From this angle, he could see the holes in the soles of Rafael’s boots and the sight was chilling. Boots so sturdy, wrought of good Spanish leather, should have endured a lifetime, but Rafael had danced through the soles in that one night, then slept a week afterward. Malcolm forced himself to take a steadying breath with the realization that his new bride, Catriona, slept in the solar at the top of the stairs, his ring upon her finger. He had not known her at Midwinter, but already he could not help but think that if he had, he might have made a different choice.
It was in that moment that Malcolm heard the cursed music again. The Fae music wound into his ears, entangled his heart and he feared it would drive him mad.
Perhaps that was the Fae’s intent.
He remembered Catriona’s song then, the one he had heard only just that day.
“It was a dark dark night, with no light;
they waded through red blood to the knee:
For all the blood that’s shed on earth;
Runs through the rivers of Fairie.”
Malcolm could not sit and endure the torment of the music, not given the memories it awakened for him. Though he had no intention of leaving Catriona alone on the night of their nuptials, once again, he chose from a poor array of options.
He slipped from the hall and stepped into the still fog of the night. He made his way to the ruins and heaved a sigh as he sat down inside.
He felt close to his uncle only here.
He felt truly sane, only here.
Malcolm shoved a hand through his hair and wished with all his heart that he did not have to die three nights hence. He knew, though, that it was only in tales that the Fae surrendered their claim to mortals. Though he wished otherwise, there would be no escape for him on Midsummer’s Eve.
* * *
Catriona awakened with a start. For a moment, she was uncertain where she was, then Avery cried and her milk began to leak from her breasts. She was in the solar at Ravensmuir in the middle of the night, although the pallet was cold beside her. Malcolm had left her after his token kiss, so his departure had not been what awakened her.
Following instinct, Catriona rose and looked out the window. Her heart sank to see the silhouette of her lord husband approaching the ruins on the cliff. When he disappeared into the yawning cavern yet again, she heard Vera bustling in the next room. Catriona struck a tinder, lighting a lantern, even as she thought.
Why did he go there? What did he seek?
Vera came into the solar in that moment, rocking the babe as he wailed. Catriona turned to take her son, well aware of how the older woman’s gaze flitted around the chamber.
“Gone!” Vera whispered. “And on his nuptial night!” She turned to face Catriona with suspicion and disapproval. “What have you done, girl?”
“Naught…” Catriona began, but Vera did not let her finish.
“Aye, naught! There is the truth of it.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head. Catriona settled on a stool to nurse her son, even as Vera poked at the coals in the brazier.
“Naught,” the older woman muttered again. “All the world granted to you and you do naught to secure it.”
“Vera, I bore a child yesterday. I cannot give pleasure to my lord husband just yet.”
“There are other ways to see to a man’s pleasure,” the older woman countered. “It is your nuptial night. He gives you all, girl, and might expect some deed in return.”
Catriona knew that Vera did not mean that one heady kiss, but her own lack of experience gave her no ideas what else she might have done. “My lord was most kind…”
“And he is gone.” Vera stood at the opposite window, her hands braced upon her hips as she stared down at the emptied bailey. Her eyes narrowed. “Were there whores in that camp of men? Did they take them with them?”
“I would not know.” Catriona would not confess Malcolm’s whereabouts to Vera, not before she asked him first.
Vera snorted. “They would hardly talk to you of it.” She pulled up a stool and sat close beside Catriona. “Lass, I do not know the fullness of your tale and I do not wish to hear it. But you have a chance in this moment to secure a future for yourself and for your son.”
“I know it well and that I am fortunate in this…”
“Then ensure that it cannot be taken away!”
Catriona nodded at good sense. “I do wish to give my lord husband a blood son with all haste.”
The older woman smiled and patted Catriona’s knee. “This is a good plan. But there are days if not weeks in which all could be lost.” She leaned closer and whispered. “A man cannot wait a month to celebrate his nuptials.”
This woman had given her good advice, so Catriona dared to ask for more. “I know little of such matters, Vera.”
“You have a child!”
“He was got upon me in one night, and I had little joy in it. That night is the sum of my experience abed.”
Vera sat back to consider her, understanding in her eyes. “And my laird Malcolm knows this, does he not?”
Catriona nodded, choosing not to confess that Malcolm had guessed only part of the truth. “I would see him pleased and his patience rewarded, but I know not how to begin.”
The maid looked left and right, then leaned close to Catriona. “You have hands, lass. Ask him what he would like best for you to do with them.”
Catriona could not imagine what Vera meant any more than she could imagine having such a discussion with her spouse. “Ask him?”
“With your hands, girl.” Vera sat back and put her hand upon her own chest, her palm flat and fingers splayed. “Begin here and slowly move your hand down.” She winked, looking suddenly mischievous and much younger. “Before you reach what we both know to be there, he will tell you his desire.” Vera nodded sagely. “Trust me in this.”
Touch him boldly and let him guide her course.
She could do this.
She had to do it.
Catriona moved Avery to her other breast, hoping Vera spoke aright.
