by E. B. Brown
“Our daughter seems pleased with John Basse,” Winn said. Maggie shrugged, unwilling to agree entirely.
“She didn’t say much,” she replied.
“She did not object,” Winn persisted.
Maggie sighed.
“No, she did not. She won’t disobey you.” It was the most Maggie was willing to concede. Yes, Kyra agreed to the match and had spent much of the evening on the arm of her betrothed, but Maggie worried with the way Kyra acted so subdued. She knew she had difficulty accepting an arranged marriage simply because of the way she had been brought up in the future. It was all she could do to keep her opinions to herself, especially when she knew it was what was best for their future. After all, arranged marriage was the norm in the seventeenth century. Having a say in those matters as a woman was not.
“We should go back,” Winn commented. Maggie could hear an easy snore from Malcolm, curled up beside his brother.
“All right,” Maggie replied. Although she had enjoyed the quiet afternoon away from the village, it was late, and the others might worry if they did not return soon. A war party searching for the Chief’s family was the last thing they needed.
They left Malcolm sleeping while they gathered their few supplies. Winn surveyed the site with a nod, and then bent and gathered his youngest son in his arms. Maggie reached for Dagr’s hand but the boy slipped away, as he often did, his lips graced with an apologetic, but stern smile. Dagr had told her earlier in the week that he was too old to hold her hand any longer, and she grimaced at the memory but let him go without a fight.
“Da?” Dagr asked. The boy trailed behind, dragging a long stick with the empty clamshells tied to it.
“Hmm?”
“Do ye think ye ought to stop trying to make more weans with Mama? We have enough to bide,” Dagr said. If Maggie had not heard it with her own ears, she would not have believed the words from his mouth, but at the sight of her eldest son’s serious face she clamped her mouth tightly closed. Winn raised an eyebrow, slowing to meet Dagr’s pace.
Dagr planted his heels shoulder width apart in the sand as Winn placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Is that so, Dagr?” Winn replied evenly. Dagr glared past Winn, refusing to meet his gaze, his chest heaving with short bursts as he seemed to fight some demon unknown. She had never seen her son so agitated, but Winn seemed to know what ailed him. Winn gently set the sleeping Malcolm in her arms and whispered softly against her ear.
“Go on ahead, ntehem. We will not be long.”
He kissed her cheek, a grin on his lips, and patted her bottom as she walked away. She tried to give Dagr a smile, but the boy refused to acknowledge her gesture. Maggie heard Dagr utter one of the half-snort, half-grunts that the Indian men were known to make and she knew Winn had his work cut out for him. She left them on the path and made her way back to their Longhouse.
Malcolm was snoring soundly in his cot when Winn finally slipped beneath the furs beside her. She nestled back against her husband, her hips fitting into him as he molded his warm body to hers.
“Dagr?” she inquired. She did not know what to ask, or if she even wanted to know what sort of conversation they had, but her curiosity won the better of her as Winn kissed the nape of her neck.
“He had many questions. I think I answered them all,” Winn replied with a chuckle.
“About what?”
“Oh, it seems he saw Ahi Kekeleksu with an Indian girl. They wandered away from the gathering, and the boys watched them. Dagr had…questions.”
“Was Mal with him?” Maggie hissed. She groaned when her husband nodded.
“He and a few others. It seems I should speak to my nephew as well,” Winn muttered.
“Mal is too young to–to know about that yet! And so is Dagr, for that matter!”
“Shh,” Winn admonished her, covering her lips with his mouth. “Dagr is still awake, and he will hear you. Do not shame him, he is old enough to speak of it.”
“So what did you tell him?” she asked, trying to control her tone enough so that only Winn could hear her. He kissed the tip of her nose.
“I told him when he is a man, he will want to lay with a woman as well,” he replied. “And that he will find great pleasure in that task.”
“You make it sound like a game,” she replied. He took his head in his hands and stared down into her face, shaking his head.
“No, I did not. I told him someday he will want only one maid, and until then,” he whispered, parting her thighs with his knee, “I told him to keep his little prick in his braies and forget about pleasuring woman. And that if I wish to make children with his mother, I will do so, and it is none of his concern.”
He stifled her laughter with his mouth as he slid home.
“I think we need more practice,” he grinned.
CHAPTER 18
Kyra
SHE AVOIDED MORGAN for the remainder of the week, her heart broken and battered after the gathering. It was easy to adjust her hunting times rather than risk running into him again. After all, how could they go back to their normal routine when he had rejected her so horribly? Although she missed his company, she was sure it was better for them both. Even if Morgan suddenly declared his love for her, she was betrothed and there was nothing she could do to change it.
So when he sank down beside her in the tall grass one day as if nothing had happened between them she was near startled into silence. Nearly, but not quite.
“What are ye doing here?” she demanded.
He grimaced, avoiding meeting her stare as he adjusted his bow.
“Hunting. What are ye doing?”
“Hunting,” she whispered with a scowl.
After that they resumed their afternoon outings, neither speaking of the day at the waterfall nor making any acknowledgement that anything might be different between them. Things gradually resembled the easy way they had with each other, talking about everything… and nothing at all. It was not perfect, but they continued to spend each afternoon together.
