by Sondra Grey
On the way up to their rooms Calum was silent, but his grip on Isla’s hand was tight and he didn’t stop until they were behind a set of solid oak doors. The he dropped her hand and rounded on her.
Isla opened her mouth, dozens of questions on the tip of her tongue. But before she could ask them, Calum was kissing her, hands reaching down to grab the firm globes of her rear. He groaned into her mouth. “Do you know what it’s like to have that pressed up against me for hours. Hours. And not touch?”
He didn’t want an answer because he was kissing her again, hands roaming her body, loosening laces, and peeling away her gown and her chemise…
Isla lost herself in the kiss. It seared away her anxieties, her questions, leaving only a burning need in its place. Somewhere in the kiss, Calum lost his clothing as well, his hands were hot on her skin and her breasts were pressed against the crisp curls of his chest hair. His arms banded around her and before she knew it, they were atop the bed, Calum underneath.
Though her legs were sore from the night before, from spending the day in the saddle, Isla spread her legs on either side of him, clamping down when he would have rolled them over.
Calum reached up and grabbed a handful of Isla’s dark hair, bringing her face down to his and scorching her with another long, incinerating kiss. Isla pressed against him, delighting as she felt the hard length of him pressing against her from behind. She reached around, her fingers gripping the hard, hot length of him with the same firmness he’d had her grab the pommel. The breath whooshed from Calum’s chest and he closed his eyes, releasing her hair and arching into her hand.
Isla watched his face as she adjusted her grip. He groaned as she slid her hand over him, and when he tried to sit up she held him more firmly and he stilled, eyes opening to crack up at her.
“Don’t just hold it, lass,” he murmured to her.
Isla stared at him, wondering what it was he wanted her to do, and he smiled at her, so boyishly that she was immediately disarmed. But whatever was boyish about him quickly disappeared. He sat up, leaning against the headboard and cradling Isla’s back against his knees. He kissed her again, one hand finding her breast and pinching at her nipple, the other hand finding the curls at the juncture of her thighs and probing there, entering her with one finger, and then two, probing until she was writhing atop him with need. Then he broke the kiss, his hands going to her hips and lifting her up until she was poised just over him.
Isla’s hands came up to grip his shoulders and she stared at him, uncertain.
“That’s it lass, lower yourself, slowly now.”
Isla did as he commanded, spearing herself, inch by slow inch. She moaned at the feeling. She was so sore from last night, but he cradled her close to his chest, murmured encouraging words until he was embedded deeply inside her.
“Like this, lass,” he said, and with his hands on her hips, he began to show her the rhythm. Isla gasped when he surged beneath her, when she rubbed against him in a way that shot sparks through her vision. “Again,” he said, his hands merciless, driving her at a steady rhythm until she had a feel for it herself.
“That’s it,” he groaned, head falling back as Isla used her thighs to help her ride him. Oh god, it was amazing this way!
Isla leaned forward, controlling her own pleasure, in complete control of Calum. They moved together in sweet rhythm, Isla coming closer and closer to her own climax, so close that she was keening, losing control. That’s when Calum took over, hands returning to coax her to her finish. She hit it suddenly, crying out and squeezing him, her thighs shaking as she lost all control.
Calum held her, shushing her, and was still hard inside her, and then the next she knew she was beneath him, her knees in his hands as he moved deep within her, harder, faster until Isla was begging him again, wordlessly.
They came together. Calum crying out and falling forward, pressing Isla’s face into his shoulder. Isla cried, tears spilling down her cheek as she soared upward yet again, her muscles squeezing about him in helpless spasms.
The world came back to Isla slowly. Calum’s weight atop her was heavy, but welcome. Her legs were wrapped around his hips, thighs shaking from the exertion of holding him close. Calum breathed against her neck before rearing backwards and staring down at her.
His expression was fathomless, and Isla stared up at him, unsure of what to say. He seemed equally uncertain, his expression unreadable. Finally, he shook his head and said, “You are the most unexpected…”
The knock on the door drowned out whatever his next words would be, and he cursed and pulled out of her with a suddenness that left her bereft.
