by Amanda Scott
“Ah, lassie,” he muttered, kissing her hard as he caught her in his arms. His hands moved to the hooks in back, then dealt with her bodice laces and those of the smock beneath. She felt the cool touch of the air on her bare breasts, and then, more swiftly than she might have expected, Patrick’s hands were warm against her flesh.
Not knowing what else to do with her hands, she put them at his waist, feeling the play of hard muscles there. Savoring the sensations that his hands on her breasts stirred through her body, she sought the fastenings of his doublet.
His lips took the place of his fingers on her breasts, making her gasp.
“Do you not want your clothes off?” she said, still breathless.
“Aye, lass, but you’ll be too slow. I’ll do it.” His voice sounded ragged. He stepped away, and in moments, his doublet, shirt, and netherstocks were off and he was dealing with boots and hose. “Take off that damned French hood.”
She gazed at him, fascinated, having never watched a man disrobe before.
The air was cold on her bare breasts, but she knew instinctively that he would object if she covered them. Instead, she lifted both arms to remove her headdress and cast it aside. Next, she unfastened her belt and dropped it onto the pile of clothing that he had flung to the floor, but when she moved to slip off her skirt and petticoats, he said, “Wait, let me. I want to undress you.”
A dull thud sounded in the distance, and he glanced warily at the door.
The door at the end of the corridor swung hard against the wall, and two armed men in scarlet livery strode toward Sir Patrick’s chamber.
With a gasp of consternation, Claud held up both hands.
The men froze in midstride.
“Claud, ye canna do that!” Lucy shrieked.
“Sir Patrick be busy,” Claud said. “We’ll give him more time.”
“But that be against our rules, and they’ll ken summat’s amiss! What—?”
“Hush,” he said, pulling her closer. “We can do as we please, just like Sir Patrick.” She resisted, but confident that it would take little to persuade her, he claimed her lips and kissed her hard. When she responded, he sighed in relief.
Patrick stared at the door for a long moment, but all was silent.
“What was that?” Beth asked.
“Nothing, I guess. Still, we’d best not waste time.”
“Do we not have all night?”
“I hope we may, but I’ve a notion we won’t, so the sooner we attend to this the better. Do you still trust me?”
“I have not changed my mind, sir.”
“Good lass.” He cast his last garments aside and stood naked before her.
The firelight played over his body, turning his skin golden and highlighting the muscular planes of his chest, hips, and legs. If she had thought him handsome before—and she had—she thought him even more so now. And he was clearly ready to do what needed to be done.
He grinned. “Now for you, sweetheart.” He loosened her hair first, and when it hung in a wavy curtain down her back, he said gruffly, “Let’s have the rest of these clothes off you.” It took only a moment, and then he picked her up and laid her on the bed, lying down beside her.
Lucy slid away from Claud, saying, “This willna do. Ye must release them! If anyone hears o’ this, they’ll hail us both afore the Circle!”
“They had keys, lass! What was I tae do?”
“But ye canna hold them! What if some’un else comes along?”
“But how did they come by keys tae doors in the King’s House?”
“What does it matter?” Lucy snapped. “The rules, Claud! We’re no tae interfere wi’ mortals openly like this.”
“I ha’ interfered already, lass. We’ll bide a wee bit longer.”
Beth lay on the bed beside Patrick, delighting in the wondrous feelings he was stirring with his hands, his lips, and his tongue. When his tongue flicked one of her nipples, she sighed with pleasure and said, “You’re sure we’re truly married?”
“Aye, we are,” he said, stroking her, his hand moving lower until his fingers reached the soft nest at the juncture of her legs. He paused. “Do you trust me, lass?”
“Aye.” She would trust him with her life. Trusting him with her virtue seemed paltry by comparison. “What are you doing?”
“Easing the way, sweetheart, preparing you for what is to come.”
“You are very large,” she said, stroking him gently.
He chuckled. “I’ll fit.”
Then he eased himself over her, guiding himself carefully into her.
“Should I do anything in particular?” she asked.
