The Laird

by Sandy Blair

  “Aye.” Blushing, she took off her mantel and fanned her face and chest with her hands.

  Looking down into her modest cleavage, images of their only night together, of her pert breasts filling his mouth, suddenly flood his mind and filled his groin. Fearing he’d start drooling if he didn’t get her away, he whispered, “Lass, ‘tis too warm in here.” He took her hand. “Come, let us get some fresh air.”

  “But our guests...”

  He looked about as his thumb traced a slow circle in her palm. The Bruce and his men were occupied with women and drink. Isaac had Flora in conversation. Catching Angus’s attention, Duncan glanced toward his wife then toward the door. His friend nodded almost imperceptibly as one side of his mouth curled. Knowing Angus and ten of his guards to be cold sober, he murmured, “They all appear well occupied, my lady. Come.” He coaxed her to her feet and led her to the bailey.

  Outside, the air barely moved, had lulled to a whisper. ‘Twas the time of day when offshore breezes usually stilled. Soon the land would be cool enough for the winds to reverse and bring home the strong onshore breeze, which would make for a good night’s sleep. Particularly, if he could convince his ladywife to allow him entrance into his own bed again.

  He scanned the bailey and carefully aimed her toward the privacy of the hay barn. “Ye look lovely this night, Beth.”

  “Me? Lovely?” She made a dismissing sound. “What they say is apparently true.”

  “What say who?”

  “Some say women get prettier at closing time.”

  He slipped his arm around her waist. “I dinna ken yer meaning.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you’d have a need to.” She stopped and faced him. “How do you see Flora?”

  Aha! ‘Twas not what he had or hadna done right, but Flora that still had her fashing.

  He ran a gentle finger along her jaw. “She is like fox-glove, Beth. Lovely to look at but verra dangerous—-poison--even in small amounts.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t appear pleased as she turned away.

  “Do you ken what foxglove can do?”

  “No, but I ken she’s probably hell in bed.”

  He spun her, gently enfolding her into his arms while forcing her into intimate contact with his chest and hips. “I dinna ken if she is or isna for I never have nor will I ever bed that woman. I told ye, I pledged my troth to thee, and I am a man of my word.” He ran his thumb gently across her bottom lip, enjoying its pliant fullness. “Ye are more than I anticipated, more than I dared hope for.”

  Moisture came into her eyes as she studied his face. Finally she said, “Truth be told, Duncan, I do want to believe you, but experience has taught me otherwise. And there is the matter of my being here in the first place.”

  He sighed resignedly for there was that. If she spoke the truth about coming from another time then he was indeed married to the wrong woman, which meant one of the dead women in the coach had been his intended. Not something he wanted Albany to become aware of just yet.

  And her tale certainly explained her ability to swim, to save Flora, her attitude—-her proprietary interest--in Blackstone, and her most decidedly odd but charming ways. And she knew about the diary he kept, could relate specific events he’d lived through and documented; yet she couldna read Latin.

  “Lass, ye ken it takes great imagination on my part to believe ye?” When she nodded, he asked, “Then, can ye nay do the same for me?”

  Deep in thought, she ran her hands slowly over the planes of his chest. Finally, she looked into his eyes. “Duncan, I want to trust you. I want it so much I ache for wanting it. I just don’t know if I can.”

  “Oh, lass.” She was asking that he earn her trust, prove himself, which seemed only fair given her previous experiences--Lady Kathy’s tale--and himself railing in fury after she’d given all.

  He decided the first step should be seeking permission and not simply taking, though he had the right. “May I kiss ye, lass?”

  When she kept her gaze fixed on his silver collar but nodded, he murmured, “Then come.”

  He led her into the shadows of the barn. She offered no resistance as he cradled her in his arms. Aye, she did want to believe, and he desperately wanted her to.

  Under the eaves and surrounded by the sweet scent of hay he cradled her neck and lowered his mouth to hers. To his surprise her lips were responsive. When he gently increased the pressure, her mouth opened to him.

