The hall was crowded, perhaps even more so than it had been for any dinner or even the court hearings of weeks ago. The crowd was not so very loud but the torrential rains outside were deafening until the doors had been pulled closed. Even then, the wind and thunder howled through the uncovered windows and stirred the flames of the candles to dance vigorously upon the chandeliers high above.
Glenna sat at the head table with Maggie and the steward, as so often a request would come in for household items that the mistress could quickly say yay or nae, if a spare were available or not. Their guests from Hawkmore, the women and the steward at least, were tucked up in Glenna’s solar today, happy to remain close together. Glenna had said they’d spent the morning in the chapel with their prayers, as they had all three days since coming to Berriedale.
This occasion was not so formal as the court hearings, where charges had been filed with Artair and each accused was called forth to answer. Today, Artair only said, “Let us begin,” when he’d taken his seat next to Maggie and Glenna.
The crowd shuffled, several people looking at each other, until a woman stepped forward to reveal her need.
Artair prefaced her request with a general announcement. “Please state your name, folks, and an occupation, if warranted, that Maggie Bryce might record the essentials correctly.” And to the woman waiting, he instructed, “Proceed.”
“Janet Howlk, lass,” said the red hair and ruddy cheeked woman. She dipped a quick and sloppy curtsy to the mistress and wrung her hands together while she explained her circumstance. “I’m one of several brewers in the area and it was my cart that the sot, Gavin Ogg, did confiscate some time back.” She addressed Maggie specifically, as if it were she who would make any determination. “Aye, he did, and the cart, ye ken, is fine, but his good-time-had did destroy more than half of my jugs. Now, I’m no potter, lass, that I can be replacing these things so easily, and Clara Fraser wants to charge me a farthing for naught but two crocks and I’ll tell ye same as I told her—”
A loud crash interrupted the brewer and the proceedings. Another woman screeched for the noise. The doors to the hall had crashed open.
The half dozen soldiers present drew their swords and pressed through the crowd, which moved quickly, away from the ruckus and whoever had come. The throng of people shifted backward, toward the head table even as they faced the opposite end of the hall and the doors.
Maggie jumped to her feet and craned her neck but could not see beyond all the bodies now so close to the table.
Glenna stood as well, grabbing anxiously at Maggie’s hand.
“I cannot see,” Maggie bemoaned.
In the next second a cheer was raised, and Maggie felt herself breathe again, knew that Glenna expelled a cry of relief as well.
He was home.
Maggie left the table just as the crowd moved and parted, opening a path which showed Iain standing just inside the door.
He was road-weary and dirtied, drenched by the rain even, but generally unharmed that a cry of thankfulness escaped her. For the space of a moment they only stared at each other, across the length of the hall. Though she was peripherally aware that he was followed by others, Duncan and Donal at least, her gaze was for him alone.
His eyes were bright, with the bloodlust that had kept him alive and safely returned or at the sight of her, she couldn’t say. She stepped forward, haltingly at first, but then ran to him. She crashed into him and was lifted off the ground by his strong arm surrounding her. She squeezed him and breathed him in and held him close, pinching her eyes tightly closed.
Another loud cheer came, but Maggie heard only him, his heartbeat and his breath against her.
“Oh, thank God,” she said, crying into his neck and raining kisses along his cheek.
“Aye, lass.” His arm tightened around her waist. “All is well, Maggie Bryce.”
People began to move around them that Maggie finally opened her eyes. Iain loosened his hold that she was set back on her feet. She put her palms to each of his cheeks and only wanted to stare at him, be assured he was truly unharmed.
He was home. His eyes were bright and untroubled. All was well, indeed.
Iain kissed her forehead and addressed Glenna, who stood near, was already reaching out to touch her son.
While Iain greeted his jubilant mother, Maggie turned to Duncan and Donal, embracing each of them. Eideard was close and she touched her hand to his forearm. Archie came strolling into the keep and Maggie rushed him, caught only a hint of a grin before she threw herself at him.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she said to him. “I was never going to speak to you again if you were not.”