“Just relax,” he murmured. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
He began kissing her again, and she responded but found it hard to concentrate on anything but the odd, aching sensation of him inside her. There were moments when her body seemed to thrill to his possession, others when the ache increased and dulled the thrill, but although she could not help tensing then, it was not really unpleasant or painful, and she had no wish to be anywhere else. Had anyone told her she would be in Patrick’s bed this night, his naked body hot against hers, she would not have believed it.
A new sensation startled her, and she gasped at its intensity.
“Now,” he said, his lips warm against hers, “breathe deep, sweetheart.”
She obeyed and felt a sharper pain when Patrick eased in all the way. It eased almost at once, and she took another breath. He seemed to fill her, and although her body ached whenever he moved, when he stopped, the ache eased again.
“Is that it?” she asked quietly.
With a sound in his throat like a moan, he muttered, “Not quite.” He moved again, and then moved a little faster, thrusting now, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. She could tell he was trying to be gentle, but the faster he moved the less gentle he was. There was pain but other sensations, too, and she savored those, wondering that she had never known such feelings could exist. Her breath came in sobs now, and his sounded the same. Then suddenly, it was over.
He relaxed, still in possession of her, and said, “You’re my wife now, lass. No one can prove otherwise.”
Filled with emotion, tears welling in her eyes, she touched his cheek.
“Claud, ye must let them go,” Lucy pleaded. “Others will come.”
“Aye, sure, I ken that fine,” Claud said unhappily.
“Then…”
With a sigh, he flicked a finger, releasing the men.
Patrick saw Beth’s tears, and remorse swept over him. He had tried hard not to hurt her, and now he felt a wave of tenderness such as he had never felt before.
“Don’t cry, mo chridhe. The pain will pass.”
“Kiss me again,” she said.
He bent to obey, but a sudden pounding on the door startled them both.
Clutching him with one hand, Beth clapped the other hand over her mouth and looked at him, horrified.
Fear swept through him. It was too late for ordinary visitors, and now that his mission for Beaton was done, no one but Kintail commanded him, and Fin would have shouted his name as he knocked. He knew as certainly as he knew anything that whoever stood on the other side of the door represented danger to Beth.
“Who is it?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. Friends identify themselves.”
Another knock, loud enough this time to be the hilt of a sword, even a club, and a voice this time. “Open in the name of Cardinal Beaton!”
Beth gasped. “The cardinal! Oh, Patrick, what can it mean?”
“Danger,” he said tersely, easing himself out of her.
“Open this door, or we’ll break it down!”
“Hold on,” Patrick shouted. “I’m coming!”
A body thudded hard against the door.
He got up, grabbed his netherstocks and hose, and started to scramble into them, but another thud changed his mind. “Hold patience!” he shouted. “You’ll be lucky an
I do not throttle you for interrupting my wedding night!”
Snatching a ring off his little finger, he gave it to Beth, saying under his breath, “Slip that on, lass, and do your best to cover yourself but no more. I don’t want them gawking, but I do want them to know what we were doing.”
Trembling now, as much from a reaction to her first coupling as from fear of what lay ahead, Beth obeyed him, sitting up and trying to cover herself.
As Patrick unbolted the door, her stomach clenched, and she feared that she would lose what little she had eaten that day. Then she remembered Maggie’s warning that she could not answer for the consequences if Beth did not return to serve Drusilla and Jelyan, and the memory stirred fingers of ice along her spine. She was on her own now, come what may. Drawing a deep breath, she slid off the bed to stand beside it, clutching a blanket around her as Patrick opened the door. Two armed men in scarlet livery stood in the corridor.
“What the devil do you mean by creating such a disturbance?” Patrick demanded angrily. “If the cardinal sent you—”
“We ha’ come for Elspeth Douglas,” the larger of the two declared.
“There is no one here who answers any longer to that name,” Patrick said, but Beth knew her gasp had given her away.
“That be her there,” the second one said. “We ha’ come tae arrest her.”
