by Diana Cosby
The years rushed past as he remembered being a young lad watching his mother brush her hair, drawn to the finely crafted cross around her neck. Of how she’d explained that the necklace was an heirloom, one that she would pass down to the woman he married.
She withdrew the cross from his fingers, drawing him from his memories, and started to lift it over her head.
Something within Cailin made him still her hand. Though she thought her being given his mother’s cross was due to circumstance, he believed ’twas his mother’s silent blessing that Elspet was the woman for him. “Nay, wear it, ’tis fitting you would have it.”
“Are you sure?”
His doubts of moments before faded. “Aye.” Cailin cupped her chin, again brushed his mouth over hers with a lazy slide, her sigh, a soft moan, burning through his body straight to his groin.
* * * *
At his kiss, heat scalded Elspet until her every thought was of this moment. Though Cailin hadna said he loved her, he wanted her, and had promised to come back to her as well.
A vow few men would have given a woman unless he cared.
Savoring his touch, she arched her neck, moaned as his lips skimmed along her jaw, then down the sensitive skin of her neck.
She pressed her body against his. “I want you.”
On an unsteady breath, he lifted his head, the desire in his eyes making her shudder with need. His breath unsteady, he lay his brow against hers. “And I want you as well, but you deserve more than my taking you in a moment of lust.”
Hurt, she moved back, searched his eyes. “Is that what our making love would be to you, lust?”
“Nay. What you make me feel, need is…”
“What?”
He brushed away wisps of hair that had fallen against her cheek. “You have never been with a man, have you?”
She ignored her bruised hope that he’d say that he loved her. For now, that he cared for her deeply would be enough. “Nay, but neither have I been in love before.”
“Elspet, listen to me. However much I want you, I canna promise that I will return from battle.”
“I know.” She reached up, loosened the ties of her gown, allowed it to billow to the ground, exposing the thin shift beneath.
His throat worked and his eyes darkened as he raked her body with his gaze. “God in heaven.”
Aware she was taking a huge risk but needing him, aching to feel his touch, and wanting to share with him the most intimate of moments, she pushed the first strap off her shoulder. Elspet moved to the second strip of cloth.
His fingers stilled hers. “Let me.”
Pulse racing, her body burned as his sultry gaze seared into hers as he slid the cloth down, then cupped her breast.
Body tightening, she gasped as he brushed his finger over the rigid tip, gasped as he leaned down and suckled, teasing until she lost herself in his every caress.
Her body trembling, he lay her upon the pallet they’d made earlier. Bathed in the warmth of the fire paces away, with soft, gentle caresses, he explored her every curve, and ’twas as if she was floating, her world naught but sensation and whispers of need.
With his every touch, desire built, and when he edged lower, released the few ties to bare her to his view, she didna feel shame but joy.
She’d wondered how she’d feel beneath a man’s intimate touch, if she’d be overcome with nerves or shy. But with Cailin she felt empowered, as if this was the moment, the man she’d waited for her entire life.
Naked before him, with his hands stroking her as his mouth paid homage to her every curve, she relished the bursts of sensation his touch ignited, the care he took to ensure her pleasure. Anxious to feel his body against hers, she loosened the ties of his garb.
On a groan, he tossed off his clothes. Naked, his breathing unsteady, he met her gaze. “Are you sure?”
“More than anything.”
“I never intended to make love with you,” he confessed. “Intimacy goes against my Templar teachings.”
“I know,” she said, understanding his conflict. “But the Brotherhood is dissolved, and your life is your own.” She pressed soft kisses over his mouth, mimicked his action in sliding her lips down the thick muscle of his throat. “Make love with me, Cailin. I am not a foolish lass but a woman who loves you. Give me this night, memories to keep until you return.”
Face strained, he nodded. “If I have to crawl, I will come back to you, that I swear.” He kissed her, hot, hard, his hands driving her mad as his mouth demanded more.
* * * *
Slowly, Cailin worked his way over her body, learning what she enjoyed, lingering, then moving lower. Her sweet taste filled him, and he lost himself in the moment.
Given his Templar teachings, though he’d tried to convince himself ’twas wrong to make love with Elspet, she felt right in his arms.
He kissed his way along the flat of her stomach, then edged lower, loving her response, the way she arched as he parted her and exposed her moistness to his view.
Taking his time, he touched, teased her, savoring her soft cries of pleasure. As she began to tremble, aware she was close to the edge, he straddled her and pressed his hard length against her wetness. “I…” Stunned by the words that formed on his tongue, Cailin stilled, overwhelmed by emotion.
