by Amy Jarecki
“But it was Walter who erred, not his cousin or his entire clan.”
“Lady wife, you are wise beyond your years. But blood runs thick in the Highlands. Ewen must prove himself ten times over before I forgive Walter’s crimes against my house.”
The dance ended quickly, and blasted MacCorkodale moved toward Margaret as if he had some sort of claim. Colin clenched his fist and leaned his lips to her ear. “Save every other dance for me this night. I am not disposed to sharing you with anyone.”
Returning to the dais, Colin scowled. Ewen’s looks didn’t lighten his mood. Tall, with auburn hair and dark eyes, the neighboring chieftain had always had a way of turning the ladies’ heads.
Margaret seemed to be enjoying herself, smiling. But then, she loved to dance. She’d certainly reminded Colin of that fact enough. Often, in fact, she had Colin up dancing in his chamber while she hummed the latest court tunes. A slow grin crossed his lips. The dancing always ended well—with him on top, usually, though he might even enjoy the endings with Margaret on top more. And he would have her in his arms again this very night. Ewen MacCorkodale could take his thick, wavy locks and shave his head. Damn him to hell.
A messenger approached through the side door. “Apologies for the interruption, m’lord, but I’ve been sent from Rome…”
22
Dunstaffnage Castle, 2nd December, 1455
The missive bore the seal of His Holiness, the Pope. Colin resisted his urge to slide his finger beneath the red wax and read. Argyll glanced over Colin’s shoulder and raised his eyebrow.
Shoving the missive into the folds of his plaid, Lord Glenorchy turned to the messenger. “Please, go to the kitchens and eat your fill. I shall pen my reply on the morrow.”
The man bowed and took his leave. Argyll refilled both their goblets. “Are you not going to read it?”
“After the celebration.” Colin’s shoulder ticked up. “Besides, I ken what it contains.”
Argyll held up his goblet. “I was wondering when His Holiness would become involved. Word in Edinburgh is the Turks are gaining the upper hand in the East.”
Margaret returned to the high table flushed and breathing deeply. “I say, the minstrels are splendid. I do hope they’ll be frequent visitors.”
Colin forced a smile. “They’re well practiced indeed.”
“Whatever is wrong?”
God’s teeth, was every woman a mind reader? Colin cleared his throat and stood. Bowing, he offered his hand. “I cannot bear to watch you dance with any other than me.”
That must have satisfied her curiosity, because she giggled and grasped his hand. “I care not to dance with any other than you…if you can manage to keep up with me.”
“Are you questioning my stamina?” Oh how her wit could blot out all trepidation. Colin blocked the missive from his thoughts and led Margaret to the floor.
Colin appeared distracted as they climbed the tower stairs to their apartments. Perhaps he was uncomfortable with so many people bedding down in the hall, or mayhap the late hour and ample drink had affected him. Margaret was tired, too. Her slippers pinched her swollen feet. She’d danced and danced all night, just as she’d dreamed she would.
“I’ve never in my life enjoyed myself as much as I did this night.”
Colin threaded his fingers through hers. “I’m glad of it.” He led her into his chamber and closed the door. “I received a missive I must read.”
She stopped short. “Oh? Who is it from?”
He pulled the folded vellum from inside his doublet. “It bears the seal of His Holiness.”
A lead ball sank to the pit of Margaret’s stomach. “Pope Callixtus?”
“Aye, the man himself.” There was no humor in Colin’s chuckle. He gestured for her to sit by the hearth then took the seat opposite.
Margaret folded her hands in her lap, her nerves jumping across her skin. Colin slid his finger under the seal and read. Watching him, it seemed to take forever. “What does it say?”
Colin stroked his fingers down his chin. “Things have become dire. The Ottoman sultan, Mehmed, demanded tribute from the Order of St. John. When Jacques de Milly refused to pay, the infidel retaliated with raids.” Colin looked up, his expression so grave, he could have aged five years within the snap of her fingers. “The islands of Symi, Nisyros and Kos have been sacked. The Pope is summoning all Knights Hospitaller and their ships.”
