by Amy Jarecki
“That can be arranged.” Margaret stood, but hesitated. “I didn’t know you’d appointed a factor.”
“I haven’t, but the next man will be my kin.”
“What about me? I supervised my father’s factor.” She kept her eyes averted.
Colin couldn’t consider allowing his wife to perform the job of a hired hand. “’Tis too much for a noble lady with a keep to run and bairns to look after.”
She frowned and started away. Colin caught her hand with the tips of his fingers. “I’ll expect you to oversee the man I appoint. He won’t take or spend a farthing without your knowing about it first.”
Her grin lit up the room. She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed. “Thank you. Your trust means more to me than you know.”
A sennight later, Margaret hummed while she embroidered the silk christening gown to match the skullcap she’d made.
Effie rocked Duncan beside the hearth. “You seem happy today, m’lady.”
“Aye. I removed Colin’s stitches this morning.”
A distant look filled Effie’s eyes. “I take it things with the lord have improved. I’ve noticed he’s not quite so melancholy.”
Margaret bubbled inside. “’Tis as if the blow to his head is what Colin needed to set himself to rights.”
Effie laughed. “I wish it were that way with every man. Then all we women would need do is carry around a wooden club.”
“You are terrible.” Margaret chuckled, tying off her thread. “But I do think he’s come to realize life continues on for the living.”
“That it does.”
Duncan made a cooing sound and stretched his little arms. Margaret had developed a fondness for her tiny stepson, with his crown of wispy black locks. “He’s growing every day.”
“Aye. I hope he’ll not be too fat for that lovely gown you’re making.”
Margaret held it up. “’Twill be perfect. Besides, I’ve invited all the shire—the MacGregors as well.”
“My heavens, surely the great hall will not be able to hold them all at once.”
Margaret tossed the gown into her sewing basket. “We must. ’Tis important to me to see everyone fed and recognized, no matter their station. I shan’t turn a soul away.”
“You are generous, I’ll say.”
“I learned a thing or two helping my father collect rents from the crofters. There’s no one who works harder or suffers more.”
Effie nodded. “I daresay you’re right.”
“And why has the king appointed lords and ladies if not to show consideration to their subjects? The crofters till our land, the shepherds care for our livestock and the warriors fight to defend what is ours.”
“It would be virtuous if all the gentry saw it like that. I’m afraid you’re in the minority, m’lady.”
Margaret looked away. Unfortunately, she was well aware charity was not important to all nobles. Her own mother had been too tight-fisted.
Effie rocked a tad slower. “Have you given more thought to redecorating your chamber?”
“I ordered a new comforter and pillows made. That should do for now. I’ll ensure everything else is to my taste when we move into Kilchurn.”
“But that could take years.”
Margaret shook her finger. “Not if I’m overseeing the work, I assure you.”
The nursery door opened, and Colin stepped inside. “Are you ready for your nooning, Lady Margaret?”
“Aye.” She stood and stretched. “I’m famished.”
Effie placed Duncan in Colin’s arms. “Did you know your wife has invited all the Campbells and MacGregors to the christening?”
He gave the bairn a wide-eyed look. “Aye, we agreed ’tis the right thing to do.” Duncan kicked his legs and cooed.
Effie snorted. “What on earth are you planning to feed them?”
Margaret lifted the babe from Colin’s arms and placed him in his cradle. “Venison would be nice. We should plan a hunt.”
Colin stepped in beside her, still enraptured with his son. “Do you hunt, Lady Margaret?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “If you think Lord Struan’s daughter doesn’t know how to handle a bow, then everything they say about the western Highlands being completely backward is true.”
Colin looked to Effie. “’Tis settled, then—we shall plan a hunt.”
“Ye need an entire herd,” the old woman mumbled as Colin grasped Margaret’s hand and led her out the door.
Margaret’s heart fluttered. Would she ever tire of Colin’s rough hands and his rugged touch? She hoped not. She loved the way he made her heart leap with every look and every caress. Marriage to the Black Knight had become perfect in the past fortnight. She never asked him why he had been so incorrigible when they first married. Besides, she knew he’d been in mourning. She still caught him distant at times. He even admitted he couldn’t spend time in her chamber because of the memories there.