  He inhaled her sigh as he ran his tongue slowly into her lush, wine-flavored interior. When her tongue began to play across his, his heart soared.

  She did want him despite her verbal protests. He backed her against a pillar.

  As he pressed his need to her belly, she surprised him again by groaning and sliding her fingers into his hair.

  It was all the encouragement he needed.

  When Duncan’s hand crept up her ribs and slowly stroked her left breast, Beth’s heart pounded a rapid tattoo in response.

  Her sense of self-preservation started chiding, “You really should be putting a stop to this,” as soon as his thumb started circling her nipple, but God, she’d missed the feel of him, the taste of him. She had no doubt she really should stop him now before he...oh, yes.

  His other hand had cupped her buttocks and brought her into intimate contact with his arousal. As he kissed her senseless, he bent his knees and gently slid his swollen phallus up and down against her. She groaned. As she tried to collect herself, his mouth started travelling down her neck and settled onto the swell of her breasts.

  Nuzzling, he murmured, “Ye be delicious, Beth.” Within a heartbeat he’d opened her gown’s laces and exposed her breasts to the moonlight. As he laved the tip of one very excited nipple she wondered at his obvious pleasure in suckling, not that she minded. Incredibly, it caused something deep within her—-no doubt, her womb--to contract with need. She groaned again when he turned his attention to the other side, leaving the first breast to chill in the soft breeze, which only underscored her nakedness. God, everything he did felt so good, his every move so gentle, yet persistent and hungry.

  When he left her breast and slid his tongue down her ribs she wanted to shout, “No, go back,” but then he surprised her by kneeling before her.

  “Umm, Duncan...”

  She lifted his face so she could see into his eyes. Like highly polished silver, they glowed. “What are you—-”

  “Ssh, my lady. I need pay penance, aye? So dinna deprive me of this.”

  His hands gently slid from her hips to her ankles before gliding under her skirts and up over her calves. They settled just above the back of her knees. He watched her as his callused fingers slowly circled and stroked her now quaking thighs.

  “I do like the feel of ye skin, my lady.” He pushed aside the fabric of her gown with his chin and licked the interior of one thigh. “‘Tis silk fine yet tastes most sweet.” She pressed her back to the pillar, fearing her legs would buckle and pressed her hands against his shoulders.

  Without doubt she shouldn’t be allowing him such liberties. No, she really shouldn’t. She should still be holding him at arm’s length, demanding he apologize every hour on the hour, but my, oh my, how he could play her like a fine violin. And truth be told, she did love him despite his sometime caustic ways. And he had apologized, profusely, and she was in fact married to him...

  His broad callused hands crept to her buttocks as his lips and tongue slowly kissed and stroked their way up to the junction of her thighs. Feeling his pouf of breath ruffle the curls at her apex, she gasped.

  Her common sense now railed, “Enough! Someone could come in here at any moment,” but she didn’t want him to stop. She wanted to feel what he was about to do. Wanted it so badly she could have screamed.

  Duncan licked just once through Beth’s curls, felt her nub tremble, and looked up. Her head now rested against the pillar as her legs continued to quake. Aye, he had his lady’s attention.

  He pressed his shoulders to her
knees to keep them from buckling then licked through the dense curls again. She tasted decidedly feminine and sweet. Again he licked, lingering at her nub to suck. He heard her sharp intake of breath. He glanced up to find her teeth and tongue tormenting her lush lower lip. His lady apparently didna mind his way of apology. Good.

  He gently separated the curls. He lingered there, swirling his tongue around then gently sucked until her hips tipped and he heard her wee groan of pleasure. Satisfied, he licked deeper still, causing her hips to grind. When his tongue slid into her secret place her nails dug into his shoulders and she whimpered, “Oooh.”

  She tasted sweeter, her liquid gathering. Aye, she wanted him but ‘twasna time. He wanted her shaking with need, as he had these last six nights lying alone craving her.

  To that end he let his thumb attend her nub so his tongue could stroke in and out as another part of his body was want to do.

