A Restless Knight (Dragons of Challon Book 1)

by Deborah MacGillivray

  “St. Giles stays in that room. You may use my old room,” Tamlyn answered Aithinne, who was still staring daggers at Damian. “Why does that no’ surprise me? He be so adept at usurping what be no’ his.” Tilting her nose up as she passed him, Aithinne strode into the lord’s tower with the grace of a queen.

  Her cousin was taller than Tamlyn by a hand’s width, and it lent Aithinne a willowy appearance Tamlyn had always envied. Their hair was a similar shade, though Aithinne was threaded with a reddish cast as if kissed by fire. So alike in their faces people oft assumed them sisters rather than cousin. Aithinne’s eyes were a deep brown with green flecks to them, though they still held that witchy, catlike appearance denoting her Ogilvie blood.

  Wearing the expression of a cherub, Damian smiled. “Good day, Tamlyn. Hope you have some roast-suckling ready for I am fair starved.”

  “I fear not, but if you whisper to cook now, I am sure by nightfall it shall be ready. Cook has a soft spot for you,” Tamlyn teased. Challon’s arm came around her shoulder and she reached up to link her fingers with his.

  Julian chuckled. “See there, Cousin. I could arrange a marriage for you and you could have roast-suckling every night of the year.”

  Damian stared at the back of Aithinne as she entered the tower. “I wouldst be most pleased someone looks upon me with kindness.”

  Damian’s vivid green eyes hungrily took in how Challon held her to his side, how she had slid her arm around her husband’s waist. Tamlyn saw the same sadness and envy still there, but not as strong as before. Now, he seemed confused.

  “If you both will excuse me—I am off to woo my lady love.” Damian headed to the stairs nearly at a run.

  Tamlyn watched St. Giles take the tower steps two at a time. “He plans to woo Cook?”

  Challon kissed the side of her head. “I wish, lady wife, you had warned me the Lady Aithinne resembled you to some extent.”

  “Some extent? She favors me a lot. You have to be up close to see the difference in eye color. Whilst the hair is near mine, she has that beautiful glint of red to hers.”

  The fiery cast made her seem more vibrant, causing Tamlyn to feel washed out in comparison. Aithinne always managed to appear the proper lady, a skill she had never mastered. Tamlyn suddenly feared Challon might look at her and now find her lacking next to her beautiful cousin.

  Fearful what she would see in his eyes, she admitted, “I always felt plain beside her.”

  He stopped on the top of the staircase and turned her to face him. Crooking a finger, he used it to lift her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon, wife. There is not one thing I would seek to change about you. Howbeit, I wish you had prepared me. When first I laid eyes upon her, she was half in shadow. I thought you had disobeyed me and ridden ahead to Lyonglen. I was ready to turn her―you―over my knee for disobeying. Poor Damian. I am sure it totally befuddles him, has him tied in knots.”

  “Why should it upset Damian so?”

  “Ah, that is Damian’s secret. I am not sure I should tell.” He kissed her slowly, and then started again for the Great Hall.

  “Why is Aithinne furious with him?” Tamlyn clearly had more of the tale to hear to make sense of his prattle.

  “That is her secret to tell. I shall say this―Damian has demanded she marry him,” he warned, waiting for her reaction.

  Tamlyn smiled at the notion. It suddenly seemed so right. “They would suit. Why be Aithinne so upset by his asking?”

  “The words demand instead of ask have been tossed about.” Challon kissed her forehead, clearly not caring the whole fortress looked on. “Seems the Lady Aithinne dislikes an arrogant stranger telling her that she has no choice but to wed him.”

  Tamlyn laughed aloud.

  ♦◊♦

  “Oh, Tamlyn, I sink in a quagmire.” Aithinne sniffed, then nibbled on a slice of dried apple. “It might be worry…only, I fear I be with child.”

  “With child?” Tamlyn echoed, then smiled putting a hand to her stomach. “I might be, as well.”

  “Beltaine?” Aithinne asked.

  Tamlyn nodded and hugged herself. “I took Challon to the orchard.”

  Aithinne’s eyes went wide. “Beneath your tree?”

  “Aye. The blossoms were so thick they blanketed the ground. His black mantle on the white blooms...it was like a dream. The whole night was magical.”