Grabbing his kilt up off the floor and wrapping it around his hips, Isla’s last vision was of him barking at someone through the door. Sleep claimed her instantly.
CHAPTER SIX
T o say that the transition between village healer and Chieftain’s wife was a dramatic one would be an understatement. Isla had never been so overwhelmed in all her life. Only a day after they’d arrived at Dundur, Calum sat down with the housekeeper and came up with an extensive list of duties that Isla was to daily perform: She needed to learn all the servant’s names and positions. She needed to oversee the castle’s cleanliness, as well as its food, stores, and menus. She needed to become familiar with the books in case something should ever befall Fergus (who acted as Dundur’s steward). She would need to settle castle disputes as well as local village disputes when Calum wasn’t around. She needed to plan for guests, maintain a list of necessary repairs. The list went on.
Calum was tireless in his attempt to educate her to her station. He spent a week overseeing her progress and was quick to offer a correction or a criticism. Isla was so overwhelmed it was all she could do to maintain her equilibrium. She felt inferior and foolish, and, upon feeling foolish, had to work to control her stubbornness and her anger. She found out, quickly, that being angry with Calum was about as useful as kicking a boulder. He was stimulated by her ire and had a way of turning any moment of anger into an hour of ardent lovemaking.
Worse than trying to master an ever-expanding list of duties that required skills she did not possess (reading, mathematics, patience…), was trying to master them without Calum’s instructional presence.
Calum was frequently away from Dundur. He was tireless in his mission to secure peace amongst the clans. He’d ride off and stay away for days on end, coming back and sequestering himself in his office to write more letters and missives.
And then there was the pregnancy. Isla had known many women who were breeding, knew what to expect – having delivered a fair number of babies herself – but she felt like a stranger in her own body. Some mornings she was terribly ill, and other times she felt flushed, or lightheaded, or irritable. Her moods would swing wildly, and the smallest things would spur her to the edge of rage, or to the brink of tears.
One day, after two hours spent fouling up the numbers in that month’s ledger, Isla broke down and sobbed. It was Mrs. Allan who found her and comforted her. “Lass,” she’s said, softly. “Do you think you might be pregnant?”
At just three months, Isla was starting to show and so she wore her gowns loose. Uncertain of what to say when Mrs. Allan asked her, she’d stared at the woman helplessly. Mrs. Allan peppered her with questions about her flux. Isla had avoided the questions, but apparently, Mrs. Allan spoke to Calum, for it was soon confirmed that Isla was pregnant. The whole castle now knew.
Isla had never before felt so exposed. As a healer, her services were in demand, people were grateful for her aid, and they compensated her accordingly. As a chieftain’s wife, Isla was expected to be adept at her job, and when she performed her tasks wrong, when she fumbled over a dinner menu, forgot to do village rounds, and forgot about certain duties entirely – she felt harshly judged. People looked at her expectantly. If she did a task to the best of her ability, they would merely give her another. When she failed at one, there was confusion, and a silence that smacked of j
udgement.
Isla, who had never cared in the past what people thought of her, found herself now caring very much. As she strove to take up her rightful place as lady, and do all the work that her position entailed, she found herself, for the first time in her life, feeling entirely inadequate. Calum would return home from a few days off and find the castle in a barely functioning state of disarray. He spoke to her sharply and with a frustration that, to Isla, signaled regret. He might have wed someone who’d been trained their whole lives to take on the responsibilities of a keep. Instead he was married to her. Surely, he regretted his decision.
Isla wished, often, that Calum had been just another village boy. The more she got to know him, the more she understood why his clansmen were so devoted to him. He worked tirelessly on their behalf. He was selfless in a way that made her heart hurt. Not only did he fail to ever act in his own self-interest, but he didn’t act in her interest either. Like the clansmen, he expected things of her that she could not give him. She longed for her uncomplicated life in Elleric, when her purpose was simpler: she saved lives, she made people feel better, and they loved her for it.