  When she softly keened his name, he lifted his head and found her looking at him through passion-glazed eyes. “Ah, my lady,” he whispered, “do ye luste?”

  She licked her lips and managed to nod. He rose and grasped her by the buttocks as his mouth captured hers. He lifted her negligible weight into his arms. Backing up, he felt hay hit his legs and settled into a sitting position. Her arms locked around his neck as she returned his kisses with equal fervor, her hands buried deep within his hair. He pushed his kilt and her skirts away in the same swipe so he could position her legs on either side of his thighs. As she knelt astride him he adjusted his throbbing member so it settled against her sweet wetness.

  He broke the kiss to say, “Now, my lady, settle,” only to realize her body was already pressing down, seeking him. She gasped as he groaned, her slick warmth sucking him in. Her mouth sought his this time, her hands settling on either side of his face as she slowly began to rock. Never in his thirty years had a woman responded in such a heated fashion.

  A breeze played across Beth’s nipples as she slowly rocked

  on the firm, swollen flesh filling her. She opened her eyes as Duncan laid back. Sweat gleamed on his chiseled features as his steel blue gaze focused on her wavering breasts. Wondering---wanting to see his reaction--she kneaded one breast gently, teasing the nipple as he had done. His eyes flashed fire and he growled deep in his throat as he reached to cover her hand with his.

  His response was all she needed. The heat in her belly exploded, her every nerve strained to throw her over some unseen pinnacle to delicious release. She collapsed to his chest.

  Nearly crazed with need, Beth’s final spasms loosened Duncan’s restraint. Clasping her hips he rocked once, twice, and exploded against her womb.

  Moments later, comfortable in the hay and well satisfied, he cradled her to his chest and listened to her pleased mewing. In a languished haze, he smiled and pushed her hair from his face. Aye, it had gone well for both of them.

  Waiting for his body to regain its strength and pondering why it seemed to be taking an unearthly amount of time to do it, he realized what he had done.

  He’d given her his seed.

  “Beth?”

  She raised her head from his chest and smiled. “Yes, my lord?”

  “Have ye ever been hit on the head?”

  ‘Twasna that he thought her tale totally implausible for ‘twas certainly more between heaven and earth than his meager brain could fathom, but...

  She came up on her elbows. “Not that I recall. Why?”

  Damn. ‘Twas certainly too late to fret. All he could do now is pray the adage a get is more than one-half the mare proved false should his seed catch. But then, many a maid dinna catch the first time. His mother, for one. Vowing to take more care in the future should the good Lord see himself clear to let this time pass, he patted her rump and sighed, “Just wonderin’.”

  She played with the fine curling hairs on his chest. “That was lovely.”

  He grinned, “Aye, ‘twas that and more I’d say, given ye called upon heaven and my lordly self as ye reached for the stars.”

  “Oh!” She slapped her hands on his chest and struggled to sit.

  He was faster, rolling her over to settle between her thighs. “Ah, precious, I only tease.” He kissed her gently. “I canna put into words how fond I am of ye odd ways.”

  “Your ways are equally odd to me, though I must say you do them well.”

  He chuckled, pleased.

  “Can I,” she asked, pushing a lock from his forehead, “expect this kind of an apology the next time we fight?”

  He traced the curve of her now swollen lips, “We dinna have to fuss at each other to have this. Ye could,” he kissed her slowly once again, enjoying the sweetness within her mouth, “invite me back to the solar.”

  “Ah.” She studied his eyes and then the planes of his face. “So it’s your comfy bed you seek?”

  “Ack! I’d sleep in this hay the rest of my days if ye but chose to be at my side.”

  Her eyes appeared to seek his soul as she placed both hands on either side of his face. “Duncan, put it plainly.”

  “I care naught for these silent days, of fashing, of wondering if I have the power to please ye or not.” He turned her hand in his palm, examining the fine bones that created the miracles within his keep. “And I didna like seeing the Bruce drool over yer hand.” He scowled, “Definitely.”

  “Is it just the Bruce? May another--?”

