by Mia Marlowe
“Verra well, but the song adds a great deal to the telling, I’ve been told,” Nab said with a sniff. “So then the robin picked up a beakful of straw—I’ll not be doing the imitation of that since ’tis clear yer lordship wishes me to finish!—and the bird tossed the kindling onto the glowing ash. The kindling burst into flames.”
Nab threw his arms into the air, setting the bells at the ends of his cap ajingle. Then he clutched his chest awkwardly.
“The fire flared up and burned the robin’s breast as red as a cherry. Did that stop him from fanning the flames? No, it did not. There was an Infant King what needed warming and that little bird didna quit tending the fire till the whole stable was toasty warm and filled with light.”
The entire assembly went quiet, caught in the mood of the peaceful cattle byre—the sweet breath of the animals, the homely scent of fresh straw, a young mother’s soothing lullaby, and a Child born into darkness who would become the Light of the World.
For a few heartbeats, William wished he still believed it.
“The Baby Jesus slept sweet that night and Mary rewarded the robin. ‘Because ye have loved much,’ quoth she—people were always quothing back then, ye ken. Sounds a good deal more holy than ‘said,’ aye?”
“On with it, Nab,” the earl ordered.
The fool’s head bobbed. “Och, where was I? Aye, now I mind it. The Blessed Mother said to the robin, ‘Ye shall wear the symbol of yer sacrifice on the breast, that all generations may know ye thereby. May yer great heart be covered with a red shield from this day forth.’”
Nab smiled, turning his head this way and that so that all could see his beatific expression. William doubted such a look had ever been found on a robin’s face.
“And so it is even now that the robin’s breast is red,” Nab said. Then he brought his hand to his chin and gave it a thoughtful stroke. “But I’m thinking there’s yet another meaning to this story.”
“Never trust a jackass to do a birdwit’s work?” someone called out.
Laughter greeted this all around. Since the hunt that afternoon had been so successful, Dorcas had doled out the ale and beer with a free hand.
“No, that’s not it,” Nab said in all seriousness. “I think the story means we ought not discount the small things, the seemingly unimportant. Those who are weak, those whose gifts are not so obvious may, in a time of great distress, prove to be far stronger than we suppose.” He turned his gaze downward to study the curled-up tips of his own shoes. “Or than even they suppose.”
Lord Glengarry rose and leaned his heavy knuckles on the table. “Thank ye, Nab. ’Twas a story well told, but now I’m in the mood for some music. Let’s have that piper. Push back the tables and clear some space. I am moved to dance!”
The earl left the dais as the piper began his tune. Lord Glengarry bowed before Lady Dinglewood, requesting the honor of a reel. William noted that Sir Ellar’s face turned an unhealthy shade of puce.
Served him right for wanting to put her aside.
Katherine squeezed Will’s hand under the table and he noticed she was tapping her toes.
“Would ye care to dance, wife?”
“Aye, my lord.” She didn’t call him husband, but at least she smiled at him. “Though if ye’d waited but another moment, I’d have had to ask ye.”
On the twelfth day of Christmas,
My true love gave to me twelve drummer’s drumming.
—From “The Twelve Days of Christmas”
“The last time I heard twelve drummers, the English were coming over the hill and by sundown the corbies were feasting. I believe I’ll pass on this gift, if it’s all the same to ye.”
—An observation from Nab,
fool to the Earl of Glengarry
Chapter Twenty-One
Katherine danced till her feet ached. She grew dizzy when William twirled her, but she didn’t cry off or ask to sit out any of the tunes. She couldn’t bear to cut their time together short. Who knew when or if she’d ever dance with Will again.
At the end of the last reel, he led her out of the great hall without a stop and through the door to the solar. There was no one else in the room, though they could hear the low rumble of the crowd in the great hall and the flourish of the pipes as the tune drew to a close. They made a swinging turn of the dimly lit chamber, and as they passed by the door the second time, Will kicked it shut without missing a step. He gave her a final turn and then released her to finish the dance with a bow.
Breathing hard from exertion, she dropped a deep curtsey and came up grinning. “That was fun, Will.”
“Fun is something we’ve been lacking of late.” He gathered her back into his arms. The banked fire in the grate threw only enough light to allow her to see half of his face, but that half was beaming down at her. “’Tis something we’ll have to rectify once we get home. Every day, no matter what else is commanding our attention, we must have some fun together.”
She didn’t want to spoil the moment by reminding him that she wouldn’t be returning to Badenoch with him, not if they were moving forward with an annulment. His body felt so good flush against hers, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away from him either.
She settled for reminding him that not every day was a holiday and they couldn’t expect the frivolity of Christmastide all year.
“No, but even the most ordinary of days can be extraordinary if ye’re with the one ye love,” he countered.
“No matter what happens, ye must believe that I do—” She stopped herself. What good could come of admitting she loved him if she still intended to separate from him?
“’Tis all right. Ye can say ye love me. I willna hold it against ye. However, I’m enjoying holding something else against ye verra much.”
