by Tia Isabella
“If ye canna favor me with yer attention, wife, then ye canna favor it on anyone, or anything, as the case may be.” Thomas folded his arms across his chest and glared down at Maya.
Maya raised an eyebrow at her husband’s highhandedness, but spoke not a word. He wanted to play a little control game with her, did he? Fine. Two could play at that game.
She rolled towards the wall, giving Thomas her back, and concentrated on sleeping. Fortunately for her, the early stages of pregnancy were conducive to hibernation, so she fell into a deep slumber within minutes.
Just before she drifted off, she heard her husband’s low growl in tune with him climbing into bed. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that Thomas had given up and gone to sleep, albeit with ill grace.
* * * * *
Maya moaned in her sleep, a tide of pleasure cascading over her. Her unconscious mind didn’t know what it was dreaming, only that it was pleasant. She didn’t want to awaken for a long, long while.
The hour was late and the moon full as Thomas hovered over his wife’s naked body. He had managed to remove her chemise without her knowing of it and prayed that she wouldn’t realize what was being done to her until it was too late. Once her passion overrode her anger, he was certain she wouldn’t fight their coupling.
He needed her, tonight more than ever. All the talk about going back to the future had scared him mightily, made him relive the fears of losing his Maya that he’d harbored the weeks before their wedding.
The past few weeks since they spoke their nuptials had been bliss. They hadn’t argued a bit. But now they were back to fighting. He could handle the argument, but he couldn’t handle the fear that stemmed from the argument’s cause. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not ever.
Thomas wanted the reassurance that only his wife’s wee body could give him. When he was inside of her, he felt more alive than at any other time. ‘Twas then and only then that he felt safe, knowing she was going nowhere.
He ran his hand over Maya’s belly, not stopping until he reached the apex of her thighs. His other hand was supporting his neck as he laid on his elbow to watch the effect that his touching had on her.
Within moments of his fingers coming into contact with Maya’s wet flesh, her nipples responded and poked upward toward the moonlit sky. Thomas groaned. ‘Twas as if her nipples beckoned to him, letting him know they were there and wanting to be suckled. He couldn’t resist.
He continued stroking the swollen piece of flesh between his wife’s thighs while he bent his head to capture a nipple in his mouth. He took his time, knowing that he could savor each one for as long as he liked, since Maya was asleep beside him. Usually his wife would grow wild and beg him to take her after he suckled for no more than scarce moments, so he was thoroughly enjoying this unimpeded exploration of his wife’s body.
Her nipples were stacked taller and more delicious on her breasts than he had realized, and the knowledge of it made his flesh grow harder than it already was. He took his time with each nipple, starting toward the base of it then slowly sucking all the way up to each rouge tip.
A slight moan elicited from Maya’s throat as the wet flesh Thomas’s fingers were stroking trickled its juices down his hand. He moaned. He could bear the torture no more.
Thomas gave each of his wife’s nipples one last and thorough suckle then quietly worked his way down the bed to where he could sit on his knees between her thighs. He spread her legs open wide and began coaxing the nub of flesh in the folds of her womanhood with more urgency. His wife’s back arched as she mumbled incoherently in response to his touch. Thomas knew her need was fast approaching, that any moment now she would surrender to her climax...
Maya’s eyes flew open as she groaned in orgasmic bliss. She awakened just in time to see her husband impale himself into her flesh. His teeth were set, his jaw rigid. She moaned again, the sight and feel of her husband’s thick shaft thrusting inside of her enough to send her body into pandemonium all over again.
Thomas rode his wife’s body hard, pounding into her depths with possessive strokes. He stared into her eyes all the while, their gazes never once breaking.
Maya reached up to stroke her husband’s chest, the masculine feel of it never failing to drive her over the edge.
A primal sound ripped from Thomas’s throat from the sensations her touching produced. He grabbed both of her hands, locked them together behind her head, and drove himself into her over and over again.