“Rubbish,” Patrick said. “What is the charge?”
“Witchcraft be the first one.”
The first one! With a cry of horror, Beth reached for Patrick, and he put his arm around her. She hugged the blanket tightly but it gave her no warmth.
“That charge is false,” Patrick said with amazing calm. “What’s the second?”
“Treason against James, High King o’ Scots.”
Beth’s knees gave way. Only Patrick’s strong arm held her upright.
Patrick fought cold terror and knew Beth felt the same, because her fingers gripped his arm as convulsively as Zeus’s talons when the hawk was about to bate. Beaton’s war against witchcraft was notorious. That he cared more about destroying witches than about learning if they were guilty of the charge was just as notorious.
“Stand aside, sir, or we’ve orders tae arrest ye as well,” the taller man said.
“My wife is neither a witch nor a traitor,” Patrick snapped, noting that Beth had recovered enough of her equilibrium to stand on her own.
“Then she can tell us how she came by all her finery,” the spokesman said, gesturing toward the pile of clothing on the floor. “She’s nowt but a baseborn maidservant, they say, but she were in the great hall dressed as fine as a princess.”
“I’ve told you, she is my wife, and I am quite able to dress her in the style she deserves,” Patrick said, controlling his temper with effort.
“Ye werena married afore tonight, though. Ye didna keep such finery here just in the event that ye might find yourself a wee wife, now, did ye, sir?”
Patrick was silent.
“Moreover, folks say the lass ha’ been a-castin’ spells hereabouts, thereby endangering the King, his queen, and their two wee bairns. That be treason, sir, plain and simple.”
Striving to collect his wits, Patrick said, “We will answer any questions we must, but since you lack the authority to accept or reject our answers, we will wait upon his eminence in the morning. I know him. I warrant he will hear me.”
“Mayhap he will,” the spokesman agreed with a shrug. “Ye’ll find out in the morning, but me orders be tae arrest the lass now and lock her up till her trial.”
Patrick glanced at his sword.
“Dinna try that,” the spokesman said, touching his own sword hilt. “There be two o’ us, sir, and ye’ll unable tae speak for the lass if ye be dead or injured.”
Beth stepped behind Patrick, as if his large body could protect her from the soldiers. He only wished it could. At least she had the sense to keep quiet.
Sternly, he said to the men, “I want your word that no harm will come to her before I have a chance to speak with his eminence.”
“An he agrees tae hear ye,” the second man muttered.
Patrick ignored him, saying to the spokesman, “This is naught but a charge laid by spiteful women, easily disproved. Do not forget that she is my wife, Lady MacRae, and treat her accordingly or I shall voice my complaints to the King.”
The look the spokesman gave him said as clearly as words would have that the King’s displeasure was insignificant compared to the cardinal’s. And compared to either, Patrick knew the two men counted his fury small indeed. Never had he felt so helpless. Having to relinquish Beth to them felt worse than it had felt to watch Kintail taken hostage.
“We’ll take her now, sir,” the man said. “Come, mistress.”
“Wait,” Patrick said curtly. “You will allow her to dress properly. She cannot escape, for you stand in the only doorway. Stand outside until she is ready.”
The second man said snidely, “Likely, the wee witch will conjure up a broomstick and fly off out yonder window an we did anything so daft.”
“Oh, don’t be stupid!” Beth snapped. “I just wish I could fly away.”
Although he was glad to see she had not lost her spirit, Patrick feared she might suffer for it. He put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a warning squeeze as he said grimly, “You will speak to her courteously or answer to me.”
The spokesman glanced at him, and Patrick held his gaze, still fighting to control his temper. He wanted to murder both men and get Beth away to safety.
Evidently, his fury impressed the spokesman, for he said, “I beg your pardon, sir. She’ll no come tae harm wi’ us. We canna go outside, but we’ll turn our backs.”
Not trusting either one, Patrick stood between the two and Beth while she scrambled into her skirt and bodice. When she picked up her belt, he said, “Leave it, mo chridhe, and your hood, too. I’ll keep them safe. Give me your necklace, too. I’d say leave your shoes, but I don’t want you walking barefoot. Art ready now?”
