by Ashley York
He wrapped his hand around her breast and pulled her back up against him. He nibbled her shoulder and made his way to her ear.
“Are ye feigning sleep to get some rest?” His voice was husky with desire.
“Why would I ever do that?” She pushed her bum against his erection, encouraging his advances. “I would like nothing better than to be pleasured by my husband.”
He groaned, turning his face into her neck. “I love that ye say what is on yer mind. It makes me burn to be inside ye again. Are ye not sore then?”
“Not a bit.”
He worked his hand down the length of her body, stopping to stroke each nipple into a hard bud, before slipping between her thighs. “Mmm, ye are ready for me again.”
He urged her onto her stomach and spread her legs. This was new, but Iseabail did not worry. Her husband was a considerate lover and would not do anything that was not pleasing to her.
He covered her, licking her earlobe again. “Will I ever not find ye so?”
He wrapped his arm around her middle and adjusted her to accommodate his hard shaft. He slipped into her softness.
“Mmm.”
“That is the answer I want.” His low voice resonated through her, his passion all-consuming. He moved slowly at first, giving her a chance to get used to this new position. Keeping his hands around her, he rubbed against her nub and increasing her pleasure.
Her groan started deep inside, and she could not stop it.
Seumas whispered, his breath hot against her ear, “Let me hear ye cry out yer pleasure.”
She did moan her pleasure. He rode her harder, and her desire built as well, clenching her insides as she reached for that peak.
He grasped her hips and yanked her toward him. She cried out in ecstasy as he plowed her, adjusting her so she, too, could find release. He joined her and collapsed in utter exhaustion.
“I have found my home,” Seumas said under his breath as he lay beside her, pulling her to settle within his arms. Within moments, he was fast asleep.
I have found my home.
Had he meant to say that out loud? Tears filled Iseabail’s eyes. She nuzzled his chest, laying a kiss in the downy hair that grew there. “I have found my home, too.”
She snuggled down to sleep.
By mid-afternoon, their hunger necessitated leaving their cocoon. Seumas draped his kilt around him and his gaze traveled over her nakedness as she lay spread across the bed, no longer even a little shy.
“Ye are a hard thing to leave, my love.” He leaned down to kiss her. “I will return.”
When he opened the door to the hall, Seumas’s laughter echoed back into the room. Iseabail went quickly, a blanket wrapped around her bare body, to see what he found so humorous. The table in the hall was now covered with every type of food they could imagine—pheasant, duck, deer, elk, and, of course, all different types of fish. For drink they had mead, wine, and beer to choose from. Iseabail also started to laugh.
“Methinks they were providing for us to hibernate the long winter here.” He pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head. “As well I might.”
“They do think much of your stamina, m’lord,” she added, suppressing her smile.
“Have ye any complaints?”
“Oh, no.” She turned away slightly. “I do not have the experience to have complaints.”
Scooping her up, he tossed her on to the bed, uncovering her like a hidden treasure.
His gaze devoured her, the heat of his passion lighting their depths. “Ye will never have need of complaint.”
They sat on their bed naked, food spread before them, and talked of their future plans.
“I had hoped to bring ye to my family’s farm. What say ye?”
“That sounds wonderful.”
“Ye will not miss yer own homeland?”
She lowered her eyes. “I have no one there. I have no need to be there any longer.”
Unshed tears balanced on her lashes when she looked up again. Seumas hugged her to him as if trying to wipe away all the bad. She knew she could be happy now.
“Then it is decided. We will continue onto Tioram Castle so I can swear my allegiance, introduce ye to Lord MacDonell, and get his blessing. Then we can go to my father’s land and see about setting up our home… Does that not sound wonderful? Our home?”
“Wherever you are is my home. It is the way it should be. I do not take my vows last night lightly.”
“Nor do I. We will be happy.”
She dipped her head in agreement. “So when should we leave?”
She had so many questions. Seumas patiently answered them, willingly appeasing her curiosity. Another wonderful trait. It was decided they would leave in two days’ time.
When they finally emerged from their self-imposed exile the next morning, they were greeted with bright smiles and jests about how short a time they had spent in seclusion.
“I was thinking we would not see you for a fortnight, Seumas.” Brother Matthew slapped his back as he spoke. “I thought you had more in you.”
Brother Timothy spoke of St. Paul’s advice to abstain from ribald comments. His face was serious when he looked at Iseabail. “Are you happy anyway?”
After a moment’s silence, they all burst into laughter, including Iseabail.
“I am more than satisfied with my marriage, Brother Timothy and Brother Matthew. But thank you for your concern.” She winked at Seumas, and the monks erupted into another fit of laughter.
Brother James burst into the room, interrupting the camaraderie. He was gasping for breath as if he had run a far distance, and his eyes were huge with fear. Everyone jumped to their feet, waiting to learn the cause of his distress.
He said, “Little Bessie is missing.”
Brother Timothy was grabbing the cloak that hung beside the door in an instant. “When was the last time you saw her?”
Iseabail was concerned for Bessie and wondered just how little she was. “Is there anything I can do to help find her?”
Seumas took her hand as she stood.