Katherine felt his hardness through the layers of clothing separating them and rocked her pelvis once. His grin carved a deep dimple in the cheek turned toward the fireplace. She couldn’t help putting her fingertips to the sweet spot.
“Even if ye dinna admit it,” he said, “I see love shining in your eyes.”
“Love always seeks what’s best for the beloved,” she reminded him.
“For me, that’s you.”
“But, Will—”
“No buts, woman. I know what I want.”
“But not what ye need.”
“That’s a ‘but.’ I’ll have none of it.” His hands roamed lower, cupping her bum and pulling her close.
“Bu—”
“Ye’re forcing me to drastic measures, Kat.” He covered her lips with his in a quick claiming. Then he released her mouth and looked down at her, his dark eyes searching, his face strong and determined. And full of love.
Oh, Lord, why wasn’t that enough?
Perhaps it was. For now, at least. She tipped up her chin. It was all the invitation he needed. His mouth descended on hers again, firm and hungry this time.
The chamber seemed to go shadowy around them and the boisterousness of the great hall faded. There was no yesterday. No tomorrow. Only the eternal now. Only his mouth, his hands, his hardened groin against her softness.
And so for now, she yielded, parting soft lips and letting his tongue sweep in. She suckled him. He was her Will, her soft summer night, her warm cloak in winter. His love hedged her round about to keep the world at bay.
His kiss went on and on, drawing her deeper into the fantasy that somehow everything would be all right.
Her mother used to kiss her scraped knees and “make them better.” She knew that for childish nonsense now. Cuts left scars. Heartbreak left wounds that never stopped weeping. But if kisses could heal, Will’s would surely bind up the broken bits of her and make her new.
Another childish wish.
But she couldn’t keep from hoping it as William deepened their kiss. For now, she put aside all else—Stephan’s death, her plans to free her husband, her desire for a child that was so intense she sometimes couldn’t breathe.
She willed her
self not to remember. Not to think. She would only feel.
His chest was a hardened breastplate, heavy muscles under the fine lawn of his shirt. She slid her arms around his waist to hug him closer as her tongue chased his back into his mouth.
Oh, the smell of him, all leather and warm wool and that crisp male tang that was uniquely William.
Longing shivered over her, leaving her slightly light-headed. If his arms hadn’t been around her, if she weren’t clinging to him, she might have gone down in a wobble-kneed swoon.
Somehow, he’d backed her to the tapestry-covered wall. The ancient cloth depicted one of the battles William Wallace had won against the English years ago. With her spine pressed against the venerable fabric, she tried not to imagine the wide eyes of the defenders of Stirling Bridge in 1297 looking on as her husband lifted her skirt.
His hands slid over her thighs. She ached for him to hold her, to take her most secret self in his hot palm, but he only teased his fingers close without claiming that part of her. When she groaned into his mouth, he relented and took her in his hand.
She was wet. Praise be.
She hadn’t had to force it or concentrate or anything. When she stopped thinking so hard, her body roused to William as it should.
This time when he stroked her special little spot, she didn’t try to keep her climax at bay. She let it come and it rushed toward her with the force of a gale.
Bliss took her, lifted her, shook her.
She chanted incoherent things all tangled up with Will’s name as her release went on. And then suddenly William hitched one of her knees up at his hip and between one contraction and the next, he raised his kilt and slid inside her, sheathed to the hilt, as her inner walls continued to pound around him. He stood motionless, soaking up her pleasure, letting it abate slowly.
When it was finally over, only then did he start to move. She met him stroke for stroke. It was like riding in perfect rhythm with her mount’s gait.
He lifted her other leg and she hooked her ankles at the small of his back.
“I love ye, Katherine,” he all but growled. “Ye’re mine, d’ye hear? Mine and I’ll not let ye go.”
She wasn’t in the mood to argue. He plunged in, hard and fast. She welcomed the claiming.
The ache that had been so lately relieved started building again in earnest. By the time Will threw back his head and arched his spine as his seed pumped into her in hot bursts, Katherine was ready to come again.
Her insides fisted around him, draining him dry.
“Aye, love,” she whispered. “Just like that.”
He made her greedy. She wanted all of him.
When the steady pulses stopped, William lowered his forehead to rest on hers. His breathing was ragged, but he kept his hold on her so their bodies could maintain their connection as long as possible. Kat didn’t know how long they hung there, suspended on a rack of pleasure, but she wouldn’t have moved for worlds.
Finally, William broke the silence. “Ye called me love.”
“Perhaps ye’ll allow it was a moment of weakness.”
When he slipped out of her, she unhooked her ankles and lowered her feet to the floor. She had to stand on tiptoe because he still had the twin globes of her bum in his palms and was lifting her slightly.
“Admit it.” He grinned down at her. “Ye love me.”
“I love . . . holding ye.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“For the now it is.”
“And for the morrow?” His smile faded.
“The morrow will care for itself. Please, Will. Dinna make me think beyond this moment. For now, we’re together and it feels . . .”
“Right?”
“Aye. It feels right now. But if ye make me take thought for next week or next month or the march of years ahead . . . ye willna like what I have to tell ye.”