“Will you promise me something?” she asked, surprising herself at her boldness.
Colin stopped before they stepped down the stairs. “What is that, mo leannan?” Lowering his gaze, he bowed his head and fluttered kisses along her neck.
It tickled, but she didn’t want to play, not quite yet. She placed her hand on his chest and sought his gaze. “Promise you will never behave like a tyrant again.”
His face fell, and for an instant she feared the overbearing, feared knight would return and bite her ear clean off. “On my oath, I will never behave so badly.” He then clasped her hands to his chest. “You didn’t deserve my callousness. Forgive me?”
“Aye.” She pushed up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Now I ken the real Black Knight. He’s locked away in a special place in my heart.”
Colin emitted a low growl. Cupping her face in his powerful palms, he claimed her completely with his mouth. His kiss ignited a bone-melting fire that spread through her blood. He gradually edged her toward his chamber door.
Margaret paused and drew a ragged breath. “I do believe we should eat first, m’lord. I need my strength before we do that again.”
Colin threw his head back with a rolling laugh. “You do have a way with words, wife. Come sup then, before I change my mind.”
20
Dunstaffnage, 30th November, 1455
Colin picked some late-blooming heather and walked down the tree-lined path to the graveyard beside the chapel. He hadn’t visited Jonet’s grave since the day they interred her into the ground. The dirt had settled. Moss and grass covered the plot, marked with a headstone that read: Lady Jonet Campbell, Loving wife of Colin, Born 1432, Delivered into the arms of our Lord 1455. The raven-haired lass had been only sixteen when they married.
A cold wind whirled its way under his cloak. He stared at the headstone—a lovely piece of granite, though as lifeless as Mariot’s beside it. Emptiness surrounded him. The only sound was dried leaves on the forest floor crackling as gusts of wind swirled them on the air. Colin knelt and placed the clump of heather on her grave. “I’m sorry I haven’t a rose for you, but there are none to be found.”
Chilled, he glanced behind him as if Jonet’s spirit might appear, but the wind just blew harder. “Duncan is growing. You’d be proud.
“But that’s not why I came.” Colin swiped a hand across his brow. “I need to release you, my beloved. I’ve found a mother for Duncan, someone I ken you’d like. I thought I could keep her at arm’s length, but I cannot—and ’tis not fair to her if I continue to do so.”
His nose started to run. He pulled a kerchief from his sleeve and blew. “’Tis best I get this over with. Goodbye, Lady Jonet. I shall nay forget you.”
Colin stood and stared at the inscription on the headstone. He bowed once and proceeded back to Dunstaffnage. With each step, weight lifted from his shoulders.
Margaret wore her new fur-lined cloak pinned tightly around her neck. With matching gloves and hood, she’d surely be warm enough for today’s deer hunt. She patted her mare
’s nose. “Where are the lads? Leave it to a woman to be the first to show.”
“Ah, Margaret.” Argyll’s breath puffed in the chilly November air. “Ready for some excitement, are you?”
“Aye, but where are the others?” She glanced over her shoulder
“Fetching the dogs, I presume.”
She patted the horse’s neck. “I’m ever so glad Colin and I thought of it. Roasted venison will be perfect for the christening.”
“Expecting a large crowd, are you?”
“Aye, and we shall need more than one beast to feed them all.”
Argyll thumbed the string on his bow. “We shall do our best to see you satiated, m’lady.”
“I’m so glad you’ve managed to slip away from court long enough to attend Duncan’s christening.”
“What kind of godfather would I be if I were not in attendance?”
Margaret chuckled. “And how are things at court?”
“Dull as always.”
“Oh? Any interesting ladies about?”
“Of course, one would be completely blind not to appreciate the alluring courtiers in their finery.”
Margaret arched her brows. “Any who’ve struck your fancy?”
His horse stuck his nose over the stall door, and he patted it. “Alas, no.”
