The Warrior's Queen

by Cecelia Mecca

  He picked up the mug once more. “You can stop staring at me now. He said nothing more.”

  “I’m not staring,” she protested.

  “You were staring.”

  “This”—she widened her eyes and made a face at him—“is staring. I was simply—”

  “Who,” her sister interrupted, “are you?”

  Gillian didn’t understand the question.

  “If Father or Mother could hear such an exchange, they would surely be aghast.”

  Gillian sat up straighter in her seat. “It seems my brother brings out a different side of me than you are used to seeing.”

  In fact, both of the de Sowlis brothers had that effect on her, Graeme even more so than Aidan.

  “It will happen to you as well, Lady Allie, if you do indeed stay here.”

  “What will happen?” she asked, her expression innocent.

  Aidan scrunched up his face to make it appear more menacing. “We’ll rid you of your English,” he said in a thick brogue not typically found this far south. “And turn you into a true Scottish lass.”

  Allie looked at Gillian, who shrugged. “And what, pray tell, do your Scottish lasses do differently that we should be given such a fate?”

  The two of them bantered for the remainder of the meal while Gillian thought about Malcolm’s return. When Graeme had left for Dunmure, he’d done so without a word. And though he’d bid her goodbye before taking his more extended journey to Kenshire, he’d appeared almost reluctant to do so. Had something changed?

  Either way, she was ready for him.

  Gillian would tell him everything the moment they were alone. She loved him, and if it took a day, a fortnight, or a lifetime, she would do everything she could to make him love her too. For the simple fact that she could not help it.

  “Gill?”

  Allie brought her back to the conversation. Though she hadn’t seen him get up, Aidan stood talking with a messenger at the entrance to the hall.

  “Do you miss them?”

  “Mother and Father?” Somehow she knew who them referred to. “Of course,” she said. “What do you think has happened?”

  She hated to consider it. Gillian wasn’t sure her father would survive the loss.

  “I do not know,” she said. “Do you think they’ve come already? To take it all away? With the king out of the country—”

  “Covington was a powerful man,” Gillian said.

  Allie shuddered. “Aye, he was.”

  They fell silent, and Gillian looked across the room at the tapestry Allie and Graeme had spoken of the night before he left.

  Gillian, lost in thought over her parents’ fate and that of her marriage, hardly tasted the food in front of her. When she looked at Allie and saw a single tear run down her sister’s cheek, Gillian reached over and wiped it away. She brushed the hair from her shoulder and moved it to her back, attempting a smile for her sister’s sake.

  They finished the meal in silence.

  Graeme only now realized how late it had become. Though darkness had fallen some time ago, he’d insisted on continuing until they reached their destination. When the torchlights of Highgate Castle finally shone in the distance, he urged his mount to an alarming speed.

  Slow down. You are of no use to anyone dead.

  He did, though just slightly, noticing he was far ahead of his companion. His clansman must think him mad.

  Finally arriving at the gates, he called to the guard above, who raised the portcullis. The courtyard, empty at this late hour, appeared as it should, though he saw it in a different light—as if the wonder he’d felt as a child had been restored.

  He woke the stable master, who took his mount, and ran to the entrance of the keep. Before he could bound up the stairs to make his way to the second floor, a voice behind him stopped him.

  “Going somewhere?”

  Aidan sat in front of the hearth at the far end of the hall. Mug in hand, his legs stretched out in front of him, he looked very much like their father. Graeme had seen him many times in this sort of repose when all was quiet and the rest of the castle inhabitants had gone to bed.

  He walked toward Aidan, who looked rather displeased with him.

  “To see my wife.”

  “Ahh,” Aidan said. “You’ve remembered her.”

  He was in no mood for games.

  “I’ve remembered her,” he ground out, “and have come to my senses.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Graeme gripped the top of the wooden chair on which his brother sat. Not willing to say more about Gillian, he gave Aidan an account of his visit with the earl and his wife.

  “It is arranged,” he said. “Geoffrey Waryn will meet with Douglas and the clan chiefs the day before the Day of Truce. We are of the same mind about the changes necessary to March Law and must make it official before a petition to the king is made.”

  “What about Clave? And Hedford?”

  “He assured me Lord Clave and the English Warden would be there as well.”

  Aidan looked skeptical. “Does that not please you?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  “None of this pleases me very well. But I suppose the plan has some merit.”

  More so than avenging the offenders themselves and risking an all-out war, but he did not care to debate those issues now.

  “It seems your visit went well then,” Aidan allowed.

  Graeme smiled. “Very well.”

  His brother’s head jerked up. But Graeme would not get into the rest of it now. His wife should be the first to know, and he was anxious to see her.

  “What is it?” Aidan asked.

  But he was already walking away.

  35

  Gillian turned to the other side, propping the pillow behind her for support. Her bare arms were cool, so she pulled up the coverlet as well. It was the darkest time of night, but something had woken her. The fire that had died out? The chill she so despised?

  The door clicked.