William dropped his hands and stepped back from her. His kilt and her skirt fell back into place. “After what we just . . . I felt your pleasure and ye felt mine. We held each other’s hearts.” He looked down at her as if he didn’t recognize her. “Does nothing we do together mean a thing to ye?”
She didn’t trust her voice.
“I wouldna have thought it, but ye’re a coldhearted bitch, Katherine Douglas.”
No, she wasn’t. She burned for him as much as any woman had ever burned for a man. William was a dance of light in her heart. He was sun on the water, her moon in a clouded sky. Her heart beat as hot as a refiner’s furnace for this man.
But if she was bound to free him to do what was best for him, she couldn’t tell him how she adored him. She couldn’t tell him how she ached with love for him. He’d never let her go if he knew.
So she turned her face away. “Dinna ye have someplace to be?”
“Aye, Badenoch is missing its laird.” The anger in his voice turned it into a growl. “I’ve been gone too long.”
“No, I mean . . . did ye not promise me ye’d spend the night in the chapel? To pray about the path ahead for us.”
“I think ye’ve made our path abundantly clear. I dinna have to waste time on my knees about it.”
“Will, ye promised.”
“And so did ye, Katherine.” His voice rose to a roar as he paced the small chamber, trying to bridle the rage that roiled within him. “Ye promised to love, honor, and obey me. I could do without honor and I’ve no hope ye’ll obey me, but by God, woman, I expect my wife to love me.”
I do! her heart cried, but she bit her lip to keep from voicing the words.
“So ye’re determined to take the veil, are ye?” His voice was lower now, but the softer he spoke, the more menacing he sounded.
She nodded miserably.
“I canna see ye making a good nun.” He stopped before her, hands fisted at his waist. Even though he was no longer shouting, she’d never seen him so angry. “Not when ye’ve such a hot mound. But only when it suits ye, aye? Maybe ye’d do better as a lightskirt. That way ye can choose your johns and send them on their way when ye’re done with them, lighter in the pockets but with a smile on their idiot faces. Lord knows, ye’ve played me for a fool.”
She lashed out. Almost before she knew she was going to do it, she struck him on the cheek.
Another man might have slapped her back. William simply stared down at her, his brows drawn together. “If ye’re done with me, m’lady, I’ll be taking my leave.”
Without waiting for her to speak, he strode from the room.
“Oh, Will.” Katherine’s knees gave way and she slid down the wall, sinking to the stone floor. Her thighs were still slick with his seed. She clutched at her chest. It hurt so, she was certain her heart was going to burst forth at any moment. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I love ye, William Douglas. God help me, I’ll love ye till I die.”
I come from heaven which to tell
The best nowells that e’er befell
To you the tidings true I bring
And I will of them say and sing.
—From “Balulalow”
“O’ course, all the nowells and tidings in the world dinna matter a flibbet if a body doesna want to hear them.”
—An observation from Nab,
fool to the Earl of Glengarry
Chapter Twenty-Two
William stuffed his few belongings into his leather bag and strode out of the keep. Since the snow had been melting, the bailey churned with mud during the day, which refroze by night. So rather than cutting across the open space to the stables, Will kept to the stone path that led from one structure to the next. He passed the well house that protected the castle’s supply of fresh water, drawn up from the depths. A plume of smoke rose from its small chimney, proof that one of the Glengarry lads, Fergie perhaps, was keeping a small fire going within to ensure that the well didn’t freeze.
The path wound over a hillock, by the mews, and past the chapel. Light spilled out the green glass windows in slanting bars onto the snow on the eas
tern side. William slowed his pace.
He had promised.
He stopped and glared at the small house of worship. A wet wind lashed him, cutting through his jacket and plaid as if he were standing naked before it. If he started riding for Badenoch now, he could expect a bitterly cold night of it. Starting at dawn made better sense, but he couldn’t return to Katherine. Or even go back into the keep to wait for the sun. He had no wish for company.
The chapel would be warmer than standing in the bailey.
He turned aside and shoved open the door.
A few candles flickered before the altar, casting their light on the crucifix carved in bas relief on the wall behind. The space seemed deserted. He didn’t wish to unburden himself to some fawning priest, who would no doubt press him to do just that. He was only there to pass the time till he could leave.
He walked toward the altar. The scent of stale incense hung in the air, accented by the acrid tallow of the guttering votives and the moldy smell of dank stone.
“The stink of piety,” he muttered.
So the chapel at Badenoch had smelled the night he’d pleaded with God for the life of his son.
He stood staring at the crucifix. The soughing of the wind outside became a muted whisper as it slipped through the thatch overhead. William fancied he could hear air moving in the sacred space, slipping around columns and circling above him in ever tightening eddies.
If he were the type to be easily swayed by that sort of thing, he might believe he sensed a Presence in that soft sibilance on the edge of sound.
The injustice of his situation flowed over him along with the swirling current. It wasn’t fair. He’d poured his heart out to the God he’d known from childhood and all he got in return was this wispy silence.
“On the off chance that there’s anyone there, Ye may as well know the last time we spoke, I thought it was the worst day of my life.”