Harlequin Historical November 2013 - Bundle 2 of 2

by Carol Arens

  She had not thought about much else than the matter that bothered her now—her suspicions that someone had intentionally killed off an old man.

  ‘Tell me what has you so preoccupied, love.’ He kissed her neck and held her tight. ‘Something has kept you up these last two nights.’

  Unable to sleep, she’d sought comfort first with Athdar and then, after he slept, she sought the loom and its ability to soothe her. Usually, once she found the rhythm and pace to her work, her mind could sort out problems. She practiced entire chess games in her thoughts that way, trying and perfecting moves before she ever used them on opponents. Something about the way the threads moved on the loom and the way the shuttle separated and then combined the warp and weft made her see other patterns around her.

  But it had not helped her this time. Too much was unknown to her and she did not who to ask. And now with her suspicions, it could be dangerous to do so. She had almost convinced herself she was seeing connections where there were none when Ailis walked through with her son.

  Athdar froze behind her, becoming like a statue, motionless, not even breathing, as the boy passed them by. He drew in a ragged breath and she stepped from his embrace to aid him if he needed it. His face was as white as her chemise and his eyes stared at the boy and every step he took. Ailis had not noticed, but the boy did, staring back until his mother tugged on his hand and they made their way back to the looms.

  ‘Athdar,’ she whispered to him. Once again the frightening empty gaze now met hers. She reached up and touched his face, trying to get him to look at her. ‘Athdar, please look at me.’

  She tapped against his cheek, but he did not respond. The hollow stare, bordering on desolation, terrified her.

  Just as she was going to call Nessa or Jean over, he blinked over and over again and then continued speaking to her as though he had not stopped reacting for several, long, tortuous moments.

  ‘So what is it?’ he asked, putting his hand over hers. ‘Do you miss your family, then?’ He smiled then as though nothing had happened. ‘I will speak to your father and work this out.’

  Someone called his name and he kissed her and went off, leaving her stunned and unable to figure out what had happened and what had caused it.

  Some of the children ran by and Isobel realised Ailis’s son had caused this reaction. Since she did not remember meeting Robbie before he died, she walked over to Muireall.

  ‘How many years does young Morvin have?’ she asked as the boy came into sight again. Glancing over, she saw Athdar leaving the hall so she did not worry that he would see Morvin again.

  ‘The little lad is nigh on seven now, lady.’

  ‘He seems a pleasant boy,’ she said. ‘I did not meet his father—does he favour him at all, do you think?’

  Muireall squinted, watching Morvin scamper by on his way to Ailis. ‘Oh, he has the verra look of his da, especially at that age.’ She smiled. ‘He has his height, as well.’

  She noticed Laria enter the hall and wanted to speak to her about the sleeping elixir. Muireall saw her watching and nodded at the healer. ‘They were all about the boy’s age.’

  ‘They?’ Isobel faced Muireall. ‘What boy?’

  ‘That terrible summer. They...’ Muireall stared at the window above them for a moment and then shook her head. ‘’Tis no wonder she is as bitter as she is.’

  ‘Lady,’ Laria called out to her. Isobel wanted to ask Muireall about what she’d said, but Laria approached, her speed belying her age at that moment.

  Isobel wanted to stay and learn more from Muireall, but Laria took her by the arm and led her away. Just as well, for she wanted to ask about how much of the elixir she’d made and if, by chance, she’d taken some to old Iain. The old man could have followed her instructions incorrectly and her suspicions would be completely unfounded.

  The other women began returning to the looms and their work as she walked away with Laria to the healer’s workroom. They’d almost reached it when Laria remembered someone in need of her care and she excused herself from Isobel.

  Not willing to waste the opportunity, she sought out Jean to see if the woman knew anything about this new information that Muireall had shared. But Jean and Ceard were both in the midst of preparing for the evening meal, so Isobel left disheartened.

  There would be time and chance again, so Isobel went about her duties, with ever a watchful eye on Athdar whenever he was in the hall.

  * * *

  She had done it again.

  Isobel had convinced him to make another change in his household. As he sat in the abbot’s chamber, speaking with not one but two holy brothers, Athdar did not know whether to curse her and praise God for sending her to him.

  Nay, that was not true. She was a gift to him, one that he treasured deeply in spite of the short time they’d actually been together. Although only weeks had passed since she had arrived with his sister to visit, he felt as though they’d been together for years. They’d fallen into a routine for their days...and their nights, though thinking about those nights was not something he should be doing now or here. So he concentrated on the task before him—choosing one of the brothers to come and be his clerk.

  The idea came up one night as they lay together, talking about plans and dreams. Although older than her by years, her enthusiasm invigorated him. Of all the hopes she mentioned, the one she kept coming back to was that she wanted him to name the keep. Her dowry would help to make it grand enough to bear a name, she’d said. It was the first time they’d spoken of what she would bring to their marriage.

