As they had entered the hall, Celia had taken the baby, giving Ellen a chance to eat her dinner with Runt, who was making rapid progress in his recovery. As soon as Ellen had turned toward the table where he sat with several others, Runt had quickly cleared a place beside him for the fair-haired beauty. Watching them together had confirmed in Celia's eyes everything Ellen had told her earlier.
After she'd returned to her room, Jean had come with a load of wood and turf for her fire, and his familiar friendliness reminded Celia of how much her position had changed at Kildalton. Somehow Agnes had managed to convey to the household Celia’s true identity. Jean no longer treated her like a guest. His patter about the excitement of the household and the villagers had the tone of a longtime confidant. It made her consider the openness of the villagers that they had passed today. They had all saluted her by her real name, and none seemed surprised to see her at Colin's side.
Like Ellen, Celia felt an acceptance of her that made her feel at home. It was not simply hospitality. It was a real sense of approval that she felt from everyone, especially from Lord Hugh and Agnes.
And she owed all that to Colin. Not only had he saved her from a horrible fate at Argyll's castle, he had offered her all of the things that she longed for in her life. And he had accepted her unconditionally, making certain that everyone knew it.
But what had she given in return?
When the booming sounds of the guns had commenced, Celia had been drawn back into a time in her past when she had heard that same far off thunder. It was that time of childhood when she had put her faith in her father. That faith, that special trust, had been forged from the love that father and daughter had shared. It was a trust that had never diminished to the day he died.
But this afternoon, in her conversation with Lord Hugh, Celia had been hurt by the unknown reality of her childhood. There was a part of her father that she had never known. It was a part of his life that he had not shared with her.
Celia thought of Edmund, who had been beside her all these years, caring for her, watching over her, and yet all the time knowing the truth about her father. He had never even allowed her a suspicion of anything that might diminish her cherished memories. But the memory of the love and trust that she had thought boundless had been abruptly tempered by the words she had heard. Her father had not truly trusted her.
But thinking about that now, Celia knew that her father simply could not. After all, she had been a mere child. He had done what he had to do, and he had done the best he could. She could not fault him in that. But she knew it was time to learn the whole truth from Edmund.
As Colin's ships hammered away at the shoreline, testing the range and accuracy of the new cannons, Celia realized that she was doing to Colin what her father had done to her, with the exception that Colin was no child, and he would not forgive.
Celia knew deep within her what she could give in return, what she must give in return. She had so little to give him; she had only her heart...and her trust. She had already given him her heart. It was now time to give him her trust.
The only truth that Celia still withheld from Colin had to be shared. Then Colin would know everything about her. He would be a part of her life, and share in the task that lay upon her shoulders.
It was time. She had to see him.
The men all returned from the ships and the harbor long after dark. In the South Hall during the boisterous meal following the success of the sail, Colin gleaned from his discussion with Agnes and Father William that Celia had retired much earlier. Agnes assured him that Celia was fine, but that the hectic nature of the day had not helped her recovery along. Celia needed to rest, Agnes admonished.
Colin stood drying before the roaring fire in his room. Jean and the others had just finished carrying out the tub of water that he had bathed in, and the warrior wrapped the linen drying cloth around his hips. Crouching before the hearth, Colin absently fed pieces of turf and wood into the fire, thinking, instead, of Celia's face when he had asked her to marry him. How he loved the flights of expression that passed across her face. Never had a woman filled him with such a raw mixture of conflicting passions. He wanted to hold her safely in his arms, comfort her, soothe her, protect her, but at the same time he wanted to take her, drive her to a fever of desire, to a wildness that he knew existed within her. He wanted to feel her smooth body under his own, feel the rhythmic dance of love build within her, encompassing them both, taking them both to the zenith of ecstasy.
Colin felt the sharp stirring sensation in his loins at the thought of Celia. He knew that this was going to be a long night without her.
Colin's head snapped around as the panel to the left of the fireplace opened.
As Celia pulled the panel door open, she could see from the firelight that the room appeared empty. Looking across the room at the huge, curtained bed against the far wall, she could not see whether Colin had retired.
Celia began to call his name softly as she stepped into the room, but the word evaporated on her lips when she saw him.
The sight of him standing beside the fire obliterated any rational thought in Celia's head. His shining black hair hung in tangled disarray around his handsome, chiseled features. The sinewy muscles that enveloped his broad shoulders and chest rippled in the flashing light of the fire. His upper body tapered to a flat, hard abdomen before disappearing into the clinging, white linen that ended abruptly at the brawny swell of his massive thighs.
He was truly magnificent.
Celia heard rather than felt the involuntary intake of air that swept into her lungs. It sounded so sharply in the silence that it seemed to fill the room. Suddenly she could think of nothing else but what those great arms would be like around her right now.
Colin took only a moment to recognize the look of need in her that matched his own. The realization that Celia had come to his bedroom, that they were finally alone, washed any inclination to hesitate from his thoughts. He took the few quick steps and swept her into his embrace.
“Celia, you are here,” he whispered, holding her fiercely against his skin. It was as though he wanted to be assured that she was no dream, that she was actual flesh and blood.