She felt his chuckle rumble against her, felt his hand pat her back. “I figured as much, lass. Thought I’d better get on back.”
MANY HOURS LATER, WHEN all the keep was settled for the night, Maggie finally went in search of her own bed. She’d spent the last hour with the party from Hawkmore, who were naturally overjoyed with the glad news of Hawkmore’s survival and were eager then to hop into their boat and be gone and be home. It had taken some doing, but Diana Maitland had finally been convinced that leaving first thing in the morning, and with an escort of soldiers, was the better plan. Thus, tonight all of Berriedale and their guests had enjoyed a lively meal, which lasted well into the evening before Glenna and Maggie and the Hawkmore women had left the hall, taking some time to prepare for yet another trip about the sea in the morning.
Pushing open the door to her chambers, Maggie was not entirely surprised to find Iain in her bed. She closed the door quietly and leaned against it, let her gaze fall softly upon him. He slept now, but at some time this evening had given himself up to a bath, his hair damp yet against the downy pillows. He was on his back, one foot on the floor, his hand on his midsection, giving the impression that he’d sat initially, might have waited for her to come, but then had simply collapsed with his surely great exhaustion.
Maggie stepped away from the door and spent a bit of time adjusting the fire, urging the larger log to the rear of the hearth, intending a softer light. Brushing off her hands, she turned and stood near the bed, pulling her hair loose from its ribbon. She’d known for days what she wanted when he returned, but now allowed a wry grin for his sleepiness, which might yet thwart her plans.
Still, she removed the apron she’d worn for more than half the day, and then sat to rid herself of her shoes and hose, dropping all this in the chair near the hearth. Her gown followed, Maggie acknowledging to herself that this was done with much less reticence because he slept yet. Nonetheless, she wasn’t brave enough to strip completely and so knelt at the side of the bed in her chemise and moved the hair off his forehead. He stirred not at all.
Folding her arms on the mattress between him and her, she leaned forward and touched her lips to his, feathering a kiss over him, so easy to do as his face was turned toward her. His breathing did not change, as he slept on. Bolder now, she kissed him again, moving one hand up onto his chest, only the linen of his tunic separating her fingers from his warm skin. Closing her eyes, she traced her tongue along his lips, and finally felt him waken.
“Thank you for coming home to me,” she whispered. It wasn’t her home of course, but she felt as if it were. Certainly when he was here with her.
Drowsily, he said, “I promised I’d come back to you.”
“Make sure you always do, please,” she instructed and kissed him again.
“I dinna want to scare you, lass, but you keep that up and you’re going to find yourself right quick hauled up onto this bed with me.”
The boldness did not forsake her. “I was hoping to find myself in such a circumstance.”
“Kiss me again,” he said, the hint of a smile teasing his beautiful mouth.
Happy to oblige, Maggie leaned forward again, her fingers still on his chest while she applied herself to the kiss. She let it be just a caress at first, moving her mouth back and forth across his. He held himself
very still, purposefully so, Maggie thought. Wanting so much more from him, she raised herself a bit on her knees and covered his mouth fully, sliding her tongue between his lips. In no time at all, he growled against her and returned the kiss, his hands lifting to cup her cheeks.
Against her lips, he murmured, “I’ll be telling you I love you now, but only because I might be too caught up in you verra soon to be able to utter any words at all.”
She felt her insides tickle for the delight these words brought her. “Mayhap I should say as much to you, hoping that likewise, I’ll be too dimwitted very shortly to have command of thoughts or speech.”
“Aye, you should.”
“I do love you, Iain,” she said. “So very much.”
“Come up here then,” he urged, “that I might no’ only tell you, but show you as well.”
Maggie needed no other prodding and climbed into the bed with him. He moved further across the mattress, which allowed plenty of space next to him that she stretched out along the length of him.