When Calum was gone, Mrs. Allan took up his position at her hip and was often on hand to offer a practical suggestion or a wry bit of instruction. The woman was too polite to ask Isla, outright, how she’d managed to grow up an Earl’s niece, and yet not learn any of the skills necessary to running a keep. However, the woman let slip the occasional comment that made it clear she was pondering that very issue.
“Did you not have to help your aunt choose new fabrics?” Or “Do you not have any experience with preparing the winter stores?”
Calum was gone for the entire span of Isla’s third month at Dundur. He’d ridden off to Inverness to spend time at his Clan Chief’s side. Isla was frustrated by his absence, for it meant that she’d more work to do, herself. But she hadn’t thought it strange to be left behind until, one afternoon, the ladies were in the kitchens, pealing and sorting, and Greer said, loudly, “It’s so odd that the Laird didn’t take his new lady to visit the Red Bard.”
Mrs. Allan had come to Isla’s defense, but whatever reason she’d given for Calum’s oversight had been a weak one. Isla realized that, while they had a series of passionate nights together, Calum was, ultimately, ashamed of her.
She was lonely in the month that Calum was missing. The company of the castle women had become too judgmental for Isla to bear, and so she passed a good deal of time with Geordie. This lasted only a week, until Greer began commenting loudly on how interesting it was that Geordie and the Lady Dundur spent so much time together. Then Mrs. Allan had warned her about appearances, and so Isla had spent more time with the castle women.
She found she had favorites – Calum had a bevy of first cousins who were practical, loyal women, and so Isla spent a good deal of her time with them. But they’d been raised as noblewomen, and Isla had little to speak to them about. Towards the end of that third month, she had become entirely overwhelmed with everything and had taken to spending time by herself. When people asked after her absence, she lied and said the pregnancy was making her ill.
It was at month’s end, when the air was growing bitter and the fires had to be lit more often, that Calum returned. In fact, it was his nephew, Hugh, who returned one day at first light to warn Isla that the Laird would arrive that evening with guests.
“Guests?” asked Isla, groggily. She’d been rousted from her bed by insistent servants and had met Hugh in her husband’s solar. In the three months since she’d returned to the castle, there’d been no guests. That it was her responsibility to ready the castle to receive – that she’d less than a day to do it – set her heart racing.
“Yes,” Hugh explained. “Uncle has been sending letters to some of the nearby clan chiefs and they’ve been answering him slowly. But he’s managed to secure a meeting with the Stewarts of Appin. He’s left from Inverness this morning and will meet them at the foot of the hills. Everyone will be arriving tonight and things must be ready, he says… My lady, are you all right?”
Firm hands grasped Isla’s elbows, and she blinked. Hugh had stepped forward and was clutching her hard, effectively holding her on her feet. Had she swooned?
“I’m sorry,” she said, weakly.
“You don’t look well,” said Hugh, voice full of concern. “You’ve gone quite pale – shall I fetch Mrs. Allan?”
Isla tried to clear her head, tried to draw in a deep breath. The Stewarts were coming.
“Is it The Stewart himself, or one of his chieftains?” Her heart hammered in her chest. If it was Joss Stewart coming, she was done for.
“It’s Robert Stewart himself who is coming,” said Hugh. “Can I get you a chair?”
“We should get her to bed, lad,” declared Mrs. Allan, striding into the room. She was known to waken early and must have heard of Hugh’s arrival. “Isla, you look terrible,” she said, baldly. “Do you know what ails you?”
“It’s common to feel faint during pregnancy, is it not? I’m just dizzy… we’ve got to get the castle ready.”
“The housekeeper and I had better take care of it,” said Mrs. Allan, quickly. “You rest. And when you’re feeling better you can join us.”