  Although Gillian couldn’t see Graeme, she knew immediately her husband was back. An odd time of day to return to Highgate, but his actions had ceased to surprise her.

  She kept her eyes closed, waiting, and wasn’t disappointed. He sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that his warmth filtered to her. Gillian turned and opened her eyes.

  Graeme was looking at her with such intensity the hairs on her arms stood up despite being covered. He didn’t say a word or make a move to touch her. But his gaze, initially curious, had heated with desire.

  The same wicked-hot desire that had been between them from the start, from the first time their eyes had met in that garden.

  He looked at her like that now, but he didn’t make a move to touch her. “You’re awake?”

  “Aye . . . You’re back very late,” she offered.

  “We returned in haste.”

  She did not take her eyes from his.

  “I wanted to be with you,” he said.

  Gillian had so many questions, but she found herself saying, “You left without a word.”

  Out with it all, Gillian. ’Tis no time to lose your tongue.

  “You acted peculiarly at dinner and then left the next day . . . without even a simple goodbye.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. “And then again on an errand that could have easily been run by another messenger. Do not deny it.”

  The corners of Graeme’s mouth turned down before he spoke. “When your sister asked about the tapestry, I saw the look in your eyes. And it occurred to me finally . . . I realized how you truly felt about me.”

  Gillian sat up, now completely awake. His gaze burned a path to her heart. When a swath of unkempt hair fell into his eyes, she reached out and moved it away.

  “I left that night, not ready to accept that I deserved you.”

  There was more. Gillian was sure of it.

  He reached for her, and when their hands touched, her entire body tingled. His hand, always so warm a
nd protective . . . she would be content to simply lie here and hold it for hours. Days.

  “I needed to do something to make it right. So I traveled to Kenshire, spoke to Waryn, had our meeting, and spent each night since tormented with thoughts of telling you. Showing you.”

  He took a deep breath. “I love you, Gillian.”

  She froze. “What did you say?”

  “I love you. I am glad to have been caught in the garden with you. Overjoyed, in fact, that we were forced to marry. Because it brought a proper English queen into my life, one whose kindness and curiosity compelled me since the day we met. If you wish to explore what we have first, get to know each other, and someday—”

  He abruptly let go of her hand and stood, crossing his arms and watching her reaction.

  Scared. She’d never have imagined it possible, but her husband was scared. Gillian jumped out of the bed and laid her hands on his crossed arms.

  “I love you, Graeme. I love your loyalty and passion, your gentleness and . . .”

  That she could not say aloud.

  Did he believe her? If he would not listen to her words, then perhaps . . .

  Gillian turned away, walked to the bed, finding its edge thanks to the sole candle that was still lit, and crawled inside. She really should have disrobed first, but no matter. It was not overly difficult to remove her shift and the braid that held her hair together while lying down. Finally, when finished, she looked to her husband.

  He stared at the bed, the woman he’d dreamt of every night lying completely exposed and vulnerable. Because he knew Gillian. She was not yet completely comfortable with their intimacy, which made the gesture more meaningful.

  I love you, Graeme.

  Gillian loved him, and by all the saints in Scotland, he loved her too. He tore off his clothes as he approached the bed, needing to bury himself inside her, sealing the pact they’d made with their words.

  But not yet.

  He spread her legs wide as he crawled between them. Turning his head, he kissed her smooth calf and then edged his lips up toward her thigh. Higher still. Graeme held her legs open with his hands while he placed a soft kiss on her inner thigh.

  He looked up at his English queen holding court in their bed. Shaking off any remaining vestiges of doubt, he told her exactly how their night would end.

  “I am going to prove my love for you with every touch of my lips.” He kissed the sensitive flesh on the underside of each slightly bent knee. “I will revere you as the queen you are.” He splayed his hands wide on her thighs. “And when I enter you,” he finished as he glided toward her, “each thrust will give you a piece of me, my love and my eternal devotion to you, Gillian.”

  She licked her lips, tempting him to take them. But he fulfilled his promise and made his way toward her mouth slowly, each touch of his lips on her skin an apology. For not accepting her the first time she asked for more. For leaving, twice. By the time he reached her breasts, he partially covered her, the feel of her skin against his hardening him even more. Her softness and acceptance touched his very soul.

  He gave each breast the attention it deserved, kissing one while teasing the other with his hand, and then finally made his way to her mouth. He captured her lips beneath his own, unrelenting in his message: he loved her, worshiped her, and would prove it this night. His tongue tussled with hers, a soft moan escaping from her lips. Graeme’s skin burned everywhere it touched hers. And when she pressed into him, it was an invitation he could not ignore.

  He reached down and guided himself into her. But once her tightness enveloped him, his urge to go slowly was overwhelmed by the desire to fit so deeply into his wife that neither of them would have any remaining doubts about where they belonged—together.

  Guiding her legs up on either side of him, he whispered into her ear, “Wrap your legs around me.”

  When she did, Graeme took full advantage of the new position and thrust and circled and thrust until her uneven breathing became louder. He kissed her ear, her neck, his tongue flicking Gillian’s skin as he gave her everything he had, waiting . . .

