The Enchantress

by May McGoldrick

  He went down on one knee as his tongue traced an scorching trail from her chin to the valley between her aching breasts. She gasped as he took one nipple into his mouth, suckling, tugging, causing her to shudder and groan with pleasure and torment at the same time.

  She curled over him, kissing his hair. His name was a continuous whisper on her lips.

  “I want you, Laura. I want you so badly it hurts,” he whispered roughly.

  “Then take me.” She gazed down into his face. “I am yours to take.”

  William pulled her tightly to him, laying his head against her breasts as his hands caressed her back, the soft curves of her backside, the length of her weakening legs. His fingers explored the contours of the backs of her knees, of her thighs.

  Laura gasped in surprise as William’s hand slid to the juncture of her legs. Her body arched against his, one knee rising against his side as his fingers gently stoked the fire raging within her. Laura's fingertips raked across his wide shoulders. She clutched his hair as a moan escaped her. Or was it from him?

  William’s mouth moved over one breast, his tongue circling and then flicking at the erect nipple. Her hands held tightly to his hair and his back while she unconsciously pulsed her hips against him. His fingers continued to stroke the moist folds of her womanhood while he suckled her breast.

  “William!” she cried out. His fingers were sending waves of molten liquid upward through her in rivers of fire.

  His breath was heated against her dampening skin as he whispered the words, “let it go. Let it go, Laura.”

  At the sound of his voice, she felt her soul soar.

  She rolled her head back as an exquisite pressure built. Her breaths were getting shorter and shorter, and suddenly Laura felt her body shuddering uncontrollably, and a sky opened above her. Flashing light and colors unimaginable burst around her. Incapable of thought, she clasped his head to her breasts as the colors erupted in her and a shower of sparks touched every nerve in her body.

  She clung to him, gradually regaining the ability to think, but taking even more pleasure in the way he simply held her tight in his arms as the throbbing release slowly ebbed away.

  A moment later she saw him rise slowly to his feet. William was still fully clothed, and she suddenly felt absolutely licentious, standing naked in his encircling arms. Before she could give vent to any feeling of shame, though, his mouth moved over hers. Teasing, tasting, his tongue moving in and out.

  Her fingers trembled as they moved down his chest, down to the wool of his kilt, following the line of the hard arousal. She ran her fingers curiously over his bulging manhood and heard his swift intake of breath.

  “Show me,” she whispered shyly. “Show me how to please you.”

  With a single motion he swept her up in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Please!” she repeated, kissing his jaw, his neck. “Teach me.”

  “Aye. That I will!” he growled. “But first you have to know one thing.”

  She drew back and gazed into his eyes, shining in the light of the fire.

  “I’ve decided to keep you.”

  *****

  The fire long out, the chamber was as chilly as a dungeon in the Orkneys. Her blanket was not nearly long enough to cover him, and his feet hung out a good half foot beyond the bottom. They were squeezed into a cot not even wide enough to support the width of his shoulders on the lumpiest straw-filled mattress he’d ever experienced. Her elbow, poking into his side, was as sharp as a lance.

  And William Ross felt a contentment at that moment that he knew he could never truly describe.

  He smiled down at the sleeping angel curled up in his arms and ran his fingers through the silky mass of hair draping over his arm. She made a small sound in her sleep and nestled her naked bottom closer against his belly.

  He smiled as he felt himself harden yet again.

  It was nearly dawn, the graying light filtering in around the edges of the shutter. He knew he should be up and out of her bedchamber before anyone in the household appeared and discovered their night of intimate pleasure. But then, the feel of her stirring in his arms wiped out all of his good intentions in an instant. She placed soft kisses on the arm she’d been using as a pillow before turning awkwardly in the small space and facing him.

  “Did you sleep at all?”

  He cupped her warm cheek with his palm and ran his thumb over her still swollen lips. “Did you?”

  She gave him a brilliant smile that went right straight to his heart. “I did, though I don’t know for how long. And no bad dreams, either.”

  He placed a kiss on her forehead. Another one on her nose. “What are these dreams, Laura? What are you afraid of?”

  She was silent for a moment as her eyes caressed his face. Then she shook her head and tucked herself under his chin, bringing her body flush against his.

  “Not now,” she whispered. “I don’t want to think of any of that now.”

  William held her tight against him, his body aching with the desire to take her again. His heart swelled, pulsing with all the emotions she enlivened in him. And then the old confusion and fear slipped in, and he fought them back.

  “I have to go,” he said reluctantly, caressing her back.

  She bobbed her head up and down in agreement, but then her mouth found his skin and moved down his chest. He felt her one hand trace the planes of his stomach and hesitantly touch his aching shaft.

  “I don’t think you really want to go,” she said softly.

  He growled in her ear and rolled her roughly onto her back, moving on top of her.

  “‘Tis trouble you ask for, touching me like that this early in the day.”

  “But how disappointing to think that you might be unmoved by my touch at other times.”

  She gave him a mischievous smile that disappeared as he positioned himself between her legs. Her knees lifted, and he felt her press her moist opening against him.