  “No wonder you glow with happiness.” A glint of envy flickered in Aithinne’s eyes.

  “How far along do you think you are, Aithinne?”

  Her cousin bit down on the apple piece. “The apples ease queasiness. It started the past three afternoons. I always heard ’twas morning sickness that was a first sign. Howbeit, Oonanne says sometimes it hits a woman late in the day. Are you experiencing it?”

  “Not yet, but Bessa said it should come soon. So, who be the father and how long?”

  “Beltaine. The Auld Ones must have had a bit of mischief afoot that night.” She sighed. Going to the narrow window, she opened the wooden shutter and stared out at the fading sun.

  “But you were no’ at the May Day rites―”

  Aithinne laughed sardonically. “You might say I held my own ceremony.”

  “I do no’ understand. You speak in riddles, just as Julian does since his return.” Tamlyn went to unpack her cousin’s kirtles, fold them, and place them in the wardrobe.

  Abruptly, Aithinne broke down crying. Tamlyn rushed to her and held her, rocking her troubled kinswoman. “Oh, Tammie, I have made a muddle of everything, and I do no’ know how to put things right.”

  “Hush, sweet cousin, you shall sicken. Surely, ’tis no’ as bad as you envision.”

  “Oh, ’tis likely worse. Much worse.”

  Challon opened the door, knocking as he pushed it wide. “Tamlyn, sorry to interrupt you, I fear you need come tend your silly husband.”

  Tamlyn gasped as she saw blood dripping down his hand. “Challon, what have you done?”

  “Hush, wife, ’tis only a small cut. I was not paying attention to what I did in the lists, and Gervase sliced the back of my wrist. Teach me to leave my vambraces off. ’Tis minor, just see me bleeds like a stuck pig. I need you to bind it for me.”

  Tamlyn half nodded to Aithinne. “We shall talk more later. Sorry.”

  “Go care for your husband, Tamlyn. My troubles will still be here.”

  ♦◊♦

  Tamlyn fed Challon a choice piece of meat, and then held the cup to his lips. He rolled his eyes, but took a drink.

  “Wife, ’tis naught but a scratch.” Julian held up his arm and wiggled his fingers. “See. Bessa pronounced the wound pure. And it was my left wrist not my right, so I am capable of feeding myself.”

  “Aye, Challon.” Tamlyn poked another piece of roasted pork to his mouth as if he had not said a word.

  He enjoyed Tamlyn fussing over him, liked how he could set her blushing when he stared at her. Devilishly, he leaned forward and ate the succulent meat from her fingers. When she went to pull back, he caught her wrist and slowly he sucked her first finger into his mouth, drawing on it rhythmically. His tongue swirled around it. She shivered. Bloody hell, he had intended to tease his witch, but his body complained he had been away from his wife for too long, thus he was in torment as well.

  “Tamlyn, I go to seek my bed. I be beyond weary,” Aithinne said, interrupting. She glared over their heads to St. Giles on the other side.

  “I shall get you settled. Come.” Tamlyn paused. “If you will excuse me, Challon?”

  He nodded, reluctantly letting go of her hand. “Do not tarry, wife. I find I am weary and need to see my bed, as well.”

  Damian watched the two women leave, his thoughts clear upon his face. “’Tis amazing to see them together. You see the differences when they are side-by-side, but it tossed me when we entered Lyonglen.”

  “Tossed you? I was ready to spank the Lady Aithinne before I got close enou
gh to see she was another woman. Once she moved in the light, I saw how she resembled Tamlyn, yet was so unlike her.”

  “I see a few differences. Still, it is startling.”

  “Have you considered―” Julian started, only to be cut off.

  “Do not bother saying I told you.” Damian leaned back in his chair, and rubbed his hands over his face. “My mother oft said the dreams were always truth. Where they become twisted was when you try to make situations fit the dreams, rather than allow the dream to match circumstances.”

  “So, now you have seen Tamlyn is not the face in your visions, what shall you do?”

  “Marry the lass…somehow. She hates that I came to take over for my grandfather. I gather she was very close to him.”

  Julian sipped the wine. “Understandable, with him raising her as his ward. I am sorry, Damian, that he died before we reached there.”