Hugh didn’t leave Isla’s side as he walked her back into the Laird’s chamber. Before he left, he asked if she wanted to have anyone sent up to her, but she shook her head. She didn’t need help. She needed a plan, needed to think. She should have known that Calum would be speaking to the Stewarts in his attempt to gain peace in the highlands. The Stewarts had a good many alliances and were friendly with the MacDonalds, the Camerons, the Maclarens…
That it was Robert Stewart, and not his second cousin Joss (Gavin’s father), attending was meant that there was still a chance she might get through this encounter unscathed. Robert Stewart would probably not remember her. She’d been a child when she visited Castle Stalker, and Niall MacLeay had worked on behalf of the old Lord Stewart, not the current one.
The greater risk was that there might be men from Elleric in Rob Stewart’s riding party… She knew that Calum would expect her to dine with them that evening. Isla paced her room for a full two hours, trying to hatch a plan to make herself scarce. She could ride for Rhona’s, and beg forgiveness later. Was there time to pack up and flee without raising suspicion?
She was startled from her thoughts by a knock on the door. Isla hurried and tucked herself into bed before calling out, “Enter!”
She was expecting Mrs. Allan, but instead it was Moira, one of the village women who worked in the kitchens.
“I’m so sorry to bother you milady, especially as I know you’re feeling unwell, it’s just…” Moira was crying and Isla sat up, intent.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s my son. He’s been so sick and nothing we can do will help him. I’d take any suggestions, Milady, anything you might recommend that could help.”
“Better than that,” said Isla, standing. “I will see your boy myself. Allow me a few minutes to dress and we will leave.”
Isla refused to call for her lady’s maid. Instead, she dressed herself, fixed her own hair, and grabbed her bundles of herbs and salves. Putting on a heavy cloak to ward off the cold, she followed Moira out of the castle, and off towards the village.
Moira, who was a few years Isla’s elder, was a small woman who was usually quiet. Now she couldn’t stop talking, couldn’t stop thanking Isla for coming to see her son.
The boy, it turned out, was actually quite ill, and Isla fell into her healer’s role with little trouble. It took only an hour, but Isla felt like her old self again. She took complete control of the situation, ordering Moira to boil water for tea, checking the boy for symptoms, placing a cool cloth on his head, and waiting to see if his fever would break. It was full nightfall, and the boy was still feverish when someone pounded on the door of the small cottage.
The sound startled the two women, who’d been sitting over
the small boy’s bed, Moira telling Isla soft stories about village life, and some of the local hill legends.
The knocking came again and Moira stood, slowly. “Will it be Joseph then?” she wondered to Isla. Her husband had ridden to Inverness to find medicines for the boy’s fever.
But when she opened the door, Isla heard her muffle a gasp. Turning, Isla saw Calum stoop through the door, and though she was still hurt that he’d left her, hurt that he’d spent a month away and not written, she was so happy to see him. His presence made her feel instantly warmer, safer than she’d felt in the month without him there.
Calum’s eyes swept the small cottage and landed on Isla, seated on the side of the boy’s bed. “Isla,” said Calum, his voice was hard and he looked grim.
“Hello,” said Isla, quietly.
“Did Hugh not tell you that we’d company this evening?”
“He told me, yes,” she said. “But Moira’s boy is very ill, and the housekeeper had the castle well in hand.”
Calum stared at her a moment before nodding a greeting to Moira, who stood near the door quietly. “Moira,” he said, formally. “I do hope your boy is feeling better. But I must take my wife with me now. The hour is very late.”
“Of course…”
“His fever isn’t broken yet, and I’d like to stay until I’m sure he’s going to be all right,” said Isla, firmly.
“Isla,” Calum’s voice was a low warning, and Isla turned to look at him over her shoulder. He was, she saw, furious. He’d been exasperated with her on occasion, annoyed once or twice, but never furious. Now he seemed to radiate anger, and Isla felt her heart drop into her stomach. He knew. Somehow, the Stewarts had found out about her and told him.
Cold fear gripped her gut and she was standing before she realized it, ready to run again if she needed to.
But Calum only held out one, commanding hand. Isla didn’t take it. Instead she looked at Moira and said, “Give him more of the tea in an hour, and keep applying the cold cloths to his head. The fever is dry, he wants to sweat. See if you can get him to drink…”