  “When it comes to you, lass...” He lifted himself up and glanced down at the peaks of her breasts waiting for his mouth to close over them.

  “When it comes to me...” She pulsed against him, opening her legs farther and raising her hips.

  Unable to wait any longer, he thrust inside her, eliciting a moan of delight.

  “There is no such thing as ‘unmoved’ when it comes to you, Laura.” Slowly, he began to withdraw, only to slide deeply into her again. “And you, my sweet, can move me anytime.”

  ******

  The sky was graying over the low hills to the east, and Gilbert Ross turned to watch the darkness drop away from the sturdy stone walls of Blackfearn Castle.

  For over an hour now he had walked. And pondered. And prayed.

  In these wee hours of the morning he often sought guidance. Sometimes he even got it. But not this morning.

  Turning his steps back toward the castle, Gilbert strode into the dark arched gate and thanked the warrior who raised the heavy portcullis. Proceeding across the courtyard, he shrugged out of the heavy cloak and shook the dew off of it. He entered the Great Hall.

  All was quiet. Though he had seen a few of the kitchen helpers making their way up from the village in the darkness, no smells of food yet wafted in from the kitchen. None of the men sleeping in the Hall were yet stirring to take on the challenge of the day. He searched under the tables for his dog. For the second day in the row he found the beast missing.

  Gilbert had been hearing of strange goings on in the castle from a number of sources. From the warrior at the gate this morning, he had heard of a long and private discussion between Laura and Sir Wyntoun that had taken place in the Great Hall. And from two scullery maids yesterday, he’d heard that Miriam had left her own bedchamber the first night, going to the kitchen to sleep. The same two had also told him about his brother’s actions. About how William had taken the child and the provost’s dog back to the lassie’s room.

  Gilbert smiled to himself as he took the steps up to t
he east wing. Everything was proceeding better than he’d hoped. Despite William’s initial objection to having the child at Blackfearn, Gilbert had witnessed the little exchange between the two of them the day before. The soft look that traveled between them. The gaze that certainly bordered on affectionate. That problem appeared to be resolved. From what Gilbert could see, it looked as if Miriam was here to stay.

  Now if he could only say the same for Laura.

  His efforts to make William jealous over Wyntoun’s attentions were working fine so far. But Gilbert’s plans for manipulating his unwieldy brother into spending more time alone with Laura had yet to prove effective. Suddenly, there was no laird in the Highlands spending more time or effort on behalf of his clan than William Ross. He was really beginning to give Gilbert a stiff pain.

  Reaching the upper level corridor of the east wing, Gilbert glanced at Laura's closed door in the distance. It would be sheer disaster if she was to fall for Sir Wyntoun MacLean. It will be a tremendous loss to the family, to the clan, and to William if she slipped through his fingers and marry someone else.

  More than once Gilbert had thought that if he himself were not committed by his priestly vows...

  The provost shook off that line of thinking and came to a stop by little Miriam’s chamber. Gently, he pushed open the heavy oak door. All was well inside. The little girl was sleeping soundly, comfortably tucked into her very large bed. His dog Willie was lying down by the small hearth, his head up and his tail swishing across the floor. Gilbert’s gaze moved again back to Miriam, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward.

  All will be well, lass. He remembered the promise he’d made not so long ago to the portrait he kept in his work room at St. Duthac’s. With the Maker’s help, he repeated inwardly, all will be well.

  The sound of Laura’s door opening drew Gilbert’s head around. Staring in stunned silence, he watched William step out and pull the door shut.

  The laird stopped short when he spotted his brother but quickly recovered, approaching him.

  “William!” the provost said under his breath.

  “Gilbert!” the laird whispered, looking past his brother’s shoulder at the sleeping child. With a satisfied look, he headed down the corridor without uttering another word.

  Gilbert glanced once at the closed door of Laura's room and then at the retreating back. Quickly pulling the child’s door closed, he started after his brother. The laird had already reached the top of the main set of stairs, though, before Gilbert caught up with him.

  “Is that all you can do?” the provost called, taking hold of the warrior chief’s arm to stop him. “Just run away like some cowardly dog?”

  William directed a menacing glare at the priest before turning his back and starting down the winding stairs.

  “You cannot just walk away from this, William.” Gilbert called, following after him.

  “I’m certain I don’t know what you’re wailing about.”

  Passing from the stairwell out into the Great Hall, Gilbert ignored the groggy faces turning in surprise as the two of them stormed past.

  “William, I demand that we talk about this.”

  “Naturally,” the laird snapped over his shoulder. “But in private, you skulking, poor excuse for a friar.”

  “Friar?” the younger man cried with disgusted indignation. “I am no skulking anything, you lecherous cur. I am the provost of the Shrine of St. Duthac.”

  William held open the door of his work room and made a sweeping bow, motioning his brother to enter. “Well, of course, Gilbert. That is what I meant to say.”