It was a day like any other when they sat crouched over in the tall grass, the soft cattails brushing her skin with the rhythm of the afternoon breeze. The meadow was a clever spot for tracking prey in the early spring as the reeds were still short yet tinted to a yellowed hue, hiding them well as they lay in wait. As she shared a sip from his flask, she wondered if she had the courage to follow through with her marriage and berated herself for the doubt. Of course she would do it. She must obey her father.
Yet as Morgan glanced over at her with his soft brown eyes, gleaming with a gentle curiosity, she felt the heat rise unbidden to her face. They had not spoken of that day at the waterfall. They continued on with their afternoon hunting escapades as if it had been only a dream.
Across the meadow, a spotted doe looked up. Her wide eyes turned in their direction and her tiny snout lifted, as if she caught their scent as they stalked her. Kyra adjusted her bow before she moved from her crouch, notching the arrow and drawing back the string. With a practiced motion she rose up on one knee and let go, the arrow spearing the air ahead of the soft twang sound.
She lowered her eyes as the doe skittered away, unharmed.
“That was terrible. Have ye webbed fingers today?” Morgan laughed.
“Not likely, ye bloody lout.”
“Then what are ye afraid of?” he asked, his hand settling next to her as he tilted his head in wait. It was her chest that felt like a bowstring then, plucked tight and tensed to burst. His face was entirely too close to hers, his breath teasing her skin with a presence that was not entirely unpleasant.
“Fear? I think not,” she scoffed. She spoke the words bravely to hide her discomfort, but he knew her better than that and she watched his mouth twist into a grin. She drew back away from him but did not go far, unwilling to diminish his amusement. It made her happy to see him smile.
“No?” he murmured, his fingers brushing her cheek. His touch sent a flurry of tingles through her skin, down
through her chest where it settled as an ache deep in her belly. Yet it did not seem like her belly that ached. It was another spot, an entirely foreign sensation she had only glimpsed once before in his arms.
“Yer barmy, if ye think I fear anything,” she whispered, her voice trailing off. His lips curled into a grin. “If I recall correctly, ye were the one who was afraid to kiss me.” She instantly regretted her words, her heart thudding so hard against her chest she thought surely he could hear it.
“’Twas not fear,” he muttered.
“Then what?” she whispered. Before she belonged to another, she needed to know why. After all the years she had loved him, why could he not love her in return? Yet still he hunted at her side each day, meeting her in secret despite what her father would do to them if they were discovered.
“There are things ye dinna understand,” he said.
“Because I have no sense?” she asked, defensive when she thought he meant to insult her.
“No!” he sighed, rolling onto his back. He ran his hands over his face and through his thick blonde hair. “Ye are clever and pleasing in every way.”
Utterly confused, she leaned over him, placing one palm flat on his chest. Her fingers rested between his opened shirt buttons, and he sucked in a breath at the shock of the connection. Yes, she would be married, and yes, she would do her duty, but she would ask one last thing of her oldest friend before that happened.
“Morgan?” she said softly. “Would you kiss me again?”
His breathing slowed and he stilled. Her eyes moved slowly from his chest to his face, which seemed scrunched as if he were in pain.
“Please?” she murmured, intent on wiping the pained look off his face.
“Kyra,” he whispered, his voice strained.
She parted her lips and pressed her mouth to his, letting out a sigh as she quickly pulled away. There. It did not seem nearly as intense as their last encounter but it was not so bad.
“Was that proper?” she asked. His pained look remained, yet intensified, his cheeks flushed as he looked at her.
“No,” he murmured. “I fear I must show you the proper way.”
With a swift motion he placed her gently on her back and his mouth descended down on hers. This time it was his fingers tangled in her hair, and his hand cupping her jaw very carefully. His opened lips were soft, yet she yielded to the pressure, his tongue meeting hers in a delicious torture. His thumb caressed her throat, and he pulled her closer so that her body fit snugly within his embrace.
“Oh,” she sighed, her head tipping back as she lost herself in the delicious sensation. So that was it. That was what she had been missing since their time at the waterfall!
His lips trailed over her cheek, to her jaw, and then down her neck, closing over the spot where her pulse throbbed just below her ear. She felt his fingers brush her throat and she let out a sigh, unsure of how he made her feel but eager for more. Suddenly, he broke their connection and pulled away with a low uttered curse.
“Did I do it wrong?” she asked, breathless. He shook his head, but the pained look on his face was worse than before.
“No, you did it quite well,” he said, his voice hoarse. “We canna do this. I shall go.”
She felt her stomach drop. Had she been truly awful?
“But why? I–”
“Because kissing ye like this makes me want ye more.”
“Then kiss me again,” she insisted. Her heart raced and her pulse pounded in her ears when he looked at her, filled to bursting with knowing he wanted her. It seemed she had waited her entire life and it could only be him. She resolved to see it through. Let me lie with the man I love, she thought, before I must wed a stranger.
“No. Ye know not what game you play, nor how it will end. Yer too young to…”
His voice trailed off as she plucked at the binding of her kirtle, and heard him gasp as it fell open. She shrugged off one shoulder, then the other, and inched closer to him so that their skin collided.