  He laughed aloud then, remembering the expression on her face when he asked what she thought her father would do first upon arriving here. Athdar said if she were his daughter, he would kill the man who’d taken her without permission. She predicted her father would be ready to discuss the matter civilly. Rurik Erengislsson never met a fight he didn’t like and, even at his age, rarely found himself the loser in challenges. His fists and sword skills spoke first for him and for the MacLerie for whom he stood. If you were left with enough pieces intact to live after facing Rurik, then they talked to you afterwards.

  Athdar realised he wanted to get back to her now, so he glanced at the two, picked the one who looked the most studious and invited him to come to...his estate. Mayhap they did need a name for it?

  * * *

  Finally, hours later he was home and went looking for his wife to share the news of her success. Although he expected to find her with Laria or in the kitchens, she was not there. He checked their chamber and there was no sign of her. Leaving their room, he looked down over the weavers’ corner, as she liked to call it, and could not see her. He did see Ailis so he called out to her. Both she and her son looked up at him at the sound of her name.

  The boy.

  The boy was down there.

  Down there.

  The boys.

  The next thing Athdar knew he was holding the crying boy in his arms and Ailis was trying to take her son from him. Looking around, everyone in the hall stood staring at him. He let go of the boy and let his mother take him.

  What had happened?

  Why was he holding Ailis’s son?

  When had he left his bedchamber and walked here?

  Worse, as he glanced around reading both surprise and confusion on the faces of his people, he had no idea of what had happened in those moments, few or many, before just now.

  ‘Go back to your duties,’ he called out. ‘My apologies for frightening your son, Ailis.’

  What else could he say? He had acted like a madman and so many had seen it. Then he remembered the last time it had happened—in his chambers when he came back to himself and Isobel stared at him in terror. Rubbing his forehead, he tried to remember that incident and could not.

  Nor this one. Sweat poured down hi
s back and he rubbed at his face. Was he losing his mind? Was madness taking control over him?

  Isobel walked in just then and met his gaze. She would hear about it—they, her people now, would tell her and she would wonder about the sanity of the man she married. Just as he was doing.

  Something was wrong here. Something was wrong with him.

  He needed to think about this before facing Isobel and her inevitable questions. He nodded to her and left the keep. Athdar walked to the stables and got his horse, not yet tended from his recent arrival, and headed out of the gates. Though he heard Padruig call to him, he ignored him and rode off into the forest. Without intention or destination in mind, somehow he ended up at the mill.

  * * *

  He had stood watching the water flow through the mill for hours without being able to sort through things. There were blank areas in his memory, places where nothing but blackness existed. Sunset came and went before he made his way back to the keep.

  With no answers.

  As though sensing his inability to address the myriad of questions she would ask, Isobel said nothing about it. She carried on a stream of conversation through supper with everyone at the table, making his brooding silence almost unnoticeable. He left the table as soon as it was seemly to do so and she let him go to their chambers alone. He was sitting at the table, staring at the chess pieces, trying to sort things through in his mind when she walked in.

  Athdar’s frustration over this began to boil within him. With his parents gone and his sister not there, there was no one he could ask to help him sort out the tumultuous confusion. With no words to say to her, flooded with embarrassment over these lapses in memory and strange behaviours happening more and more, he just opened his arms to her and she stepped into him.

  The only thing, the only person he could count on was Isobel. She centred everything she did on him and his needs. Though she’d not said the words, he knew she loved him. This night, he needed to hear them. He needed...her.

  He said not a word to her, but she understood the turmoil within him.

  Witnesses had described the scene in the hall that happened just before she’d arrived—Athdar screaming from the balcony at Ailis’s son, calling him by his father’s name and running down the stairs at breakneck speed and falling to his knees in front of the boy. Then Athdar stared for several minutes before grabbing the boy in a fierce hug until the boy’s screams seemed to rouse him from the stupor he’d fallen into.

  She suspected he had no memory of this time, like the others, and that he had done this in front of his people was probably tearing him apart.

  She wanted—nay, needed—to help him, but now she could see that he needed something basic from her. Something that would reconnect him with her. Something to show her love to him and let him know that she was there for him. The bleak expression in his eyes invited her to act.

  Isobel stepped from his embrace, removed her clothing and then pulled him to stand before her. Circling him, she undressed him slowly, peeling away each of his garments until he stood naked before her. His arousal did not surprise her now—he became so at her slightest touch or glance, making her feel powerful in their relationship.

  He needed comfort first, so she guided him to sit on the bed and she climbed up behind him. She removed the ties around the ends of the small braids he wore at his temples and then ran her fingers through the length of his hair, massaging his head and then his neck. Then she moved his hair aside and kissed down his spine.

  Somehow she knew he needed more than just her touch this night. In the face of his doubts and questions, he needed to know that she was there for him. And she needed to tell him the truth that had lived in her heart for so long.

  She moved around him and knelt across his leg, trying to ignore the aroused flesh that made her own body ache in anticipation. She took his face in her hands and kissed his mouth. Over and over, as he usually did to her, she kissed his face, his lips, his chin, his cheeks and then she opened and possessed his mouth. As she slid her tongue in his mouth, she felt his hands encircle her waist. When he finally gave her his tongue, he guided her forwards and up until she could take him inside her body.