  “Dinna even jest, Beth.” He clamped his arms about her and spun, landing on his back with her fully on his chest once again. “Ye be mine, dear Beth, and only mine and I be yer servant till death do us part.” He brushed the hair from her face. “Do ye ken?”

  “Aye, my lord and husband. Just so long as you remember what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.” He frowned so she clarified, tapping his chest, “I’ll not tolerate you casting your eyes, much less anything else, on another wench.”

  He smiled, liking her jealous tone, but he was human. Studying the little worry lines between her brows he decided that from this time forward he would make every effort to be most careful should he be in her sight and spy a pleasing wench walking past. “Agreed,” he told her.

  Her obvious relief made his heart trip. Did she really think another could truly tempt him after the way she made him feel? After all they had shared? How odd.

  Laughter echoed around the bailey from the keep’s open shutters. “With that settled, I fear we must return.” He kissed her fingertips, liking her decidedly satisfied look and ruffled appearance. “However, those in yon hall will ken our luxurious pursuits should we return in our current states.” Grinning, he pulled a large piece of straw from her now loose hair.

  Her hands flew to her ruined coiffure. “Oh shi...oot!”

  “Indeed.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. He shook like a dog and shed the hay from his clothing. Beth, on the other hand, had all she could do to re-lace her gown.

  He helped her then shook out her headdress. “I much prefer yer fair hair loose.”

  “Me, too, but I can’t walk in there bareheaded or tongues will wag.” She twisted one half of her thick hair into a coil and held out her hand for one of the cauls. He reluctantly gave it to her.

  Finished pulling herself together, Beth asked, “Do I look presentable?”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Aye, as always.”

  In the brightly lit hall, Duncan pulled a bit of straw he’d missed from Beth’s cotehardie and tossed it behind them. ‘Twas then he saw they hadn’t escaped Rachael’s curious perusal. He winked at her over Beth’s head. A slight smile took form on Rachael’s lips then disappeared as she silently directed his attention to the opposite side of the hall. There he spied Angus, Sean, and Tom chest, to chest and ready to come to blows with three of the Bruce’s men.

  “Damn God’s teeth!”

  Beth, still ruminating over the import of Duncan’s earlier words, of their lovemaking, murmured, “Damn what, Duncan?”

  She followed his gaze and
her worry over his preference for the words “I care” instead of “I love” immediately evaporated. “Oh!”

  “Stay here, my lady, whilst I see what ‘tis afoot.” Duncan cast a quick scathing glance toward the Bruce, who looked totally indifferent to the battle brewing in her hall.

  Why the hell did the Bruce just sit like a contented Buddha at the head table when half the men threatening to tear her hall apart were his? The bloody nerve!

  She then spotted Flora leaning against the wall not far from the rumbling Neanderthals and wondered if the woman’s flirting had caused the men’s hostilities. Given the look of indignation on her face, Beth wouldn’t have been the least surprised. Damn the woman.

  Having seen her fair share of bar brawls, Beth worried her lower lip as she surveyed the hall and the men Duncan approached. Picturing all her hard work turned to ruin as more agitated men came to their feet, she glanced at the Bruce. He was smirking.

  The bastard hoped they’d come to blows! Not bothering to wonder why, and not caring if Duncan approved or not—-her only goal being to defuse the situation before the entire clan became involved—-she grabbed an empty tankard and clanged it hard and repeatedly against the table.

  The hall went quiet. Not tomb quiet but enough so she could be heard. In as loud and dramatic a voice as she could muster, she shouted, “Hark!” As worried faces turned in confusion to see what she was about, she continued with as much dramatic emphasis as her limited talents allowed, “Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary...”

  She hunched her shoulders like a crone and walked down the center isle. Eyes squinting, she beckoned those that would follow with a crooked finger, “...over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore...”

  She saw Kari’s face light in understanding and heard her exclaim, “Listen! Our lady tells a troubadour’s tale.”

  Beth slowly spun, her voice imitating a conspirator’s stage whisper, “While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,” she rapped on a nearby table, “as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.”