  Damian exhaled and nodded. “Strange. I should feel something, I suppose. I never met the man. He shunned my mother, disinherited her for marrying a Norman. After her marriage, she lived in Mortain, never to set foot in her beloved Scotland again. ’Tis hard to feel for a man who never cared enough to see you because you were half-Norman. Even so, I feel an odd loss. Aithinne resents my assuming the title. Had I not, someone else would have come. Tamlyn seemed to have a quick grasp of that logic.”

  “If you marry her, Coinnlear Wood shall become yours as well. Between my united holdings of Kinmarch and Glenrogha, Guillaume as lord of Lochshane, Destain lord of Kinloch, and you assuming command of Lyonglen and possibly Coinnlear, we are building a secure future here.”

  “Yea, Edward might again have to curry favor with the Dragon of Challon.” Damian lifted the golden challis in salute before taking a drink.

  Tamlyn returned, coming to stand by his chair. “She rests. Bessa said she would look in on her later. If it be all right with you, Julian, I shall be going up now. I find I am wishing for bed as well.”

  Julian saw her eyes dance. Minx. “Very well. Have Moffet bank the fire and I shall be along shortly.”

  She rocked on impatient feet. “Not too long, Julian. My feet have been cold whilst you were absent.”

  He took her arm and pulled her down for a kiss. The taste of cider was still on her lips, but not half as intoxicating as his Tamlyn. Nuzzling the hair at her ear, he whispered, “Bank the fire in the hearth, but not in my lady wife, eh?”

  “Aye, my Lord Dragon.”

  Damian watched her go. “She is good for you, Julian. I have not seen you this happy for years.”

  “Aye.” Julian sighed, reflecting on the prize Tamlyn was. “She is worth...everything. Edward had no idea what a prize he was giving me. I am damn lucky, indeed.”

  “I raise a cup to the mighty Dragon of Challon…brought low by love madness!” A drunken Sir Dirk’s slurred words rang through the hall. His eyes glazed from the drink and the demons that ate at his insides.

  “Love madness?” The words jumped from Julian’s mouth before he realized he had spoken them.

  “Aye, ’tis a distemper—and you, my lord—” Getting to his feet, he gave a mock, sweeping bow. “—mayhap be beyond cure. It can make a lapdog out of the strongest. Rot our brains.”

  “Distemper?” Julian probed, wondering what maggot had gotten into Dirk’s mind. A fortnight ago, he had sent word to Dirk’s brothers he wanted the man gone. Unfortunately, thus far, there had been no reply.

  Damian slammed his golden cup down hard on the table to draw Julian’s attention from the knight. “Sir Dirk dips into the wine barrel overly this night. Pendegast, close thy mouth—before you ruin our digestion with bilious prattle.”

  “Any healer will attest to the truth. Go ahead and ask them. Just make certain to speak to a male one, not some female witch, who plies you with love filters. ’Tis a disease, say I. As with any disease, there is a cure. Does not our Church say women corrupt us, weaken us? No man should suffer such indignities to his honor and pride. Women shouldst know their place. Obey their lord. A man never permits them to lead them around by his cock.” Dirk failed to notice he had no one backing his boisterous swagger. Any sane man wouldst never dare such audacity before Julian Challon.

  Julian jumped to his feet, his hand already on the hilt of his sword.

  Damian touched his arm, and cautioned lowly. “Ignore him. His words spew forth from a green fount of jealousy.”

  “The healers bleed a man…draw out foul poison crippling spirit and body.” Dirk smiled, but there was no mirth to his malignant expression. “To sear wounds and prevent infection you slap hot iron. For a man to cure this insidious sickness that saps his soul, he must swive another woman. Then and only, then shall he rid his soul, mind and body of this dark malady. If that does not work, he needs to discover that all women are alike. From lowly serving wench to high born lady, willing to lay with any man when his back is turned. A man is a fool if he thinks any one of them is special above others. A lady screams her pleasure same as the lowest swine girl. ’Tis sad when our mightiest warrior is brought low by cock fever.”

  Julian tossed his dagger. It landed between Dirk’s first and second fingers. The thrum of whispers fell silent as he slowly strode to the table. Julian stared at the knight, unblinking. That fixed stare spoke tomes, causing even Dirk to turn away. Reaching out, he snatched the knife back, and then used the tip of the blade to pare his fingernail. “You were saying?”