  Sliding down his length, taking him in inch by inch, she kept her mouth on his. Her breasts tingled as the curly hair on his chest teased her nipples. She lifted her mouth from his and exhaled a sigh of pleasure. Their bodies joined as one, now she wanted his heart.

  ‘I love you, Athdar,’ she whispered against his mouth.

  He stopped then, tugging her hair and gently pulling her face back. He searched her face as though seeking the truth.

  ‘I love you,’ she repeated.

  He turned her face, staring into her eyes. He knew she’d given herself to him, but now she gifted him with her heart when he most needed it.

  ‘Ah, lass,’ he whispered. ‘Say it again.’

  ‘I love you,’ she repeated. Then she pulled herself against his chest and began to ride him. ‘I love you,’ she chanted in a whisper against his face. ‘I love you, Athdar MacCallum. Always.’

  He took control then, turning their bodies as one until she lay beneath him. She reached up and touched his face with a breathtakingly tender caress. His body urged him to move, to take her, to claim her and mark her, but his own heart wanted to savour this special moment between them. He moved in her in a slow pace, so slow that it made his control scream, but he wanted her to feel the love he could not give voice to...not yet.

  Every time he filled her, she gasped. The sigh she made as he withdrew was music to his heart. He wanted this to go on for ever and never have to face the rest of it—the questions, the doubt.

  ‘Athdar,’ she moaned. ‘I can take no more of this. Hurry!’

  He laughed then—her soft voice had turned demanding and her hips thrust up to meet his. He loved hearing her demand more of him. He wanted to give her everything.

  He loved her.

  Athdar took her, then he thrust faster and deeper, feeling the walls of her channel tighten around his flesh. His release was close, oh so close, and he felt the spasms beginning deep within her body that foretold of hers. Then, just before he thrust for what he knew would the last time before they reached satisfaction, he lifted his head and met her gaze.

  ‘Never leave me, Bel,’ he whispered. ‘Never.’

  She smiled then.

  ‘Never.’

  Then, canting her hips, she wrapped her legs around him, drawing him into her fully. Her body exploded and melted around his as she screamed out her release. His seed burst forth as he filled her, plunging his flesh deeper and deeper still as her muscles convulsed around his cock.

  He could not breathe then. He could only feel...her body and his flesh as one...her heart pounding in her chest...her love accepting and claiming him.

  If only he could remain here for ever.

  But he could not. He needed to find out what was happening to him and why.

  Turning to his side, he pulled Isobel close, not sure of even what to say. They lay in the heavy silence for a short time before she faced him.

  ‘Tell me how I can help you, Athdar. Tell me what to do.’

  Her soft plea hurt because he could not answer her.

  ‘Give me time, Bel. Just give me time.’

  She said nothing then, just nodded and rolled to her side once more. Athdar moved in close and held her, unwilling to break the bond between them.

  After watching her plan her changes and handle problems, he would love to have her help. But until he knew the problem himself, he could not even ask the questions.

  * * *

  His breathing grew deep and regular and Isobel hoped that their joining had helped him. Speaking the words of love to him had been terrifying and, though he’d not said them back to her, she doubted not that he loved her. It wa
s in his gaze every time he looked at her. It was in his words every time he spoke of her or praised her before his—their—people. It was in every touch and every caress. If he could not say the words, she did not worry over it.

  She listened to him breathe and marvelled over how far they had come together. Sliding her hand over his hip, she just left it there so she could keep some connection to him as they slept. A few minutes passed as she drifted in and out of sleep and then she noticed something was not right.

  Reaching for him, she felt only emptiness next to her. The bed was cool to her touch, which told her he’d left some time ago. Both of them seemed to use the night to sort out their thoughts and just as she sought out the loom, she had known him to walk when he was bothered. So, she waited a little while for his return.

  * * *

  When she estimated it had been more than an hour, and how much before that she knew not, she left the bed and dressed quickly. With his plaid wrapped around her, she began her search for him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  She crept through the hall, finding no sign of him.

  Had he left the keep?

  Isobel went through the kitchens, again without seeing him, to the back door where a guard always stood...and thankfully did now.

  ‘The laird?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

  ‘He headed for the stables, lady,’ the man said. ‘Should I go tell him you wish to speak to him?’

  ‘Nay,’ she said, walking past him. ‘I will seek him out there.’

  It took a few minutes to find her way there. With little moonlight to brighten the yard, it was difficult, but soon she approached the fenced yard behind the main building. Again, no one was there so she followed around to the door...the open door. Tugging it wider, she stepped inside and looked around. Though there appeared to be about eight stalls, only three were being used. A torch placed high on the wall showed Athdar standing in front of one of them.

  She walked to him, stopping not far from him. The horses neighed softly, hoping she brought a treat, but she had none. Athdar did not seem to hear her or them. He just stood shifting something in his hands back and forth. As she got closer she could see it was a length of rope that was looping around one hand. When he reached the end, he dropped it and began again.