Before she might have kissed him again, he said to her, “You tell me what to do, Maggie Bryce. When to start or stop or—”
Maggie put her finger to his lips to quiet him. She shook her head.
“This is between you and me,” she said. “There is no ghost between us. There never was, was only in my mind.” She moved her finger.
“I ken you’d figure it out sooner or later,” he said, his tone oozing with compassion.
Nodding, she returned, “You were very patient.”
He grinned, which raised Maggie’s brow.
Gently, he cupped her face. “Sorry, lass. I’ve waited so long, it seems, for just this—and you say those words, and all I heard was, have at it.”
Maggie laughed outright, having not expected such absurdity between them at this significant moment. “That is the most unromantic thing I have ever heard.”
He smiled that beautiful smile of his, the one that first stole her heart. “But you ken what I meant?”
She was still grinning when she told him, “Actually—sadly—I did.”
“Should I?”
“Have at it?”
He nodded, his smile intact as he rose up over her.
“Please do,” she begged when she was pivoted onto her back, just before his lips met hers.
This kiss was new, different to them now, its express intent not to taste or know but to please and seduce. When he touched her breast, she reveled in the possessive and confident way he teased her and tempted her, lacking any hesitation as if only waiting for her to recoil. When he doffed his tunic, she eagerly let her hands wander, over the firm muscles and raised scars. And when he lifted her long kirtle, she helped, lifting her hips that it might be gotten out of the way.
His breeches and all other clothing followed the same path, tossed over the side of the bed until they were both naked and entranced. His gaze was reverent upon her breasts, his lips worshipful. She looked her fill as well, the truth before her eyes of his beauty in no way able to compare to what previously she had only imagined.
“It’s going to take a long time for me to get used to this, Maggie Bryce,” he whispered, his voice low. “You might want to get used to me staring.”
She smiled and drew him back to her for another kiss. Never had she ached for a man’s caress, until this moment. Never had she wanted to please, to bring pleasure with her touch until now. And he let her, let her slowly and lovingly explore all parts of him, with her hands and her mouth and her tongue—but only for so long.
He reached for her and dragged her up onto him, holding her by the arms very near to his face and kissed her senseless while Maggie instinctively straddled him, needing him with an urgency that was heretofore unknown. Iain assisted, pausing his kiss, meeting her shiny gaze while he slid inside her.
She had no words for the beauty of that motion, for how...perfect it felt. She whimpered, speech beyond her anyway. He lifted his lips and set a tantalizing tempo between them, which Maggie joyfully pursued.
“You’re torturing me, lass,” he said. “I want to throw you down and bury myself deep inside you.”
“Do with me what you might,” she said, her tone as languid as all her limbs.
This was Iain; she had no fear.
“The correct response, Maggie Bryce, is what you want, what you desire. Show me.”
Never had she so boldly done as she pleased, until now.
She lifted his hands and placed them over her breasts, tilting her head back, reveling in his touch. She kept her hands over his, even as he moved his fingers, pinching her nipples to hardness again. She lifted and lowered herself on him slowly, over and over, until the need increased in her that she craved more and more of him. Reaching back, she set her hands onto his powerful thighs and rode him faster and faster.
Iain sat up and grabbed at her hips, moving her up and down with greater urgency now, his need equaling her own. He laved his tongue against her exposed neck and then abandoned everything but assisting her movements, lifting her higher before bringing her back down on his rigid erection, filling her so marvelously. Maggie moaned as delight crept closer and closer and transferred her hands to his shoulders, attacking him with a fresh kiss, hungry and demanding. And then she gasped, couldn’t move, her mouth motionless against his while release crested, showering her with fire, engulfing her in impossible rapture.
He allowed her to feel it, did not push her now that he might finish. He suckled at her nipple, startling a cry from Maggie, for the sensations known just then. He pumped inside her still, slowly, drawing out her release. She thought tears might have fallen, for the sheer splendor of this moment. When she could move again, she kissed him, reminding herself of the joy that all her life, she would kiss only him now.