  No sooner had the door closed than Gilbert began blasting his brother. “How could you have betrayed your trust? You’ve broken a promise that was made to her mother. She was sent to us to be protected--to be respected. And, simpleton that I am, I brought her here because I thought, under your protection...with your help...” The priest shook his head helplessly. “But you--you--”

  He stopped abruptly. William, apparently determined to ignore everything that was being said, moved around his worktable and, after opening the shutter to the morning light, sat down.

  “Are you listening to me, William? Do you not have some remorse, some regret, for what you have done?”

  The laird’s gaze slowly lifted from open ledger on his desk and met his brother’s with penetrating clarity. “No regrets.”

  Gilbert waited, dumbfounded, for more of an explanation. But there was none, and the two stared at each other in silence. Finally, the provost felt the last threads of his fraying patience give way.

  “I won’t allow you to do this, Will. This is the last straw. I have never interfered...well, rarely interfered with your blatant desire to ruin your own life. But this is no private matter. You’ve willfully dragged an innocent woman of position into your bed. Now ‘tis your duty to do the right thing.”

  “Sit down, Gilbert.”

  “I will not,” he snapped back, starting to pace the room. “A grave wrong has been done here, and I will not rest until ‘tis set right.”

  “Gilbert!”

  “Do you think I can just forget what I saw? Do you believe I can just take that young woman away from Blackfearn Castle and blithely set out to find her a husband? After what I’ve witnessed with my own eyes?”

  “Gilbert!” William said again, a note of warning in his tone.

  “Nay, I will not be placated, I said.” He pointed a finger in the direction of the laird. “And do not even think of telling me that she invited your attentions or some other spurious excuse.”

  “She did not. Now if you’ll--”

  “No excuses, Will. I warn you.” The priest continued pacing the room. “‘Tis not you who now has to write a letter to her mother explaining your weakness.”

  “When I have the opportunity, I will--”

  “Opportunity?” Gilbert snorted. “You have had your opportunity and taken full advantage of it. And now I am faced with the task of seeking forgiveness from the woman. With any luck, she might just agree to accept you as a husband for her daughter. Of course, it might be spring before we get an answer back, but--”

  “There will not be a letter.”

  The provost whirled on his brother. “There will be. There must be. As there must be a marriage. Lord help me, if I have to tie you to your horse and drag you to the church door, there will be a marriage, and you’ll be the groom.”

  There was a look of amusement in the other man’s eyes that riled Gilbert even more.

  “Do you think I can’t handle you, Will Ross?” He pointed a long, slender finger at his brother’s face. “This wedding will take place in the spring!”

  William sat back in his chair and tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.

  “Spring won’t be very convenient for me. You know that between the planting and the lambing, ‘tis a very busy time of the year.”

  “As if you’re a farmer,” Gilbert scoffed. “Very well, but I’m telling you, ‘twill be summer at the very latest.”

  The Ross shook his head again. “Summer won’t do either. Our fishermen will be out working the firth.”

  “Brother,” Gilbert growled. “You are neither a fisherman nor a farmer.”

  “But my people are. And I cannot be distracted with this--this wedding business when my people need a laird to work beside them and see to their needs.”

  Visibly restraining himself, the provost stared at the floor, disgust etched on his face. “Very well. You tell me what time is good for you. Though for the life of me, Will, after what you’ve done here, I do not know why I’m giving you any say in the matter at all. When?”

  William Ross rose to his feet. “Today, my brother!”

  Gilbert’s jaw dropped open, and he stared as the laird came around the work table and started for the door leading into the laird’s bedchamber.

  “And you shall marry us before noon,” William said, pausing at the door. “Edward and I need to be going back into the village
after the ceremony.”

  CHAPTER 21

  She wore the gray wool dress that she’d been wearing when William first kidnapped her.

  Standing beside the Highlander in the small chapel of Blackfearn Castle, Laura kept wondering if she was about to awaken at any moment. The sound of the provost’s voice droning on in Latin and in Gaelic, the smells of the candles and the incense, even the faces of the few who had crowded into the tiny space...it all had a dreamlike quality to it.

  Surely, she was about to awaken.

  Gilbert Ross paused, but Laura was too embarrassed to look up and meet the priest’s gaze. Just as she’d been too jittery to return the nods of approval of the well-wishers who had gathered outside the chapel.

  What must they all be thinking? she wondered. Everyone must know the truth. They must know that she and William had spent the night in her chamber. Why else would no one even look surprised at the hastily arranged wedding?

  No planning. No period of courting, asking, waiting. No discussions between family. No reading of the banns of marriage.

  Not that she deserved any of it, considering the fact that she initiated everything last night. It was a scandal because she herself had created it. And then she had gone back to sleep, only to be caught totally off guard when Maire and Janet had come to her door. What must they have thought when she looked at them with total incomprehension as they spoke of getting her ready for the wedding ceremony?

  What had he said last night about keeping her? He was going to keep her, he said. She had not even had a moment to think that his words had been an offer of marriage.

  Laura absently stared at the bundled sprigs of dried rosemary she held in one hand and remembered the clumsy way she’d received the two women. Tongue-tied and graceless upon hearing the news.