“Sooner or later you’ll find a woman whom you want to wed, and she’ll bear you many children.”
“I’m in no hurry.” Argyll removed a bridle from a peg on the wall. “And how are things here?”
She knew what he meant. The last time they’d talked, she and Colin were hardly speaking. Margaret clasped her palms to her burning cheeks. “You once told me your uncle was a good man.”
“Aye, that I did.”
She looked down at her boots. “You were right.”
“’Tis good to hear. Colin cannot pretend to be an ogre for long. ’Tis not in his nature.” Grinning, he slid the stall’s deadbolt open. “Are you settling in?”
“Set in a routine for winter, anyway. Come spring, I’ll move the household to the cottage at Kilchurn.”
“You are a brave woman, venturing out beyond the fortress walls.”
“One must be adventuresome if one wants a castle of her own.”
“Touché.” Argyll stepped into the stall, slipped the snaffle bit into his horse’s mouth and fastened the bridle leathers. “Has Colin received further word from Rome?”
“Nay, he’s heard nothing since he wrote explaining his circumstances.” Margaret shuddered. She hated to think of Colin’s inevitable departure, especially now they were finally growing close. Neither one of them had spoken about the Crusades. Honestly, she’d put it out of her mind. Surely Colin wouldn’t consider leaving until after winter. She rubbed her abdomen. Perhaps, if luck was with her, Colin would stay for the birth of their first bairn—if she was indeed with child. She’d missed her courses by a sennight, but needed to be certain before she mentioned it to anyone.
Argyll patted her shoulder. “It seems to weigh heavily on your mind.”
“Aye.”
He led the horse out of the stall. “Perhaps the grand master has moved on to a knight with far less responsibility than Lord Colin.”
She bit her bottom lip. “If only your words rang true.”
“There you are,” Colin’s voice boomed from the far end of the stable. “I’ve had the guard swarming the castle trying to find your whereabouts.”
She dipped in a hasty curtsey. “Apologies, m’lord. When I couldn’t find you, I opted to look here.”
Wearing a sealskin cloak and belted plaid, he appeared every bit a powerful Highland lord. “Argyll.” Colin clapped his nephew on the shoulder. “Are we ready, then?”
“Aye, spotters report a herd three miles northeast,” Argyll said.
Colin rubbed his hands together. “It should be a fruitful hunt.”
Once mounted, the contingent set out with a half-dozen hunting dogs flanking them. Margaret didn’t need to ask. Both Colin and Argyll never took to the trail without being surrounded by highly trained warriors. At least this was a happy hunting party, with hauberks and heavy armor left behind.
Colin’s shoulders were broader than any other’s. He was as formidable a knight in a fur-lined cloak as he was in his shiny coat of blackened armor. Margaret rode in beside him and studied his profile. She liked him better with the breeze picking up his dun hair—it was far more moving to watch him without a helm shoved atop his head, a nosepiece blocking the view of his handsome face. His helm made him look dangerous, unfamiliar. It even made his eyes darker, more fearsome.
Colin glanced her way and smiled. “What are you thinking, m’lady?”
Margaret waggled her eyebrows. “How a glass of mulled wine in front of the hearth will warm our bellies when we return.”
“Mmm. Mulled wine and cheese.”
“And pillows.”
His grin spread and one eyebrow arched. “I like the way you’re thinking, m’lady.”
Evenings in the past fortnight had become her favorite. Since Colin had hit his head, his whole demeanor toward her had changed. He’d opened her eyes to the glories of lovemaking between a man and a woman. Never in all her days did Margaret think she would enjoy being naked with a man, but neither she nor Colin could manage to keep their clothes on once alone in his chamber. She giggled.
“What?”
“Thinking about you, is all.”
He grinned, his eyes dark.
With yelps and excited barks, the lead dogs launched into a run. The hunt was on. Excitement racing through her blood, Margaret used her crop and spurred her mare to a gallop. Riding a stallion, Colin could have easily barreled ahead, but he remained beside her.
Yonder, a large herd of deer fanned out through the forest. Colin beckoned her down a narrow path. “Come.”