  Dirk sat down and reached for his cup. “Nothing, my lord.”

  “What I thought. Keep that vulgar tongue behind your teeth, eh?” Julian’s lashes flicked disdain.

  Dirk’s jaw muscles flexed visibly holding back the fury, but he said naught.

  Spinning on his heels, Julian headed for the doors.

  Damian followed Julian from the hall. “You would do well to send that pup back to his brothers.”

  “I plan on it. I sent word to his brother to recall him.” Julian strode from the Great Hall. “The prickles up my scalp tell me I may regret not using my dagger to slice that insolent throat.”

  “Good, because if you do not send him from here I shall end up doing worse. I found him trying to corner Aithinne in her room just before supper. She said at first, he thought her to be Tamlyn. I trust him not. Tamlyn or Aithinne―I do not want him near either woman.”

  “Do not worry. He is gone, or I fear I shall have to kill him.”

  Pausing to glance back to the arrogant soldier, Damian asserted, “You might have to stand in line, Julian.”

  ♦◊♦

  Julian closed the door to his chambers, his eyes searching for Tamlyn. Solace flooded him when he heard her on her knees, putting a brick of peat in the fire. His witch wore only a thin chemise that left little to his imagination. She turned and gave him a grin. The firelight nearly rendered the thin gown transparent. His heart sped up, thundering against his ribcage.

  Sitting on the bench, he unlaced the ties about his boots. “On your knees and on a bear rug―lass, my heart beats a tattoo.” A smile spread across his lips. “And that chemise—you may as well be naked.”

  She sighed, her expression turning simple. “You mislike it? You wish me to remove it?”

  There was little doubt, Tamlyn was playing temptress. And playing it damn well.

  “Such decisions you foster upon me, wife.” His wife. Soon she would quicken with his son. It was nearly enough to bring him to his knees. Two wishes he had harbored, a dream he had nurtured in his hardened heart. “You naked and upon your knees, or you in a gown created of moonbeams? My mind spins in awhirl.”

  “Julian, what does me on my knees have to do with anything?”

  His laughter erupted. “I see I am failing in my husbandly teachings.”

  “I think this some game you play. You are lord of the keep with me groveling at your feet?” She started to rise.

  Julian swooped and caught her under her arms. He kissed her hard and quick, tasting the cider on her sweet lips. “Oh, I would like you at m
y feet…but not groveling.”

  “I mistrust that glint in your eyes.” Tamlyn reached out and rubbed her thumb over his face. “With that beard, it makes you appear a brigand.”

  “I shall shave it off in the morn. This night, I have other plans.” He spun her around and pushed her to her hands and knees on the fur. “Have you ever seen a stallion cover a mare?”

  “But that is—”

  His right hand smoothed up the back of her thigh and over her firm derrière, relishing the firelight playing over it.

  “Julian, I am not sure I want to get bit on the neck.” Tamlyn glanced at him over her shoulder, as he pushed the chemise over her arse and then up to her breasts.

  He aided her up on her knees as he pulled the thin rail over her head, and tossed it aside. Guiding Tamlyn to lean back against him, he nibbled on her neck as he palmed both breasts. Taking her earlobe into his mouth, he sucked and then bit down. Not hard, just playfully.

  “Mayhap a small bite?” He laughed as he fondled the responsive flesh. Tamlyn’s breath was raspy, and her breasts grew harder, her nipples distending, showing the depth of her arousal. “I lay siege to my lady.”

  Tamlyn made no response other than mewing kitten sounds at the back of her throat. Julian held her for a moment, their bodies spooned, allowing the emotions to play out in him. Possession. Desire. Need. Aye, need, but more than just the flesh. Tamlyn was the end to his long, lonely road. She brought him warmth, laughter and so much more. The power of what he felt for her humbled him, and words were simply too feeble to explain what pulsed through his body, his soul.

  Snaking his left hand down, his fingers sifted through the dark curls, smiling as they touched liquid fire her body oozed for him. With his middle finger, he pushed into her, feeling her body close greedily around it, the soft internal ripples as she moved toward her release. He kept up the tormenting motion, the slow in and out that caused her hoarse approval, all the while furiously working on the lacings of his hose with his other hand.