Maya moaned in ecstasy as a new orgasmic wave of pleasure hit her like a concrete wall. It was shockingly intense, causing her belly to contract with ferocious spasms.
As the walls of flesh surrounding his cock began relentlessly contracting around him, Thomas shouted out his wife’s name and poured his seed deep into her body.
Breathlessly, they clung to each other afterward—neither speaking, neither moving.
In contented bliss, they both fell fast asleep.
Chapter 20
The following week was a trying one for the MacGregors. Thomas, ever frightened that Maya would bolt from him if given the chance, still had three guards on his wife at all times, rather than merely Argyle.
He suspected that his lady wife did not care for this development, but she never said otherwise. In fact, much to his dismay, she never said much at all, in temper or no. He still clearly remembered her reaction to being told that her guard was increasing. Maya’s eyes flared for the briefest of moments, then she inclined her head in resignation and walked away. If he had hoped for an argument, she hadn’t give him one. Och, but the lass left his emotions in chaos.
Thomas took his bath then came down to partake in the evening’s fare. Before he wed, he had never bothered with bathing before the day’s last meal, but he knew his wife would not come to him in her passion otherwise. Now he bathed regularly, against church doctrine or no. “’Evening, wife.”
Maya met his gaze and smiled serenely, too serenely. “Good evening, my lord.”
Thomas grunted. She was smiling, aye, but ‘twas as if her eyes were looking straight through him. “How was yer day?”
“Fine. Yours?”
“Fine.”
Maya nodded her head then reached for her goblet of goat’s milk. She took a small sip before retiring it to the table.
Thomas sighed. “Where are Sir Dugald and Lady Sara?”
Maya shrugged. “I cannot say.”
“Ye canna or ye willna?”
“I don’t know where they are, Thomas,” she announced in a reasonable tone devoid of any emotion. “I am not their keeper.” She speared a wedge of cheese and brought it slowly to her lips.
The remainder of the meal was spent in silence. Maya quickly finished the foods in her trencher then rose and asked to be excused. He grunted his acceptance and indicated with a flick of his wrist that his wife could go to their chamber.
Thomas took a tankard of ale and retired to his favorite seat by the hearth in the great hall. He sat down with a dramatic sigh and rubbed his temples as he watched the flames flicker back and forth. The fire was hot and full of a life—just like his lady used to be.
He grunted. Thomas needed to think of a way to put the fire back in his Maya’s eyes.
Quickly.
* * * * *
Christmas came and went without much fanfare. Because the laird was still apprehensive about letting anyone inside of the keep until Robert MacAllister was caught, he didn’t allow the villagers inside to feast as his wife had wished.
Nor did he allow craftsmen to venture inside that they might help decorate. She had wanted to celebrate the tradition according to the customs of her own clan, so he promised that next year would be different.
Thomas didn’t bother explaining his reasons for telling her nay this year, just simply told her no. Much to his disappointment and aggravation, she didn’t question him on the why of it either. She merely nodded her head and strolled away.
Thomas had thought to put his wife in
a better mood by plying her with trinkets. For Christmas he gifted her with more fine silks, ribbons, lace, and three ornamental pieces of jewelry that had been acquired back at the Hamilton fair but kept aside for this occasion.
Maya was pleased with the gifts, that much Thomas gathered. She had oohed and awed over all of the pretty materials he had purchased to make gowns with. But still, the gleam was not in her eye. She went to bed early every eve, claiming she was too tired to keep her eyes open another moment.
The day after Christmas Thomas reduced the size of Maya’s private guard from three back down to one. Again, he knew that his wife was pleased with this decision, but again she merely smiled, nodded, and feigned fatigue.
He was at his wit’s end and didn’t care o’er much for the feeling. What was he to do? How would he get his Maya to love him as she had before? How would he put the fire back in her eyes?
* * * * *
“I see that cup of ale and I raise ye tae cups, milady.”
Maya snorted at Harold. There was no way he was going to beat her hand. Her lips curled wryly as she regarded her newfound poker buddy. “Are you sure you want to raise the stakes, Harold?”