The light, fresh scent of her ignited in him a passion so dizzying, so overwhelming, that Colin felt like a man intoxicated. Bending his face over hers, their lips met in a conflagration of desire. Her lips parted slightly, and he penetrated her mouth with his tongue, searching for the taste that might somehow relieve the insatiable need within him to know her.
Celia thrilled at the feel of Colin's strength around her. Her arms strained to pull him closer. The hunger for him swept through her body, through her every action. Her hands were all over him. Suddenly, his lips drew away from hers, and she felt his hands grip her wrists, placing them at her sides.
“Celia, I have dreamt of this moment,” he whispered as his hands slid under the folds of the robe, and Celia felt it drop off her shoulders to the floor about her feet.
Celia wanted to tell him how she too felt, about her dreams, but instead she could only close her eyes and shudder as she felt his fingers gently undo the tie at the top of her nightshift. He tenderly slid his hands across the skin of her collarbone and took her face in his hands for a light, glancing kiss.
Colin's hands again glided down the front of her shift to the second tie. As he unknotted the string, Celia felt him spread the material slightly, the backs of his fingers caressing the soft curves between her breasts.
The third tie was hardly open when Celia felt his full lips lightly upon hers. His low voice rumbled as he took her chin in his hand.
“Look at me.”
She opened her eyes and gazed into the gray expanse of his eyes. They were so full of passion, so full of desire, so full of what she knew to be love for her.
“We belong to each other, now,” he said.
Colin slid his hands under the soft collar of the nightshift. He lightly lifted the linen across the silky skin of C
elia's shoulders, and the white cloth was gone.
Colin stepped back to fully appreciate the radiant beauty that stood revealed before him.
“You are a goddess,” he whispered raggedly.
Even in the light of the fire, he could see the florid heat that was coloring her cheeks. Her slim body was so perfectly formed, her skin so smooth and so golden in the reflective glow. His eyes took in the incredible beauty of the woman who was his completely. She stood with her hands at her sides. She made no attempt to hide her body from him. She made no attempt to hide her heart.
“Colin,” she whispered. “I'm real...and I'm yours.”
The warrior moved back to her, sweeping her up and carrying her across the room to his bed. From the moment he touched her, a frenzied passion eclipsed all reason.
Colin placed her gently upon the deep billows of his bed, and lay down beside her. His mouth captured hers, and the soft touch of his hands moving slowly across her body made Celia quiver with anticipation. He raised his face and looked down at her with affection and tenderness.
The heat of his chest against her skin scorched her. She reached up to push back the tendril of hair that had fallen across his face. Her hand traced delicately the line of his jaw, the musculature of his shoulder, his arm.
Colin shuddered involuntarily at the erotic sensation her touch produced in him, and he kissed her again—her lips, her chin, the tip of his tongue drawing a line along her throat down into the valley between her breasts. He heard her gasp as his mouth encircled one breast, finally taking her nipple firmly between his lips.
Celia took hold of the bedding on either side of her as Colin's hand slid down along her belly to the junction of her thighs. Her body arched against his hand as his fingers entered the warm opening, softly stoking the raging fire within her. Celia felt a white hot bolt surging from his lips at her breast to the touch of his fingers within her flesh.
Colin listened to the soft whimpers of pleasure that were escaping her lips. He concentrated on her rising pitch, the short panting breaths, in an effort to control his own mounting excitement.
With one swift movement, Colin swept away the towel that covered him, and lifted himself onto her body. Her legs instinctively opened to accept him. He penetrated her gently until his throbbing manhood reached the membrane of her virginity. He stopped and looked into her passion-clouded eyes.
“Celia, hold me,” he murmured, sliding his hands under her backside.
Colin felt her hands grip his back, and he could wait no longer. He thrust himself deep within her.
Pinned beneath him, Celia cried out as the sharp pain of his entry exploded in her body. His full weight upon her arrested any movement.
“Hold still, my love,” he said through clenched teeth, trying to control his overwhelming urge to withdraw and plunge again and again in the incredible tightness. “I'm sorry for the pain. Wait, it will pass.”
Celia felt briefly outside the sudden reality of the moment. As if standing beside the experience, she felt no pain, only a shock that seemed to erase the rending sensation. But then, feelings of a different sort began to stir in her body. Celia felt as if an entirely different force were taking over her being. An urgent need to move was creeping into her.
Colin, too, felt a swelling need growing within him. He kissed her hungrily as her hips began to move rhythmically against him. The tightness of her was wondrously agonizing as she rose to him, drawing him ever deeper until she had taken in all of him.
Waves of white, pulsing heat were consuming Celia. She was not even conscious of the wild, surging dance of her body's pounding drive. Her nails clawed at his back, his shoulders, while her mouth devoured him.
Colin shook with the effort of his restraint. Slowly he withdrew from the depths of her, only to feel her rise up to take him deep within her. He thrust into her again and again, their bodies rocking together, soaring together to a frenzied crescendo of love and release.
Their climax erupted with volcanic force, and they clung to each other, united in a crystal sphere of body and spirit.
Transfixed, they seemed to pass an age in that moment, until Colin gently withdrew from her and rolled to his side, taking her with him.