“It will be seen to, Iseabail.” She was surprised at his lack of concern. “Little Bessie is a sheep.”
Iseabail exhaled, settling next to Seumas again. They watched as the shepherds prepared to find their lost sheep. If she had fallen down one of the steep cliffs that ran alone the coast, it would be very hard to find, and if she had fallen onto her back, she would never be able to turn herself onto her feet. Sheep needed their shepherd.
“Did you call to her?” Brother Timothy asked.
“I believe it is your voice she will respond to,” Brother James answered.
Brother Timothy nodded and the room was quickly emptied. Seumas and Iseabail were left to their own devices.
“Do you think they will find her?” Iseabail watched him as he thought about his answer. His handsome face was slightly red from his trip in the boat with Brother Matthew so that his blue eyes seemed even more pronounced.
“A good shepherd knows how to tend to his sheep.” She saw him look at her with sincerity. “They will do all they can for Little Bessie and will not return until they find her.”
“That is a tall order. There is a lot of land to cover.”
“True, but they will work together, methodically, so that they cover the whole area until they find their lost sheep. It is the way with every shepherd. Come, let us prepare for our departure so that we can leave at daybreak. I am anxious for ye to see my home.” Seumas looked as if he had just thought of something. “I am finally anxious myself to see it.” He turned his gaze on her. “And ye are the reason for that.” She reached up to kiss him, and he unexpectedly pulled her to him. “Have I told ye that I love ye?”
“I believe you have implied it, m’lord.”
He nuzzled her neck with his bearded face. “Let me do more than that now.” He led her to the stairs and they ascended two at a time. She was winded by the time they reached their room, laughing between big gasps for
air.
*****
The next morning, among tears and farewells and with all sheep accounted for, Seumas and Iseabail continued north to the Castle of Tioram at Loch Moidart. He explained that as one of the men who farmed on the land belonging to the castle, Seumas had been trained in warfare and was expected to bring his bride to the Lord MacDonell’s castle, if not for approval then to at least allow him to give his blessing.
Iseabail was not bothered overmuch by this, but she was looking forward to seeing the farm he had been raised on. He said it had been in his family for seven generations. They had lived through Viking raids from the coast and pestilence from the interior. He assured her he came from strong stock, and proved it to her each night when he made love to her as if it were their last time. He told her it was because he never wanted to take anything for granted.
“Why are we stopping here?” Iseabail looked out over the hill below and saw the ocean far off but nothing else. “Oh, for the beautiful view? It is breathtaking.”
“See the little inlet right...there?” Seumas leaned in close as if to see it from her eyes, and pointed.
She nodded.
“That is where my father’s house…our house sits.”
They turned toward each other and knew the excitement of starting anew with all the bad behind and a grand adventure just ahead.
“Race ye.” Seumas spurred his horse to a run and actually had to pull back when the animal caught wind of its home. Iseabail barely had a chance to keep up.
By the time she reached Seumas, she found him a few hundred yards from a small house with a thatched roof.
“What are you doing? Why have you stopped?”
“Someone is here.”
“What do you mean?” She looked around. The fields had been planted and harvested. Repair work had been done to the barn behind the house rather recently, judging by the light-colored thatch. As she looked on, a man came out of the house and headed toward the well with a bucket in hand.
Seumas sucked in air as if not believing what he was seeing.
“Who is it, Seumas?” Iseabail shielded her eyes from the bright sun but could make out nothing else.
“I do not believe the audacity—” Seumas put heels to the horse and galloped to a halt beside the startled man, who dropped his bucket at Seumas’s advance.
“Well, who is this?” Seumas’s voice was piercing as he jumped off his horse, his dagger in hand, and walked right up to the man. “Tell me what ye are doing on my property, or I will run ye through right here!”
Iseabail was shocked at what she heard. Seumas’s blade was balanced in the palm of his hand and held a hair’s breadth from the man’s heart.
“Seumas? Is it really you?” The other man’s voice broke and huge tears rolled down his cheeks. He looked Seumas up and down as if to test what he was seeing. “I cannot believe it is really you.”
With open arms he approached Seumas, who stepped back, dagger still at the ready.
“Answer my questions, Giles.”
Iseabail’s eyes flew back to the little man. She could scarce believe this was Seumas’s best friend, Giles. Seumas had told her about his time on the pilgrimage to the Holy Land and especially about his trust in his best friend, which had turned out to be badly misplaced. The man before them was a coward.
“I am sorry. I had nowhere else to go.” His hesitancy in speaking did not sit right with Iseabail. He did not come off as the pompous arse Seumas had described to her.
“What do I care? This is my land and my house. Get out,” Seumas said with finality and returned to Iseabail to help her down, his dagger still available but now tucked at his waist. “I am very sorry about this. I had no idea the place had been infiltrated by vermin.”
Iseabail did not answer but glanced at Giles to see that Seumas’s barb had had the intended effect. The man’s shoulders bowed even more.
When Giles remained in the same spot, Seumas put her behind him and drew his sword from the saddle of his horse. “What are ye waiting for? Would ye prefer I run ye through right here?”
“I would, Seumas. It would put me out of my misery.”