She began to move on him again, wanting him to know that same ecstasy, but Iain shifted and rolled her onto her back. Every movement was fluid and seamless, was done with every attempt for her comfort, her pleasure.
Maggie widened her legs, and Iain embedded himself deeply within her. She shuddered when he withdrew, nearly all the way again, and then entered her with excruciating slowness. He did this over and over, kissing her further into senselessness, until the heat began to build once again inside her. Astonished, she pushed at his shoulders, meeting his gaze when he pulled back a bit. Without words, but with the movement of her hips and the wonder of her gaze, she let him know she was about to come again.
Iain smiled down at her and began to move smoothly and quickly in and out of her. This time, they found their release together, his fingers sinking into the flesh of her waist to hold her to him when he came.
“Jesu, Maggie Bryce,” he groaned, his voice nearly unrecognizable. He closed his eyes and dropped his head. “My God, I love you.”
She definitely could not move now, but her heart knew joy such as it never had that more tears came with her feverish release.
Many minutes passed before she could breathe normally again. He collapsed against her as she let her head roll listlessly on the pillow. After a while, he moved off to her side. Maggie never wanted to be further than this, not ever be away from him.
She thought she might have dozed for a few minutes but could not be sure. When next she opened her eyes, she saw Iain in profile, so close to her. His eyes were closed. She was immediately put in mind of watching him sleep sometimes when they were stuck in that cave last winter.
Where it all began.
Every day, all my life, I will be with you.
“This is joy, then,” she murmured, wondering if she ought to pinch herself, be sure the good fortune was real.
Iain opened his eyes though he did not move, but to say, “When we were held by the English all those years ago, I was verra sure I was bound to die, watched as so many others did over the weeks and months. I kept thinking my mother would be heartbroken, but then I would console myself that I would see my da’ again. She would ken it, too, would ken I was with him, mayh
ap would find some comfort in that. Honestly, it served a purpose, those thoughts.” He paused a moment, mayhap taken up by those memories. “I dinna ken if that were giving in, but I accepted that death would come. I had no fear, no regret...no worry.” He blew out a slow breath. “But riding into Hawkmore, I was no’ ready to die. Those same thoughts did not serve me well this time. I was thinking there was so much more I wanted to show you—not just this, what we’ve just done,” he was quick to assure her. “Just everything.” He turned on his side and moved the hair off her shoulder. “I wanted to be around as that girl from the caves returned. I wanted to see her smile at me, for me. I dinna deserve you, I ken, but damn Maggie Bryce, I’m willing to try.”
Maggie ran her hand over his cheek and gave him the smile he craved. “You speak so eloquently...truly, it shames me that I can just now only think to say I love you.”
He showed her that much-adored grin and asked, “Your brain still squirrelly from the lovemaking, Maggie Bryce?”
Her smile reappeared, larger now. “It might be.” But she did think to share with him, “I know that recovering my true self has to come from within me, leastwise that’s what Artair had said. And while he’s likely correct, I also know that I couldn’t have—cannot yet, as I have a way to go, I imagine—done it anywhere but with you. I believe that to be true.”
“I dinna want you anywhere but with me.”
Maggie sighed and kissed him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
MAGGIE WAS WAKENED the next morning by Iain’s hand skimming along her naked hip. She smiled dreamily and opened her eyes to find him up on his elbow, watching her, so much love shining in his gaze. He kissed her fully awake with great tenderness and Maggie wondered how they might possibly stay inside this bed and this room all day.
They managed to eke out almost an hour before the business of the day called them from her chambers and even then, the sun had not been lifted off the east horizon very long. They dressed together, a first for Maggie, and Iain began to teach her how to fold his plaid, how to arrange the pleats and how it was laid over his shoulder and around his waist.
The Truth of Her Heart (Highlander Heroes Book 5) Page 28