“A sea battle?”
“Aye. An all-out war.” He combed his fingers through his hair. “It never ends.”
“But we’re heading into winter. Surely the troops will stand down through the season.”
Colin smirked. “Not in the Mediterranean Sea. Winter is but a blustery spring day on the Isle of Rhodes.”
“Isn’t it dangerous to sail across the Atlantic with Grandfather Frost so near?”
“Not as dangerous now as it will become. I must make haste. The longer I wait, the more perilous the crossing will be.”
Margaret stood and paced, pressing her hands against her midriff. The room spun. She knew this day would come, but had put it out of her mind. Dear God in heaven, why now? Sailing into winter? That is madness. How could the Pope summon a call to arms before Yule? How many other knights would put their lives on the line crossing the wide ocean to take up the cross for Christendom?
“How soon?” she asked, clinging to the possibility for delay.
“As quickly as supplies can be gathered and loaded on my galley.”
Please God no. “Are you taking the fleet?” she asked weakly.
“Only one, given the weather and our need to continue trade in Scotland.”
The room spun faster. This couldn’t be happening. Not when things between them had become so blessedly perfect. Margaret’s stomach convulsed with a wave of nausea. She’d only had a touch of queasiness in the mornings for the past sennight, but the bouts had passed as soon as she broke her fast. She swallowed hard. Her stomach heaved. She clapped her hand over her mouth and raced to the privy closet.
Bending over, she couldn’t contain the horrible noises escaping her throat. Over and over she retched. Her body purged everything she’d consumed that night until yellow bile burned with one last heave.
Colin placed his hand on her back and rubbed. “There, there, mo leannan, ’tis not as bad as all that. I know the news is grave, but all will be well. You mustn’t fret. I’ve lived through two crusades. I swear on my name I’ll live through another.”
Margaret wiped her mouth with a cloth, cringing at the bitter taste in her mouth. “I need watered wine and mint.”
“Of course. Come.” He grasped her elbow. “Sit and I’ll bring it to you.”
Trembling, Margaret allowed him to lead her to the chair. She could keep the news to herself no longer. After taking a long draw of the watered wine and a few chews on the mint leaves, she set the cup down with a shaky hand. “You’d best sit as well, for I have something I must say.”
Colin brushed his fingers along her cheek. “You should—”
“Sit. Please.” She again pressed her palms to her abdomen and rubbed. “’Tis early yet, and I didn’t want to say anything until I was absolutely certain, but I believe my sickness confirms it.”
Colin stared with knitted brows. Heaven’s stars, the man had been through this before. Must she utter it? The concern in his eyes deepened.
She covered her face with her hands. This had to be the absolute worst time to make such an announcement. “I’m with child.”
Colin didn’t move.
Margaret spread her fingers to better see him.
His face grew dark, then his brows arched and eyes popped wide. He formed an O with his lips. “You mean…you’re… When?”
“I missed my courses a fortnight past and they still haven’t shown. I could be wrong, but I think not.”
He tapped his fingers to mouth. “Late summer, then?”
She cringed. “Aye, most likely.”
“A y
ear younger than Duncan.” Grinning, Colin bounded out of his chair. He lifted and cradled her with ease, spinning her in a circle. “’Tis the best gift you could have given me. It will make returning home all the more sweet.”
“You are not angry?”
“Why would I be?” He rested her on the bed and clasped her hands. “The only folly is I will not be here for his birth.” Biting his lip, Colin glanced away.
She understood his pause only too well. With every breath, a shred tore from her heartstrings. Soon he would be sailing away to fulfill his knightly duty. She mustn’t show him the depth of her despair. Pushing up, Margaret sat straight and squared her shoulders. “I do not want you to worry, husband. My father says I am stronger than any woman he’s ever met. I will bear you a healthy child and live to hold you in my arms again.”
He sat beside her. “I must make arrangements.”