“Oh, ye have misery now, do ye?” Seumas answered skeptically, his sword pointed at the man. “I do not care. Get off my land…now!”
The tightness in his voice gave Iseabail pause. His lips were pressed together with such violence that his chin dimpled, his lips dipped down, and his nostrils flared in his rage. The look on her husband’s face was one she hoped to never see again. She waited to see if the man was moving, or if she were about to witness a murder in her new home.
“Hear me, Seumas, I beg of you.” The man fell to his knees. “I have no place else to go. I am sorry…you have no idea how sorry. Mercy. Please, show me mercy.”
He sobbed uncontrollably, a broken man if ever she had seen one.
Iseabail was moved by pity. “Seumas,” she said his name quietly and placed her hand lightly on the arm that held his sword. “Mayhap it would not hurt to hear him out?”
Seumas shook his head as if to push himself from his morbid remembrances to decipher what she had said. His eyes widened in disbelief, and her breath caught in her throat. Did he think she was betraying him? Seumas slipped his sword back into place, but rested his hand on the dagger, still close at hand at his waist.
“Very well, Iseabail. What will ye have us do? Go into the house he has made his own and sit down at my table, which he has made his own, and drink the wine from the vineyards he has made his own?”
Her face heated at the comment. He was right. What was she asking him to do?
Seumas took a deep, steadying breath, banking his anger, and stroked the side of her face. “I am sorry, love. Please…what should we do?”
She did not know, but Giles was on the ground, pathetically begging for mercy. Quarter was given even to an enemy.
“Perhaps we could sit over there.” She indicated the small table beneath an elm beside the vegetable garden, neatly turned over for winter. “We could sit out here, and we could hear him out.”
Seumas took her hand and smiled, nodding acceptance of the plan. “Come and sit here, Giles. Because of the kindness of my wife, ye may have one chance to speak yer mind to me, and then ye will leave. Do ye hear?”
Giles nodded with downcast eyes. “This is your wife, then?”
Seumas halted, his fists curling at his side. “Speak now and never mind diversions.” He put his foot on the bench, perhaps to avoid sitting at the same table with this man.
“M’lord.” Giles folded and unfolded his hands nervously under Seumas’s scowl. “When I returned from our travels, I had nothing. I had been robbed by vicious desert bandits who killed several of the men I was with for no other reason than to see if their blood ran red. It was awful.” Giles glanced up expectantly but apparently did not see the look he had hoped for in Seumas’s eyes. He lowered his gaze again. “My land had been mortgaged by my father even before we left for the pilgrimage. When I returned, my family was dead, and I had nowhere to call home.”
Seumas had told Iseabail about his father— that he was a bum and that was why, as a boy, Giles had spent so much time with Seumas and his own hardworking father. Giles had been treated like a son, the brother Seumas had never had.
Seumas waited for him to continue. His face seemed etched in stone.
“I thought of your father and how much I had loved to be here. I came by and found it vacant and rundown. I worked very hard,” a trace of smile lit up Giles’s face as his gaze surveyed the land affectionately, “to build it back into the farm it once was.” Stopping, he turned to Seumas. “I heard you were dead. I did not think there would be any harm.”
Seumas stiffened and removed his foot from the bench. His back was straight, but he looked to be struggling with what to say. “Who told ye I was dead?”
Giles shifted his gaze away.
Seumas remained standing with his back to him. His voice was a little louder this time,
the anger seeping into his words. “I asked who told ye I had died?” He slowly turned to face the man.
Iseabail glanced between the two and wished she had never asked for them to talk.
“Did ye not hear the question?”
Giles refused to answer.
Seumas pressed his palms against the table and glared at his former friend, derision and loathing dripping from every word. “If ye thought I was dead, why did ye not come to see to my body?”
Giles eyes were rimmed with red, his lips pursed into a tight bow.
“Did ye care nothing for yer friend? The man whose farm ye decided ye could move into and take over?”
“I was a different man then.” Giles stood up and shouted the words then began to sob uncontrollably. “I was a selfish whoreson who cared about no one and nothing.”
Seumas balled his hands into fists, and the muscle in his jaw twitched, but he said nothing.
Giles shook his head, snot and tears dripping off his chin. “You do not have to forgive me. I do not expect you to. I came here hoping to keep your family name alive with this place.” He poked his hand toward the eastern hills. “Ask the tanner. Ask the miller. I told them I was your servant now come to do right by you, that I was a wretched shell of a man, but you had allowed me to make amends. I told them I was not worthy to carry your boots, but you had allowed me to work your farm.”
Giles was a pathetic sight. Iseabail glanced down, not sure what Seumas should do. She prayed he had more wisdom than she, and whatever decision he made, she would abide by it without question.
The silence was deafening.
“Regardless, Giles, ye may not continue to stay here. Please see to whatever is actually yers and pack it now.”
Giles’s lip quivered uncontrollably. He cast his gaze down then shuffled to the house.
Iseabail did not speak. She did not know what to say.
Seumas took her hand. There was pain in his eyes. “I had wanted only happy memories for us here.” His eyes rounded in his sadness, and he took a shaky breath. “I have somewhere to show ye. It is more peaceful than this.”