* * *
Malcolm had never intended to leave his wife on the night of their nuptials, but the the music could only be ignored in the ruins. There he felt as if Tynan watched over him, like a protective spirit. Though it was whimsy, though it had to be, the notion allowed Malcolm to cling to his sanity. It was only after the Fae ceased their revels that he could think clearly, only in the chill before the dawn that he could tear himself away from the ruined keep and return to Ravensmuir’s solar.
It was as quiet as the grave with the masons gone.
Malcolm stood for a moment outside the hall, believing that he did hear a sound. Noises carried far in the fog, though their source could not always be seen. He stood, listening for long moments, but only heard the crash of the waves on the shore far below.
Even that sound seemed muted in this hour.
He was too tired to even hear with any reliability. He shook his head and entered the new keep.
Rafael was still sleeping, or at least he appeared to do so, as Malcolm passed through the hall. Malcolm wished with sudden vigor that he had not traded his soul for that of his comrade, for he desired beyond all else to live out his life at Ravensmuir with Catriona. It seemed that he had finally achieved something he wished to defend, but in mere days, he would be compelled to abandon it all.
All the same, he could not break his word.
He did not imagine that the Fae would negotiate with him again.
Malcolm started up the stairs, convinced that if Catriona’s hand had been within his own six months past, he might not have repaid his debt to Rafael.
He had to wonder how the future would find Ravensmuir. Would Catriona thrive here? Would his plans survive? Would Avery grow to manhood and rule Ravensmuir in Malcolm’s place? He wanted to believe that all would be well, that Alexander and Eleanor would defend his new wife and heir, that he would wring merit from the last days he had spent on this earth.
It was only human to
wish that he did not have to depart so very soon.
There was no sound from the chamber Vera had claimed as a nursery, and only the sound of Catriona’s breathing in the solar. The braziers were cold, the wind chill, and Catriona was curled in the midst of the pallet, a cloak wrapped around her. If she became ill, his scheme could all come to naught. Who would care for her in his absence? He shed his cloak and tabard, removing his boots, as well, before crossing to the pallet. He had not wanted to awaken Catriona but the shine of her eyes revealed that she was wide awake.
Waiting.
Fully aware that he had been gone.
“Why?” she asked, the word no more than a breath.
“I have no choice.”
His lady lifted a fair brow, reminding him of her conviction that there is always a choice to be made. Malcolm shook his head. “It is a bewitching of a kind.” He gestured to the door as she watched him in silence. “I will leave you.”
To his surprise, Catriona pulled down the linens. “I would ask you to spend more of our wedding night abed with me.”
Lest he doubt her invitation, she sat up and discarded the cloak. Her chemise gaped at the front, giving him an enticing view of her full breasts.
Her gaze met his again. “I am no maiden, sir, and on this day, I have less to offer than will soon be so, but I am yours.”
Malcolm sank down to the pallet, raising a hand to her chin. “You cannot mean this.”
“I cannot mean otherwise.” She averted her gaze for a moment, then glanced at him through her lashes, an expression so coy and unlike his bold wife that Malcolm was struck by her uncertainty. “I know little of such matters, Malcolm, but I am informed—” Her cheeks turned vivid pink before she continued “—I am told on good authority that you will advise me how best to use my hands.”
He had need of no more of an invitation. Indeed, he could not have resisted her at any price.
He also would not give her the chance to reconsider.
Malcolm shed his chemise and his chausses, then joined his lady wife abed. She rose to her knees and held up her hands. He took one in each hand, planting a kiss on each palm, then placed her hands upon his shoulders.
“Let us begin here,” he murmured, before brushing his lips across her brow. “You soon will see what gives me pleasure.” He leaned closer and kissed her earlobe. “But be aware that I intend to learn what gives you pleasure, as well, lady mine.”
* * *
Her lord husband was a sorcerer.
Indeed, the change in Malcolm’s manner was riveting. Catriona thought his eyes had gleamed before and that his manner had been intense in every one of their exchanges. When she made her offer, though, the air might have crackled between them. She might have been singed by the heat in his eyes, his attention making her tingle with newfound awareness.
It was giddy, this sense of excitement. It left her flesh feeling afire and her thoughts filled with the memory of his every kiss.
Even more remarkable, it made her yearn for another. What power did this man have to make her forget what she had endured sufficiently to meet him abed, after but two sweet kisses and a caress? Catriona found she did not truly care.
She simply burned for more.
When Malcolm shed his garments, unashamed of his nudity, she had to admit that his body was splendid. He was also clearly powerful and she was awed anew that he had been so gentle in his caresses thus far. Her gaze had fallen to his erection but when she swallowed in alarm at the size of him, he took her hands in his own. He moved slowly, reassuring her with his manner as he kissed her palms. The brush of his lips against her skin was a wondrous thing, a caress both delicate and exciting. Catriona felt the racing of her pulse and acknowledged the possibility that she might find pleasure in the act between man and woman.
And then, her spouse vowed to show her as much, once again giving her the sense that he read her mind.
If he were to cast a spell, she was more than prepared to be enchanted.
