moist and calming scent that pervaded the highlands at times of prosperity. Elyn thought it was as if the highlands were crying in joy, too enraptured to do anything else.
Gavin moved back to the bed where Elyn had pulled herself up. He was gentle for her, almost too gentle. It was her first time, but she didn’t want him to go too soft on her — it was the fiery aspect of him that made her crave him so much. He knelt down over her and kissed her shoulders, pulling at her sleeves to expose more skin inch by inch. She shook her head with a giggle and prodded his shoulder, nearly knocking him off balance.
“Donae go easy on me, MacKenzie, it’s the last thing I need.”
He chuckled. He tore at her sleeve and severed it from her dress, leaving her clothes ragged. She gasped as he moved down her arm, kissing her more feverishly now, the stubble of his beard irritating her goosebumps.
A dark throbbing desire pulsated between them. Elyn hadn’t encountered anything like it before. It reminded her of the lonely nights when she’d wander out of the house. She would sit on the fence around her family’s farm and stare into the highlands. She couldn’t quite see the landscape, the darkness of the night too suffocating to let her vision wander for more than a couple hundred feet. But she could feel them. She could feel their whispers call to her. The wind traveling along the grass would howl in a distinct way. It would feed her imagination, beckon her to escape into them. Tempt her to take herself away from her family. Tempt her to leave her life behind. The throbbing darkness that reached out.
The mist would roll down from the mountains and hills, seating itself between thick tufts of grass and tickling Elyn’s ankles and heels. She would lean back on her hands and lock her elbows, and stare up into the dark sky. The twinkling stars would dance and disappear behind wisps of blue-grey clouds.
That kind of calm sensation of the darkness filled her that night with Gavin. That sense of wonder, excitement, anxiety and pleasure. Gavin had seen her for who she was.
A guarded woman that needed love. A guarded woman who needed a taste of that freedom to finally let her be free.
She ran her fingers through his hair, pulling her hand down to his neck and urging him deeper against her. She moved to unbuckle his armor as he kissed the side of her neck, his lips soft and sensual on her dewy skin. The air in the room grew warm with anticipation, Elyn’s mind was swimming with heady tension. She couldn’t believe this was happening — was it a dream? She imagined herself still at the small cottage in Dornie, simply on a flight of fancy during another hot summer day.
But it wasn’t a dream. The sound of the rain pattering against the stonework was real enough. The soothing mist that coiled in through the open door like tendrils was real enough. The heat in the room was real, Gavin was real. He opened her dress and exposed her breasts, the sensation of the air pricking her nipples. The energy between her and him throbbed and gave way, moving back and forth as if they were trading it. As if they were giving and receiving each other's thoughts and feelings. Those tenuous strings of attraction, of love, of loyalty and devotion. They threaded themselves in thick braids between them, setting them in stone and strengthening them.
She shivered at his touch as he placed his hand on her chest, pushing her from her elbows and forcing her to recline back. Elyn watched as he kissed her breasts, his tongue taking each of her nipples and sending unfamiliar shockwaves through her, new and inspiring ones that made a warmth travel through her that she’d never experienced. She squeezed her legs around his waist, surprised to feel his hardness bulging through his kilt, pressing its hot edge against her loins. She shivered as he dragged his lips down her torso, his hands sliding across her shoulders.
She let out a moan, which made Gavin chuckle with excitement. She shook her head and teased him. “Donae laugh at me!”
“I’m not laughing at you, runag,” Gavin said.
She sat up and grabbed the buckles holding his kilt on his waist. She undid them with a feverish kind of excitement, pulling the leather straps free and pushing the kilt off his chiseled hips, the deep valley extending from his abs down to his enlarged member. She stared at it and looked up at him with expectant eyes.
“I’ve never been with a man before.”
He shook his head, “I’ve never been with a real woman before, Elyn. Not before you.” He embraced her, pulling her up into his arms. She felt her skin brush against his, a heatwave pulsating between them. She inhaled his scent deeply, the smell of battle and victory still strong on him.
He drank from her deeply, his groans savoring every taste of her. She coiled and arched on the bed, thrashing out with every subtle movement of his mouth. She ran her nails through his hair and he groaned with elated agreement. She placed her hands on his forearms before she slipped her fingers into his, threading them together and clasping them tightly. She beckoned him up to join her on the bed.
He slid into her, taking her in the gentle firelight of the chamber. The rain drizzled outside the window as the fire crackled in response, trading energy. The chill of the wind spun in the chamber, twirling around the bed and the two lovers. He moved into her as the wind grazed the grasses on the highlands, as the seas pounded against the shore of the rocky cliffs to the north and south.
Elyn moaned, letting herself fall open and unguarded to him. Her chest tightened and a warmth guided her, took her hand and led her where she wanted to be, where she needed to go. Gavin’s eyes were locked in hers, his gaze distant yet sharply in focus. She gathered sheets under the small of her back, a slight mist of sweat beading on her neck and tickling her skin.
He kissed her deeply, their lips entwined almost as if they threatened to never separate. She swooned in his body, and after a time, she felt a shivering quake rise in her. She focused on it and didn’t fight it, letting the escalating warmth expand through her and escape in a moan from her lips.