“Aye,” she said quietly. “Will you come?”
“I wish I could, but I doubt they would allow it. In any event, I want to find his eminence.” Turning to the men-at-arms, he said, “Is the cardinal still below?”
“Aye, sir, he were eating his supper just moments ago,” the spokesman said.
Kissing Beth, Patrick said, “I’ll come as soon as I can.”
Her eyes were wide with fright, and he put his arms around her, holding her close, wanting to insist that they let him go with her but knowing he had accomplished as much as he could until he could get help. Even so, he hated watching her go away with them, looking so small and vulnerable.
She glanced back, and the attempt she made to smile wrung his heart. Throwing on his clothes, he exchanged boots for his court shoes, in case he had to leave the castle, strapped on his dirk and sword, and hurried to find the cardinal.
“All mortals be fools, Claud,” Lucy Fittletrot said in disgust. “Your lass be nae more a witch than I be.”
“Less,” Claud said, wringing his hands. “There must be summat we can do.”
“Mayhap me father will ken a way tae help her.”
“I canna beg aid from your father till I can tell him his true name,” Claud said. “But stay! Dinna ye ken what his true name be?”
“Nay, only Tom Tit Tot,” she said. “Ye willna blame me an I canna help ye, Claud. That wouldna be fair when ye ken even less about your ain father.”
“Dinna fash yourself, lass,” Claud said with a sigh. “But me mam will flay me an I let ill befall our lass now. We must follow her.”
“Oh, aye, we can do that. I want tae see what they’ll do tae her. But first, me fine laddie, ye stirred a thirst in me earlier that keeps me from thinking straight, and we’ve this chamber all tae ourselves for a time.”
Claud sighed, knowing that his mother would say he should put first things first. But his notion of “first” was rather different from Maggie’s, and surely a fe
w minutes more or less would not matter to anyone but him and his willing Lucy.
James wakened Nell, kissing her lips and her breasts, and then made her squirm with further attentions. Not until they lay back satiated did she remember seeing Patrick in the hall.
“Why is Sir Patrick here without Kintail?” she asked. When he did not answer, she said, “I should tell you I saw him in Cumberland, too, at Midgeholme.”
“Indeed?”
“Aye,” she said. “Surely, you know what he was doing there.”
“I know that he trained a fine hawk and that he spent time in England, serving his king. What else I may know is no concern of yours.”
“No, sire, but as to Kintail and his lady—”
“They are here, too,” James said with a sigh.
“Faith, do you mean to tell me he is one of your Highland hostages?”
“Aye.”
“I never dreamed… I heard that you had collected a few Highland chiefs and chieftains, but Kintail! James, his father gave his life in your service!”
“ ’Tis not a matter we need discuss now.”
“I have been here three days,” Nell said, struggling to keep from shouting the words at him. “You tell me now that my daughter has been here all that time?”
“Dinna be wroth with me, Nell,” he said, turning to nuzzle her breasts again. “Kintail and his lass will still be here in the morning.”
“But you should have told me.”
“God’s feet, madam, you should be flattered that I did not want to compete with your daughter for your attention. Now that the Queen is here and will remain for a fortnight, you may go to your daughter when I dismiss you.”
Frustrated, knowing that like most men he would always put his needs before those of anyone else, Nell turned her attention to pleasing him.
Patrick soon learned that despite what the men-at-arms had said, the cardinal and his entourage had left the castle and the King had likewise retired for the night. Therefore, he hurried to the stables, ordered a horse, and rode down to the abbey.
A number of people strolled along the torchlit main streets, and he half expected to catch up to Beth and her escort but saw no sign of them. As he approached Stirling Bridge, he realized he had acquired a companion. Thunder loped alongside, matching strides with the horse. Patrick was not sure when the big dog had joined him, for he had left the lights of the town behind and despite the dog’s size, his coloring made him nearly invisible.