Margaret followed, the mare breathing in rhythm with her hoof beats, straining to keep up with the big stallion. Colin pulled his bow from his shoulder and snatched an arrow. Margaret couldn’t see past him. But with a turn of his head, she saw him shove his reins into his teeth. Colin loaded the bow and took aim. His horse missed not a step. Releasing the arrow, Colin bellowed a frustrated growl and pulled his horse to a stop. “Bloody missed by a hair.”
Close behind, Margaret reined her mare too late. Her mount skidded headlong into the stallion’s rump. He neighed and reared. The mare’s hindquarters kicked up. Propelled forward by the sudden jolt, Margaret lost her seat and flew over the horse’s head.
Shrieking, she curled into a ball and prepared to land hard. The ground approaching, she squeezed her eyes shut.
“Ma-r-gar-eeeee-t,” Colin yelled, as if time slowed.
Feet slamming into the ground, followed by her bum, she hit a patch of moss. She plopped to her side in a heap. Was anything broken? She waited for the familiar throb of pain.
Colin leapt from his horse, raced to her and dropped to his knees. “God’s teeth, are you all right?” He gathered her in his arms before she could speak. “Tell me you’re unhurt.”
Stars cleared from her vision. “I think I’m well.”
He brushed her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “My heart stopped when I saw you flying through the air as if you’d been launched by a catapult.”
Margaret chuckled, the effort causing a sharp pain her side. She winced. Why on earth would her ribs hurt? Had the fall jostled her insides?
Colin’s eyes filled with a pained expression. “You are hurt.”
She twisted her shoulders and took in a deep breath. “That feels better.”
“Are you certain?”
“Aye.”
Colin sat back and cradled her in his lap. “I never want to see you flung from a horse again. For a moment I through I’d lost you.”
Margaret cupped his face with her hand. Though he shaved near every morning, his stubble prickled her fingers. She liked the ruggedness of it—so different from her own skin.
His brown eye
s glistened, and his lids lowered as his gaze slipped to her lips. “Mulled wine, cheese and pillows for m’lady?”
A familiar pull of desire coiled deep inside. She emitted a sultry chuckle. Threading her fingers behind his neck, she drew his lips to hers. Something about kissing Colin in the forest with a cold breeze tickling her skin heightened her need for him. He must have felt it too, because his hand deftly slipped under her hem.
Ignoring an intense flutter between her hips, she tried to push it away. “Colin, your men are everywhere.”
He took a cursory glance over his shoulder. “I see no one.”
“But ’tis cold.”
His relentless fingers found her womanhood. She gasped, and Colin muted the sound with his mouth. He slid his finger inside her, and Margaret mewled like a cat. Beneath her bottom, he grew hard. “If only we were in front of the hearth now,” she managed in a breathless voice.
Colin used her moisture to tease that spot which could drive her mad. Since they’d become intimate, the man knew no bounds. The Black Knight could bend her to his will with a look.
Between them, he tugged his plaid up and exposed his shaft—as big around as her wrist. Margaret marveled at how he could fit it inside her, but God she wanted it now. If only.
“Colin, we mustn’t.”
“Straddle me.”
Oh how that wicked glint in his eye attacked her sensibilities. With a hitch to her breath she stared at him, mouth open.
“Come, lass. No one will see, and we’ll circle your skirts around us for modesty.”
Her inner core squeezed with naughty anticipation. “I think you’ve done this before.”
“Perhaps, but never with you, and never has my yearning run so deep.”
She ran her tongue across her lips, and Colin groaned. Effortlessly, he lifted her by the waist and coaxed her legs astride him. He lowered her with her knees either side of his lap.
She gasped. “Can we do it like this?”
“Aye,” he growled.
He lifted her up so her apex skimmed him, spreading moisture over the tip of his cock. The floral scent of her womanhood wafted up to their faces, so hot it took the cold away. The wind tickled her skin, heightening her need in concert with Colin’s hands. The naughtiness of touching his sex to hers in the forest ignited a ravenous yearning so deep, she could scarcely contain the urgency.