As his breaths subsided, he caressed her face, lifting her chin and kissing her lightly on the forehead, eyelids, cheeks, chin, lips.
“I love you, Celia. I'm sorry that I had to hurt you.”
“Do not be sorry, Colin,” she murmured softly, her black eyes clouded with passion. “I'm not.”
“It will not hurt like that again,” he said in return, stroking her soft hair, her shoulder, her back. “It'll just get better.”
“I'll die if it gets any better,” she answered, a laugh rippling through the love-scented air. She looked across at him, touching his chest, his shoulder, his upper arm, her face growing serious. “Colin, I hope that next time I can please you as you've pleased me.”
Colin laughed aloud at the thought of her not pleasing him. Pulling her tightly against him, he crushed her lips with a searing kiss.
“Please me?” he growled with a smile. “Never before have I felt what we shared tonight. I felt as if I came out of a dark tunnel into a light I'd never known. You released in me a passion that I could not control. Please me? My God, love, you've pleased me...intoxicated me...enslaved me.”
Celia pushed him onto his back and smiled down into his gray eyes.
“Oh, Colin,” she thrilled. “I love you so much. I came here tonight to talk and...and one look at you standing there, so handsome...naked…” Celia's hand roamed the muscles in his chest, in his hard stomach, traveling lower to his naval, even lower. “I want to learn everything. And everything about you.”
As Celia's fingers reached his manhood, she heard Colin take a sharp breath. Her mouth was on him now, kissing his lips, tasting his neck, his chest. Thinking back on the pleasure that he had given her, she encircled his nipples with her tongue. Colin groaned as her hand lightly grasped his throbbing arousal. Abruptly Celia's face was above his, her eyes mischievous and her expression impish.
“Colin,” she began. “I'm ready to talk now.”
The giant took her auburn curls in his two great fists and rolled her over onto her back.
“Tomorrow. We'll talk tomorrow.”
As the first light of dawn crept through Colin's window, the warrior rolled onto the still warm space beside him. As his consciousness emerged through the gray haze of slumber, Colin realized that Celia was no longer there.
Sitting bolt upright, he pushed open the heavy curtains that blocked his view of the panel. The entry was closed, and she was gone.
For a moment Colin wondered whether the night before had really happened. Whether she had come to him. Whether they had shared the incredible passion that seemed almost dreamlike in his memory. But glancing at the bedding, he knew that she had shared with him a cherished moment of her life.
Lying back in the billowy comfort of the bed, Colin felt a gnawing ache begin to grow in him. There was a vacant place inside of him that he knew was intimately connected with the vacant place beside him. He felt almost foolish—like a pubescent schoolboy—knowing that the longing he was feeling was for a woman in the very next room. He smiled into the tent-like darkness above his bed and closed his eyes. He missed her.
Bear was waiting for Celia as she came down the stairway into the Great Hall, his tail wagging fiercely in a now customary morning greeting. Grabbing him by the ears and kissing him in the middle of his square forehead, Celia turned toward the South Hall with a mixture of feelings that were combining to color her cheeks with a rising heat. Her excitement at seeing Colin was combined with a bit of nervousness; her desire to be with those whom she knew cared for her was mixed with a bit of shyness at the thought that they might discern some change in her.
Celia was pleased to see the sun streaming in the open doors of the Entry Hall. Another beautiful day.
Entering the South Hall, Celia paused
in the doorway as she noticed a stranger sitting with Lord Hugh, Colin, Edmund, and Alec. Immediately Colin looked up to see her and leapt to his feet. Crossing the hall, they met in the center, and as Colin took her hands, she blushed furiously, noting that all eyes in the hall were upon them.
“You're certainly in good color this morning,” he whispered as they turned toward the head table. “Difficult night sleeping?”
Celia could not answer, her face glowing crimson, but she dug her nails deeply into the flesh of his palm. Colin responded immediately, hiding a wince and sandwiching her hand firmly in his.
“I'll be good,” he surrendered. “Besides, we have a visitor.”
Exchanging looks with the man now standing by his place at the table, Celia thought there was something familiar in his face, though she was sure that she'd never seen him before. The handsome, boyish features were marred by the bright red scar crossing his forehead from just above his right eye and disappearing into the shock of brown hair. His eyes seemed to register recognition as she approached, and that recognition was closely followed by surprise and admiration.
“Lady Celia,” Colin said, taking her arm possessively. “I'd like to introduce you to Alec's brother, Ambrose Macpherson.”
Celia glanced from one brother's smiling face to the other, realizing now why Ambrose's looks had seemed so familiar. He was just a slightly shorter, scarred version of Alec. But while Celia knew that Alec's brothers had been at court, she was sure she had never met them.
“I know Lady Muir,” Ambrose replied heartily.
“You do?” Celia blurted out, perplexed at his response. “I'm sure that we've never met, m'lord.”
“Aye, m'lady,” Ambrose continued. “I was among the crowd who were following in your wake during the celebration last summer. I'd seen you many times before, but you were never one to cast an eye in an admirer's direction. But pardon my surprise at seeing you here, the word at court was that Queen Margaret had sent you to England.”
The Thistle and the Rose Page 25