Eyes dark with need, Elspet surged forward.
Cailin’s mind blurred, the startling words tangled in his mind as he sank deep into her slick warmth. She cried out as he tore the thin barrier of her innocence, and he stilled, his breaths coming fast. His body demanded that he take, but he held. Regardless of how much he suffered, he would give her the time she needed, give her the tenderness she deserved.
He caressed her cheek. “I am sorry for the pain.”
Sweat glistened upon her face and happiness filled her eyes. “Dinna be. This, us, ’tis beautiful.”
Wanting her to forget the hurt, he claimed her mouth as he caressed her breasts. When she shifted restlessly beneath him, he began to move. With each stroke, she rose to meet him, and he lost himself to all but her, how her body welcomed his. As her silky wetness tightened around him, she came apart. Heat surging through him, Cailin followed.
His mind a pleasurable blur, Cailin rolled to his side and drew her with him, needing to hold her, wanting this moment to last forever.
Chapter 16
The soft crackle of fire slipped into the haze of Elspet’s sleep. She shifted, grimacing at the soreness of her body, then smiled at the memories of the hours through the night when she and Cailin had made love, of his tenderness, of his every touch.
Emotion tightened her throat as she withdrew the necklace from beneath her shift, stared at the silver Celtic cross with a ruby at the center.
His mother’s.
Yet Cailin had pressed her to keep what was obviously important to him. Humbled, she stroked her finger over the forged cross. Never had she believed she’d find such happiness. Against an unlikely start, he’d won her heart. Warmth filled her as she turned over to face him.
The pallet next to her lay empty.
She listened for a moment.
At a soft nicker, she glanced toward the place where they’d hidden the horses deeper in the cave. After a slow, languorous stretch, she dressed, then headed to where torchlight flickered from the smaller cavern.
She rounded the corner. Illuminated within the soft wavering light, Cailin tightened the cinch.
Elspet savored the play of his muscles, and her body tingled. They needed to leave, but mayhap she could convince him to tarry for a short while.
Loosening the ties of her shift, Elspet walked over, wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her body against his back. “I was hoping to awaken in your arms.”
He stiffened.
Unease trickled through her, but she dismissed it. With the hard
travel ahead, he was tense about the upcoming day.
Cailin turned, caught her wrists, and drew them away.
His taut expression set her on edge. Merciful saints, something had happened, the reason he was awake. “What is wrong?”
“You could be with child.”
She blinked. Of all the things she’d anticipated him saying—that he’d heard men searching for them nearby, that his mount or hers had gone lame—never had she considered this. Nor, after their words last night, did his concern make sense. “I could be, but one night far from assures such.”
He didn’t react to her comment, nor exhibit the tenderness she wanted to see given the intimacy they’d shared. A flicker of doubt speared her.
He would want their babe, wouldn’t he?
Of course he would.
He’d asked her to wait for him, had wanted her to keep his mother’s cross, so why was he so concerned by the possibility that she might carry his child?
“Once I seize Tiran Castle,” he said, his voice firm, “we will wed.”
Duty, not that he loved her, wanted her, found joy that their passion would gift them with a son or a daughter, but an obligation.
Had she read too much into last night? He’d warned her that he could make no promises, but she’d assured him that she didn’t care, had pushed him until he’d taken what she’d freely offered. Yet regardless of what she’d said, a part of her had wanted him to realize what he felt for her was more than caring deeply but love.
Foolish thoughts. Those were her dreams, not his.
Hurt, angry at herself for becoming caught up in dreams and longings, she stepped back, and secured the ties of her shift. “I didna make love with you to trap you into marriage.”
“Nor did I intend to imply ’twas your plan. I care for you. ’Tis that our child willna be a bastard.”
Her temper threatened to spike. Elspet wanted to rail at him that she didn’t give a damn what others thought. Odd; all her life she’d dreamed of a nobleman sweeping her off her feet, but now she realized that naught mattered without love, nor would she settle for less.
“If we discover that I am with child, we will discuss it further. For now, I willna marry you.”
Blue eyes narrowed. “You will.”
“I will not, and I think by now you would have learned that I willna allow you, or anyone, to force me. I ride, I fight, I make love. My choices.”
“Being an unwed mother is not a choice.”
She tilted her chin. “Nay more than being an unwilling bride.”
His jaw clenched and his mouth opened, but he didn’t speak. At last, he said, “This is not the time for a proper conversation.”