“I’m not without a brain. I’ve seen animals do this. I want ye to do it…to me. Show me.”
He let out a strangled groan, burying his lips in her hair as his arms slid around her. He kissed her again. It was different this time, his mouth covering hers more insistent, more demanding, as if he meant to speak his mind through their lips.
“Kyra, please…this is madness.”
“But you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
He closed his eyes and his words were shallow through tight lips.
“Yes, I have.”
“Then you will show me,” she whispered.
“Do you truly know what this means?” he answered. She nodded. She knew what she was doing, she was certain. If she were meant to be a wife to an Englishman, then she would do her duty, but she would at least have a notion of what it meant to lie with one she loved. She did love him, after all, the flustered man who held her. It was him she thought of when her father proclaimed her betrothal, and when the Chief announced it was John Basse she would wed she thought her heart would be torn from her chest.
They lay together afterward side by side, hands entwined, staring up at the willow leaves above them. She worried he was angry, but she did not regret it. She would never regret a moment of their stolen time, even when she became a wife to another.
“They’re making me wed John Basse.”
“What?”
“I have no choice. My father arranged it.”
He rolled over and covered her body with his, leaning on his upper arms as he looked down at her.
“I will speak to yer Da. Do ye think I would let ye marry another, after this?”
“After this? But you would let me marry him if ye hadn’t swived me, wouldn’t ye? So what is the matter of it?”
“You think that’s all ye are to me?”
“You didn’t want to do this. I made you.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Ye made me? I think not,” he said.
“You didn’t want to.”
“I have always wanted ye, ye wee besom! Have I not met ye here, every day I could steal away, even knowing yer father would kill me if he found out?”
“We’ve been friends forever,” she whispered.
“Aye, friends. And now ye’ll be my wife.”
“But what about John Basse?”
“I’ll not let ye marry another. Ye could be breeding my babe, did ye ever think of that?”
She paled. No, she had not considered that notion.
“My father will kill you,” she whispered.
“Aye,” he agreed with a sigh. “He will.”
*****
When the village was in view she made to run toward it, frustrated tears blurring her vision, but he pulled her back into the sanctuary of trees. His mouth covered hers as if he meant to possess her, then softer as he brushed away her tears. She twisted her fingers in his hair, holding him close when he tried to draw back. Panting, he rested his forehead to hers.
“Go inside. I will follow to speak with yer father,” he murmured.
“Today? Ye mean today?” she whispered, glancing off toward the Northern Hall.
“It must be today,” he insisted.
“I will wait for ye.”
“No, go to yer mother. I must speak to yer Da alone.”
She stepped back away from him, and although their hands were still entwined she avoided his gaze. The depth of what they had done felt like a weight across her chest, and she prayed her father would not hurt him when he found out. Chief Winn was not known for being a subdued man, and in fact, when it came to his family he behaved like a rogue. One simply did not argue with her father; once his will was declared, it was done.
“Ye do not need to do this,” she said softly. His round brown eyes narrowed into slits as he squinted down at her.
“I canna let ye wed another when I’ve taken yer maidenhead.”
She felt the confusion rise again, that sliver of doubt.
“So it is only because of that ye’d ask for my hand? If that is yer only concern, then consider yerself free. I willna speak of it. I’ll marry John Basse and pretend it never happened,” she whispered, turning her back to him. She heard him chuckle softly and she was not at all pleased. His hands fell onto her shoulders, gripping her gently as he spoke close to her ear.
“D’ye think a man would not know? For a woman who knows it all, ye know too little,” he teased. She swung around.
“I know ye wouldna stopped my marriage if not for today,” she snapped. He frowned.
“I would have if I had known! Ye should have told me!”
“Ye dinna seem interested!”
“I was! I am! For the love of Jesus, woman, why do ye think I return here to meet ye, when I know yer father would see me dead? It’s not to shoot rabbits, that’s fer sure!” he shot back, letting out an exasperated sigh.
“So ye pretended to be my friend?” she hissed. He threw his hands up in the air.
“If I came to ye as a man wishing to bed ye, I’m damned. If I came to ye as a friend, I’m surely damned. What answer would ye have of me, ye thorny hellcat? What, then?” he bellowed.
“Ugh!” she screamed, her voice echoing shrill through the woods. He lurched forward and clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Are ye daft? We’ll be seen, and then yer father will never give me his ear!”
“Well, what would you have my ear for, Englishman?”
Kyra felt her blood drain to her toes as her father and uncle stepped into view. Uncle Chetan wore a smirk, but her father was not amused in the least. He looked quite murderous, in fact, and by the way Morgan swallowed hard she could see he noted it as well.
“My daughter. Unhand her,” Winn ordered in a clipped tone. Morgan dropped his hand.
“Da,” she said. He scowled at her and uttered a half-hiss, half-grunt condemnation, so she clamped her mouth shut. She was sure her cheeks must have been scarlet.
“I thought I told you to stay away from my village, boy,” her father said.
Morgan ignored the question and stepped forward, pushing Kyra slightly behind him. Uncle Chetan tried to hide his amusement as he placed a hand on Winn’s shoulder.