They kneeled facing each other. Her hands were upon his shoulders, her palms against his smooth skin and her fingers splayed wide. He watched as ever he did, as motionless as ever he was, waiting for her to decide what to do. Catriona sensed that he would wait through Doomsday, if necessary, and that reassured her mightily. There was a glimmer of humor in his eyes and that was what gave Catriona the boldness to begin.
She moved her hands lower, feeling his flesh increment by increment. His skin was smooth and she could feel his muscles. She followed the curve of his chest, letting her thumbs slide into the tangle of dark hair in the middle of his chest. His nipples were flat and dark, and she traced a fingertip around one, wondering if they were as sensitive as her own. He caught his breath, but did not stop her exploration.
His erection seemed to have grown larger and harder, the best sign of his pleasure. She swallowed and eased her hands yet lower, where the hair straightened and was smooth against his flat belly, where his ribs lurked beneath the muscle. She touched her thumb to his navel, smiling in recollection that Ian had been ticklish there, and Malcolm started. His flesh rippled and she knew he shared Ian’s weakness.
That he had any such weakness fed her confidence. She bent on a whim and blew at his navel, only to have him give a shout of laughter and catch her up in his arms. She found herself on her back, her husband looming over her, his eyes alight. For a moment, she was frightened and he must have seen as much, for he rolled to his back, awaiting her touch.
“You are ticklish,” she said softly.
He grimaced. “And now you know my secret.”
“I would wager you have more of them than that,” she countered and his smile was quick.
“I am not alone in that, lady mine.” He raised a hand. “I invite you to uncover them all.”
Catriona sat up, newly resolute. She eased closer to him and placed her hand upon his belly, eying his manhood. She reached out and touched his erection, startled when it rose beneath her hand. The skin was smooth and stretched taut. She ran her fingertips down the length and he inhaled sharply. When she looked, his eyes were ablaze.
“How best do I please you?” she asked and he folded his hand over her own. He urged her fingers to curl around his strength then showed her how to move her hand up and down the length of him. Catriona followed his indication and he moved his hand away, lying back and letting her caress him. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, his teeth clenched as she touched him with greater boldness. She watched his reactions, noting what pleased him most, loving that he surrendered completely to her.
“Not so quickly,” he said once, his voice more strained than ever she had heard it. “It is better to make the feast last.” His gaze was sizzling with passion when he looked at her again. “Almost to the summit, then retreat and begin the assault anew.”
“How many times?”
The corner of his mouth quirked, a sight that made Catriona’s heart pound with something other than fear. “As many times as can be borne.”
Catriona found herself smiling at him. “Do you challenge me, husband?” She gave him a little squeeze and watched how sharply he inhaled. Still he remained before her, utterly in her thrall. Catriona’s excitement rose along with her confidence.
“Perhaps I should,” he murmured and Catriona changed the pressure of her fingers, tormenting him anew. His stillness made her feel as audacious with him as once she had with all the world. She caressed him and teased him, watching him avidly as she tormented him with pleasure. He reached for the end of her braid at one point, fingering the curled tips of her hair. The admiration in his eyes made her feel a beauty, though she had seldom felt thus before. She unfastened the tie then and unbraided her hair, shaking it out so it was loose over her shoulders. It fell to her hips in waves created by the plait, but the way he surveyed her with awe made Catriona’s heart thunder.
“I wish I were a maiden yet,” she confessed in an undertone. She was not ashamed of her body, but bearing her s
on had cost the taut strength that had once been hers. She wished he had seen her then. “That I might show you a more alluring sight.”
“This sight you grant is more alluring than any I have known,” he murmured in reply and she dared to believe him. She let her hair slide over his body and he moaned a little, winding a finger around a tendril and rubbing it between finger and thumb. “Like spun gold,” he said. “But a richer prize, to be sure.”
That this man could think of her as a treasure was an enticing notion. Catriona touched him and teased him. It was more than gratitude at work, more than the pledge she had made to be a good wife: she wanted him to look at her all the days of her life as he did in this morning. She coaxed his response as best she knew, learning better with every passing moment, feeling the connection grow more vigorous between them with every stroke of her fingers.
And when Malcolm finally whispered her name and clenched his fists by his side, she knew he had borne enough. Catriona did not alter her caress, but urged him on and on until he shook with remarkable restraint. She flicked her fingertip across him in a playful gesture and he roared with the sudden vigor of his release.
She sat back to watch him, feeling no small satisfaction in what she had done.
Malcolm blinked several times and caught his breath, then cleaned his spilled seed with his chemise. He rolled to face her, bracing himself on one elbow, and crooked a finger at her in invitation. His voice rumbled low, a pitch that perfectly awakened a hum between her thighs. “Come here, lady mine. It is your turn to be tormented with pleasure.”
Catriona was surprised by how willingly she moved to his side.
No less by the anticipation that made her blood sing.
* * *
Malcolm was amazed by Catriona. He had expected that it would take longer to dismiss her very natural fear of intimacy, but she seemed as determined to abandon her past as he was to assist in that task. He found her particularly alluring, her cheeks flushed and her expression soft. Her gaze seemed dreamy as it seldom was in daytime, and he had never been so tempted by a woman. It would have cost him dearly to avoid the temptation she offered, but he would have done it.
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