Sweat dripped from his neck and beaded in his chest hair. His hands gripped her waist and pulled her against his body with a surprisingly force, and he held her there. A bellow escaped his lips in stuttering gasps, his shoulders and chest heaving with each sigh. He held her there against him for a moment and looked in her eyes.
He slid out of her and climbed atop the bed, his face flushed with drink and exuberant energy. She curled her arm around his head, teasing the locks falling into his eyes away. She kissed his forehead as he kissed her neck. Their breathing grew more shallow and controlled. The rain outside had chilled the warm air in the chamber somewhat, and they curled under the sheets together, still dewy with love.
Coiled around each other, with her legs wrapped on his knees and his arms holding her chest against his, they quickly fell asleep.
The fireplace crackled and popped a few more times throughout the night, eventually simmering down to an orange glow, throbbing like a beating heart. The rain let up, leaving the wet stone to give off its clay-like scent; a gust of wind echoed through the chamber, gently rattling the cupboards and decorations. Gavin and Elyn slept soundly through it all, softly etched lines of happiness on their cheeks and lips.
***
The next morning, birds greeted the lovers with gentle songs. Elyn woke first, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and smiling to herself as she recalled the night before. She gazed at Gavin lovingly and moved from the bed, retrieving her tattered dress. Something else would have to do for the day; to mend her dress.
She thought of the marriage. It would still happen. Twenty years late, but it was going to happen. She tried to imagine the service, daydreaming of trading vows with Gavin and uniting the two clans in kinship. It warmed her heart and flushed her cheeks.
She looked over the balcony and swore she could see the grasses growing. The sun shone with an unseasonal warmth, bringing color to her cheeks. She felt a presence behind her and turned to find Gavin had climbed out of bed. He only wore his kilt, exposing his chest to the dry air.
She pulled him down to her level and kissed him, whispering, “Good morning,” as he drifted back up. He grinned and grabbed her, sweeping her off her heels and holding her in the air against his chest. She chuckled and pushed him away.
“When would we have the wedding?” Elyn asked.
“As soon as you like. I’m sure Richerd would want to see it sooner than later though.”
Elyn thought for a moment, looking to the south, over the lowlands. “What will happen to the Maxwells?”
“They will be taken care of in due time. If it isn’t by the King, I will do it personally. At the end of it all, not only did he kill clansmen in his pointless grasp for power, but he murdered my father. Not to mention the anguish he caused your father... the hatred.”
“Everyone seemed to be getting along last night. No one would have recognized the men in the hall as coming from different clans.”
“Aye. But that donae heal the wounds the hate has caused. That kind of pain festers. Even if the men in battle know better, their families might not understand. Their daughters or wives. They’ll take their stories back to the MacDonalds, and we’ll see what happens then.”
Elyn squeezed Gavin’s hand. He looked down at her and grinned. “So when would you like to get married, Elyn MacDonald?”
“Next Sunday.”
“A fine choice.”
Elyn and Gavin embraced each other, both looking over the highlands. With their marriage, nearly all of the land would be united under a single hand. That kind of power would be unstoppable, no single man could possibly challenge the might of the MacDonald-MacKenzie union.
Elyn hoped.
~Epilogue~
1540 — September
A shadow lurked in the King’s chambers. The final day of his leave from his home in the lowlands, he was sleeping peacefully, without a worry in the world. A messenger had come into the castle that morning, fatigued and exhausted. He had a letter addressed to the King, detailing the exploits of MacDonald and MacKenzie clansmen in the battle against Maxwell, a man responsible for the unrest
in the kingdom for the past two decades.
The first man the messenger reached was Laird Maxwell, who insisted on reading the letter before showing it to the king. The messenger was summarily thrown in the dungeon, and was found with his throat slashed open later that evening when his dinner was being served. The letter was burned.
Laird Maxwell lurked in the shadows of King James’ chambers. He gripped a knife tightly in his hand and moved against the bed, his hand resting on it and disturbing the King. The knife was a precaution, a heady and impulsive precaution, but a precaution nevertheless.
The King awoke and stared at Laird Maxwell, sleep clouding his eyes with confusion.
“What is it, Maxwell?” He rubbed his eyes and groaned loudly.
The Laird chuckled. “I received a letter today, your Highness.”
“Can’t it wait? I’m sleeping!” his voice was too tired be angry. “Get out before I throw you out.”
Laird Maxwell twirled the knife against his wrist and imagined slicing the King’s throat, laughing as the blood would spill out onto the bedding and his body would slump against the sheets. Robert Maxwell eyed the crown on the bedside table he would undoubtedly place on his head, before announcing his control of the throne. No. That wasn’t a plan at all.
A bead of sweat ran down Robert’s forehead as he thought of what the King would have done to him if he had received the letter as expected. He thought of a better idea. “You’re right, your Majesty, my apologies.”
“Good. Now get out.” King James turned on his side and fell back asleep. Laird Maxwell slipped a roll of parchment into the King’s robes, ensuring they would be hidden deep in his pockets. He kept a copy on himself. Both were sealed with the King’s wax. As an advisor to the King, it wasn’t exactly difficult to borrow the King’s seal for an afternoon.