Dear Lord, if only I could cling to him and plead for him not to go. “I shall manage. Besides, I have Effie.”
“That you do.” Colin reached for her hand and smoothed his palm across it thoughtfully. “I do not think I could survive if I lost you.”
“Nor I you.” She held his palm to her lips and kissed. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. Could she capture his scent and keep it in a stoppered vial? “Let us think on it no more this night. I want to hold you in my arms and feel our bodies join. It is a memory I’ll need to lock away and cherish until your return.”
With a deep chuckle, he lifted her silver circlet and tugged the wimple from her head. “Then we shall make this a night to remember through all eternity.” Casting the headpiece aside, he led her to the hearth and flung cushions to the floor. “First I want to watch the flames dance across your skin.”
He grasped her shoulders. “Stand perfectly still. I can touch you, but you cannot touch me.”
Heat tightened her loins. “Is it a game you wish to play?”
“Aye. I want to strip you bare.”
Moving behind her, he first unbraided her hair and ran his fingers through it all the way down past her bottom. His hand slid up her hips and unlaced the back of her gown. She took in a deep breath as the wooden slats inside her bodice eased their constricting hold. He slid it from her shoulders and ran his hands down over her breasts. Closing her eyes, Margaret moaned and circled her head back until it rested on his chest.
“You mustn’t touch me, wife.”
She liked it when he made up new games. With a tug, he unlaced her shift and pulled it over her head. In just a few flicks of his fingers, she was completely naked, excepting her hose and slippers. Colin stepped around and gazed at her front. Margaret reached out her arms, but he held up a finger. “Only I may touch.”
She smiled. “When will it be my turn?”
“After you have been completely and utterly ravished.”
Margaret laughed. “And who’s to determine that, me or you?”
He knelt. “I think I’ll allow you that honor.” My, he is confident. He removed her slippers. His fingers tickled as he untied her ribbons and languidly slid her hose down each leg. By the time he pulled the last one from her toes, her inner thighs were already quavering.
Colin reached for her hand. “Recline on the pillows.”
She did as told, watching his manhood respond beneath his kilt. She rested comfortably on the rug with a pile of cushions behind. It was nearly impossible to resist her urge to tear his clothes from his body and pull him atop her. Completely naked, she was at his mercy. Oh yes, she undoubtedly would do to him every succulent thing he tried with her.
Kneeling at her side, he kissed each eye and kept his hands to his sides. His lips caressed her cheeks and found her mouth. He allowed Margaret to return his kiss, and she plunged her tongue into him, sucking with ignited fervor.
Colin continued to tickle her with feathery kisses down her neck and each arm, licking each finger as his dark, sultry eyes watched her. When he at last reached her breasts, they ached for his touch. His swirling mouth lingered, teasing her nipples, suckling them until she cried out.
He nipped down to her navel and entered it with his tongue, giving her an erotic preview of his cock entering her core. Margaret prayed he would part her legs and lick her there, but he slid his mouth down and up each leg. When he kissed her arches, she thought to grasp herself and come to her own touch, but she resisted committing such a sin.
“Colin. Pleeeease.”
Without a word, his eyes grew even darker with his wicked smile, and he pushed her legs open with his shoulders. He slid down onto his belly, keeping her legs apart. He’d never held them this wide, but she nearly convulsed with the ecstasy of being completely prone to him. He stared at her womanhood and inhaled. “God, you are divine.”
He licked her fully. Margaret whimpered as her sensitive flesh quivered.
“Again,” she demanded, so close to release, he could not possibly stop. Colin slid his tongue in and out of her and then sealed his mouth over her flesh and suckled. Blinded by the intensity of the flame coiled at her apex, she cried out, thrusting her hips, circling them around his merciless kisses.
Stars crossed her vision as her body exploded into a sea of shuddering joy. When she finally recovered her senses, she pulled him into her arms. “You were right. Every time is better than the last.”
He rested his head on the pillow beside her. “I love you.”
She stared into his eyes, filled with intense rapture—something far greater than passion or desire. He did love her, and Margaret returned his love with every fiber of her being. “And I you.”