  For that. Her legs tightened around his back as she grabbed his hair, groaning. The small spasms intensified, and he finally let go. Spilling himself into her, Graeme captured her lips once more, a silent promise that he would give as much as she offered.

  She was his wife in truth, and the thought of it filled him with so much pride that he could not get close enough. He rolled her atop him, their bodies still joined, and held on tight. Her hair covered his face, their limbs indistinguishable.

  Graeme could stay this way forever.

  Unfortunately, she eventually lifted her head, and he reached up to move her hair to the side.

  He opened his mouth to tell her all that he’d been thinking, but words seemed to pale in comparison to what they’d just experienced. Instead, he lifted his head and kissed her.

  Her broad smile was the only response he needed.

  36

  “Move against me like that one more time, and you’ll know exactly how I’d like to wake up to you every morning for the rest of our lives.”

  Gillian chuckled and pressed her backside against him, taunting him. Teasing him. Well, he had not been teasing her. He was already hard and more than ready for his wife. Reaching around to ensure she was also ready for him, Graeme moved over her so quickly Gillian had time for nothing more than a widening of her eyes before he entered her.

  Unlike the night before, he did not take his time. She met his every thrust with one of her own, and it took only a change of pace, from fast to slow and back again, before his English queen tipped her head back and thrust her hips up to meet him.

  Graeme covered her hands, which gripped the coverlet on both side of them, and found his release with her. Collapsing on top of her, supporting his weight in order to not crush her, Graeme placed a kiss on her nose.

  “Good morn, wife.”

  Gillian glanced at the single beam of sunlight streaming into the chamber and sighed. When she looked back at him, she voiced her thoughts aloud. “A glorious morn to be sure.”

  Reluctantly pulling himself away, Graeme began to move about the room, cleaning himself and preparing for the day. When he glanced back, Gillian was sitting up. Seeing the look on his face, she immediately dropped the coverlet from her breasts, and it took every bit of Graeme’s strength of will for him not to take advantage of the two round, full mounds that stared back at him.

  He groaned, his well-used cock responding as it should.

  “Nay,” he said, more to himself than Gillian, who in fact had not said a word. What he had planned was just too important.

  “I have something to tell you,” he blurted, glancing back at her glorious body. Now fully dressed, he sat on the side of the bed, giving in to temptation for just one moment. He reached out to fondle Gillian’s breasts, sliding closer to her for just one more taste. But rather than pull her nipple into his mouth, he pulled away.

  “I will never accomplish anything from this day forward,” he murmured.

  He tried to focus again, this time walking toward the door before turning to speak to her. Amused, Gillian cocked her head to the side and waited.

  “So what is it you have to tell me?” she asked.

  He could very happily forget every duty, rip off his clothes, and climb back into bed with the woman he loved. But it was because of that love that he would not.

  At least not yet.

  “Aye, but not until we find Allie.”

  “My sister?”

  “The very same one.” He flicked the iron lock and opened the door, though not too wide, lest anyone get a glimpse of the May Day beauty languishing in his bed.

  Their bed.

  “Hurry down,” he said, excited now. “I will find your sister.”

  Before she could ask further questions, he left to do just that. Sure enough, she and Aidan already sat at the head table with their heads tipped together, speaking of something
they clearly did not want others to hear.

  “Good morn,” he said, smiling.

  Aidan and Allie exchanged glances, both greeting him with wary expressions.

  “I see you haven’t yet broken your fast?” he said to Allie.

  She shook her head.

  “Then can I have a private word first?”

  While he waited, his sister-in-law stood and followed him from the hall. He led the way to his private chamber at the back of the hall, the windowless one that made him feel as if he couldn’t breathe.

  Spotting Fiona and Morgan, he gestured to them. “Will you please send Gillian back here when she arrives?”

  As he walked by his brother, Aidan gave him a curious glance. He indicated, without speaking, that he would explain later.

  “Please sit,” he told Allie. She very delicately placed herself on a cushioned chair.

  “Why am I here, Graeme?”

  “Indeed,” a voice behind him added. “Why are we both here?”

  Though he’d been elated before, excited to speak to them and hopeful they would approve, when faced with both Gillian and her sister, Graeme began to doubt himself. But the deed had been done, and there was nothing more to do than explain himself.

  “If you’d like to sit—”

  “Nay, Graeme, just tell me what is happening. You’re making my stomach do little flips in anticipation.”

  His eyelids lowered, for he savored the thought of how else he might elicit that reaction. That would have to wait.

  “I’ve given your father an . . . expanded dowry.”

  The women exchanged glances, so he hurried to finish.

  “On the way back from Kenshire, I stopped at Lyndwood.”

  “You saw my father?” Gillian asked. “Alone?”

  “Saw him, spoke to him. Offered him the same amount of coin Covington would have given him had he married—well, either one of you.”

  Awareness washed over both of their faces at once.

  “But you’d already paid a dowry. Did he take it?”