The minstrel arched one gray eyebrow at his mistress as he leaned backward into the chair. He folded his arms across his chest and beamed triumphantly at her. “No sweating.”
Maya grinned. “That’s no sweat, Harold, no sweat.”
He waved his hand impatiently in the air. “Whatever.”
Maya chuckled. She was growing fond of the old MacGregor minstrel. He had turned out to be quite an amusing man, not at all a bad character. And, of course, he had managed to bring back a deck of cards as a souvenir from the future, for which she would be eternally grateful to him.
Without Harold and Argyle, Maya would have gone crazy during the past two weeks of her confinement. Now she was back down to only one guard at any given time, a squire named Gilfred who followed her around while Argyle was training with Thomas, and Argyle the rest of the time. At least whenever she was not within her husband’s sight.
Thomas still stubbornly refused to let Maya wander any further than to the doors of the keep and, much to her chagrin, he also arrogantly kept his reasons to himself. She suspected it was because her husband didn’t yet trust her and that knowledge was more upsetting that anything else.
The most taxing rift between husband and wife as of late was caused, however, by the subject of the twenty-first century. Or, more to the point, by the lack of conversation about it. Thomas simply refused to speak of the topic and would stomp off from any room he was in if the subject was so much as broached in his presence.
Thomas and Maya were getting along civilly—barely—during the days, but the tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. Maya hoped it was just a matter of time now before her husband would allow her to discuss the future with him again. Then she would finally be able to suggest her idea that one of the MacGregor men be sent to the future to collect the possessions she deemed necessary, as well as to collect Sara’s father for her wedding. Since she was going to stay here, she expected to be able to transport some medicines back to this time, at the very least.
Maya had already discussed this plan in detail with Harold and Argyle and both of them were eager to be the chosen one. She was skeptical of both men to a degree, but on the other hand, she trusted them more than anyone else to do her bidding. Her fears were small ones, trivial at best, but persistent no less.
From Harold, she feared that once he got to future, he’d forget all about his mission and head straight to “the place of wonder and dreams come true”. From Argyle, she feared he’d get a taste of his first girly magazine or nudie bar and never want to leave. Still, Maya realized that someone had to go. And Thomas would no doubt tie her up until she was old and decrepit before he’d allow that someone to be her.
Argyle slammed his cards down with an expletive and a groan. “I fear I must fold. I canna hold up with this sorry hand.”
Maya chuckled. “Argyle, you’ve much to learn, my boy. Don’t you remember the lesson we had about bluffing?”
Argyle turned red in the face and cast his gaze to the table. “I canna feel right telling ye lies, milady.”
Harold rolled his eyes and grunted. “And ye want tae be the one who travels tae the future tae do our lady’s bidding instead of me?” He snorted. “They would eat ye alive, lad.”
Maya concealed her amusement over the disgruntled look smothering Argyle’s face. She knew he was embarrassed, but calling attention to that fact would only make it worse. And besides, Harold was right. Even if a boy in the fourteenth century was considered a man by eighteen, Argyle was still remarkably naïve.
Still, unlike either Thomas or Dugald, who had no care for seeing the future at all, or at least claimed as much, Argyle really did want to see it. And the more Maya thought about her plan, the less she liked the idea of sending only one man. After all, if Harold or Argyle went forward and got stuck there, and both men had decided they were willing to risk that possibility, then having someone a part of their own world beside them was the better idea. Maya would have gone crazy without Sara here to lean on.
She sighed. Argyle really had to learn a thing or two before she let him loose in the twenty-first century. “It’s not really the same as telling lies when it’s expected, Argyle. It’s a game. Were it not a game, I could agree with you.”
Argyle flushed. “I am no’ the good poker buddy that the Sotted is, am I?”
“Of course you are! You just haven’t had the practice that Harold and I have had. Just keep playing.”
Argyle smiled contentedly, but shook his head. “I would love tae, milady, but I fear I canna afford tae wager again. If I lose the next hand, I willna ha’ ale with me dinner.”