Colin had nearly fallen to sleep in Margaret’s arms when she moved. “Now you.” Still naked, she stood and tugged his arm. “You must stand.”
Immediately awake, he chuckled. This would be fun. His wife was never one to buck a challenge. God bless her.
She was so much smaller than he. Margaret nearly had to stretch her arms and rise to her toes to remove the plaid over his head. Taking her time, she slid his dirk from his belt, his eating knife from his sleeve, and unlashed his daggers from his calves. Her small fingers tickled him as she unfastened his belt and sent his kilt falling to the floor.
His linen shirt tented above the hem. Unlacing the bow under his chin, she tried to pull it over his head, but couldn’t reach. Willingly, he kneeled and she tugged it slowly, drawing out his torture.
“Up,” Margaret commanded.
Colin raised a brow her way but obeyed, his cock jutting from his loins like a tree limb. Her breasts swayed while she walked around him, her eyes appraising him as she would a fine stallion. He wanted to throw her down and make love to her right there, but it was Margaret’s turn to take the reins.
As they were now both naked, his boots and knee-length hose tied with black flashes were out of place, but that did nothing to detract from his yearning. She picked up his hand and licked his finger, then stretched out at arm’s length and curtseyed. “May I have this dance?”
He chuckled and reached for her, but she stepped back.
“A volta, but you cannot touch me…only I you.”
That would be difficult during the lifts, but Colin played along.
Her swaying breasts enticed him as she danced, swinging her hips, naked—her bottom was more suggestive than he’d ever dreamed. No woman had ever danced for him without a stitch of clothing. He could scarcely recall the steps.
For the lift, she circled her leg around his hips and ground her mons into his manhood. Colin swallowed. All he had to do was back her into the wall and slip inside. Twirling away, she bent over the chair, her lovely bottom teasing him. He groaned and moved swiftly, his cock aching to enter her from behind. But Margaret spun from her pose and curtseyed deeply. Rising, she panned her eyes from his boots, stopping at his swollen member, then collided with his gaze, the lust darkening her deep pools of green, sending him into madness.
She inclined her head to the rug. “’Tis your turn to recline.”
If sh
e touched his cock right now, he’d spill across the carpet. His ballocks burned with fire as he sat against the cushions. She stood over him, hands on her voluptuous hips, as if deciding where to start. She gave him reprieve by removing his boots and hose—not really reprieve. She kept her exquisite body just out of hand’s reach. Fingers twitching, he forced himself not to lean forward and trace his hand along the curve of her hips. Obey the rules of the game he must, lest he lose. He regained a semblance of control until she kneeled and straddled his legs.
For everything holy, her hands did not slide to his flesh, but cupped her breasts and pushed them together. Colin’s tongue flicked out and tapped his top lip. If only he could bury his face in her plush velvet valley.
“Do you like to see me touch myself?” she whispered.
“Aye,” he growled hoarsely.
Her gaze dipped to his loins. “I like to watch you stroke it.”
He moved his hand, his fingers aching to give him release.
“No. Not this time.” She smiled like a devil cat.
Margaret kept her hips in the air as she leaned down and kissed his thighs. Blessed be the saints, would she be so bold as to take him into her mouth? How charmed was he to have a wife so brazen? Her tongue flicked kisses around his manhood, but didn’t touch it.
“Open.” She slid down and forced her shoulders between his legs. One gnash of her teeth and his breeding days would be over. But straddling her made a bead of seed leak from his cock. She tickled his balls with her tongue and then suckled them. Never in his life had any woman turned his cods into tight, raging fireballs. His cock tapped his abdomen, rigid as the blade of his sword.
Margaret fluttered kisses up along the shaft without grasping it.
God save me. “Pleeeease,” he groaned.
She gripped the base of his manhood with her small fingers and slid her mouth over it. Moaning, Colin’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. He clenched his bum cheeks, and gnashed his teeth. “My God, I can take this no longer.”