Harold sighed his agreement. “’Tis true enough our lady is relentless with the cards. I ha’ been sober now fer nigh unto three days.” He frowned, showing his extreme displeasure over that fact. He looked at Maya and raised a brow. “A mon could almost believe that the Lady Maya is doin’ her best tae keep a minstrel from his cups.”
Maya quickly darted her eyes toward Harold, the look of surprise in them giving away her game. He had read her like an open book. “I…uh…I…”
Harold laughed. “’Tis alright, milady. And ye are right. A mon canna stay sotted all the while.”
Maya’s mouth dropped open in amazement. She hadn’t thought Harold would relent so easily. “Do you jest?”
“Nay.”
“Then you will give it up?”
“Aye.”
She blinked. “Just like that?”
“Aye.”
Maya looked dumbfounded, but happily so. She gathered her cards and chuckled delightedly. “But then what will we call you if you no longer take to your cups? We can’t very well keep referring to you as Harold ‘the Sotted’.”
Argyle and Harold laughed merrily. “Mayhap we can call him Harold the Unsotted!” Argyle suggested with a dimpled grin.
“Or Harold the Sober,” Maya added with a wicked wink.
“Nay,” Harold laughed, his tone suddenly growing serious. “I will still be the Sotted.”
“But why?” Maya and Argyle asked in unison.
Harold shrugged. “As a reminder.” He looked to his friends and smiled. “A reminder of what I was and a reminder of what I will no’ be again.”
* * * * *
An hour later, Argyle’s lesson in “bluffing” continued at a grueling pace. Maya taught him all the finer points of bluffing with his eyes and Harold taught him how to use body language to make an opponent nervous enough to fold. This time, however, they were wagering for wedges of cheese and extra portions of mutton stew. It didn’t seem right to play for ale anymore, not with Harold’s newfound sobriety at stake.
Sara was a damn good poker player and when Maya considered that fact, she wished she had been able to coax her best friend into playing a hand or two. But she hadn’t. I
nstead, Sara was list making, just as she had been since Maya informed her of her decision to talk Thomas into sending a man to the future to bring back Sara’s father among other things. That was nearly a week ago.
Maya realized that much of Sara’s drive toward compulsivity as of late was due to the fact that her dear friend was worrying that even if Maya was able to finally dissuade Thomas from his rigid stance and he allowed a man to go, it could still turn out that he was being sent on a fool’s errand. It would break Sara’s heart if the clouds didn’t come, if Harold or Argyle—or Harold and Argyle—couldn’t make it to the future. Or worse yet, if they got there and could never return.
“I call you, Argyle.” Maya spoke to him in Tampa English, pleased that he was learning it so quickly and so well.
Argyle smiled. He threw his hand to the table and snorted, his reply in the same Tampa English. “Read these and weep, milady.”
Maya grinned. “Well what do you know? You actually did it. Full house Argyle, very impressive.”
Argyle drew himself up as straight as an arrow and beamed proudly toward Maya and Harold. “I am what ye might call ‘bad tae my bone’.”
Maya and Harold laughed, the conversation reverting back to Gaelic. “Going to give me a chance to win back that wedge of cheese?” Maya asked.
Argyle didn’t consider that option for a moment. “Nay! I know when tae quit.”
“Ye are wiser than ye look, lad.” Harold added the last as he stood to rise. “I’m taking me self off tae yon chamber fer a nap. I will see ye both at the evening meal.”
Maya and Argyle offered their good-byes then turned back around to face each other. She tossed her unbound hair over her shoulder and chuckled. “We could always wager on something else, sweetcakes.”
Argyle raised a brow. “Such as?”
Maya grinned mischievously at her young shadow. “Freedom.”
“Freedom?”
“Uh huh. If you win, I will cause you no trouble for an entire day and we will do only the things that you consider fun. But if I win, then you have to sneak me to the lake so I can enjoy a nice walk.”