Her heart breaking, she glanced toward the entry, where the first rays of light streaked across the sky. “’Tis time to go.” She walked to where they’d stored their belongings near the fire and began packing the few items they’d brought.
* * * *
Wind-tossed branches overhead fractured the midday sunlight streaming through the forest, creating smears of blackness upon the pristine blanket of white. Cailin wove his mount between dense brush littered with dead leaves clinging to the branches, then up a steep incline. At the top, he glanced at Elspet.
Face set, she stared straight ahead, a remote look she’d worn since their discussion in the cave two days past.
After telling her that he cared for her the evening before, he’d expected her to be pleased with his offer of marriage, that he’d want their child to not be a bastard. She had no family except for her despicable stepbrother, and no coin.
Why hadn’t she agreed and made this simple? Then, when he departed to rejoin the Bruce, she would have been safe at Tiran Castle, and he could have focused on serving their king until his return.
Blast it, this whole disaster was his fault. Never should he have touched her. Regardless if she’d wanted him and had asked for no promises, or that he’d foolishly allowed himself to believe that her having his mother’s cross was a sign of her blessing, neither removed the fact that his taking Elspet’s innocence had made her his responsibility.
Frowning, he scanned the surrounding bens, guiding his destrier around a large drift at the base of a sheer cliff.
A hawk screeched overhead. The fierce predator glided upon the currents over the trees.
Mayhap he should try to engage in conversation? He grimaced. As if she’d replied to any of his questions with more than three words since they’d departed the cave. In time, she would calm; then he’d convince her that his plan held merit.
A blast of wind rich with the scent of pine swept past him as he topped the next ridge.
Beneath the afternoon sun, seated at the edge of a lock, stood Syridan Castle. A massive fortress, its defenses a formidable challenge for the best-trained troops. Men moved along the wall walk, and the distant clash of blades rang out.
In silence, Elspet drew her steed up beside him.
“Regardless of whether the messenger has departed for the next lord he is sent to meet with, I will convince the Earl of Odhran to support me. As well, once Tiran Castle is mine, we will speak of our future.”
Her head turned toward him. Emerald eyes narrowed. “There is naught more to say.”
There was, but if there was one thing he had learned over the years, it was when to choose his battles. Cailin kicked his horse into a canter, Elspet followed.
As they halted before the gatehouse, a guard on the wall walk peered over. “Who goes there?”
“Sir Cailin MacHugh,” he called up. “I come bearing news of importance and must speak with the Earl of Odhran immediately.”
“And the lass?”
“Elspet McReynolds,” she replied, “a friend of the earl.”
The guard strode from view, and the rushed murmur of voices reached him.
The thud of the portcullis rang out, then the iron gate clunked up.
“Whatever happens, stay near me,” Cailin whispered. He guided his destrier into the gatehouse. As they entered the bailey, he spotted a stern, dignified-looking man standing on the top step of the keep, staring at him.
Knights trained in the lists, and others were in the stables, preparing to mount their steeds, while other men, their swords sheathed, headed toward the gatehouse.
Cailin nodded to the first man as the troops moved past, then turned back to the single man on the step. “He must be the welcoming party. I had hoped ’twould be the earl.” He glanced toward the pole above the keep, where the earl’s flag, announcing he was in residence, was hung, stilled. “God’s teeth!”
“What is wrong?” she asked.
“There is nay standard flying!” Bedamned, so caught up in his frustration at Elspet, he hadna looked. He glanced toward the guard who’d passed moments before, noticed they’d begun to fan out behind him. God’s blade, ’twas a trap.
“Elspet, dinna ask questions,” Cailin said, praying it wasn’t too late to escape. “On the count of three, whirl your horse and ride out of the gatehouse as fast as you can. One. Two—”
“Halt or die,” a deep voice warned behind them.
The destrier shifted beneath Cailin, as if sensing his disquiet. He edged his warhorse closer to Elspet. If an avenue to slip out presented itself, he’d haul her over and ride.
The warrior’s brows slammed together. “You are under arrest.”
Cailin spotted a man half-hidden, cowering near the keep’s entry and bearing his uncle’s colors. The runner no doubt. “On what charge?”
“Sedition against the Earl of Dalkirk!” The warrior nodded to his men. “Seize him!”
The surrounding guards charged; one grabbed Cailin’s sword arm, while several others caught his legs and jerked him from his mount.
“Cailin!” Elspet screamed.
He ignored the shot of pain from his wou
nded leg, drove his fist into one of the knight’s jaws, and his boot into another’s chest. Several men hauled him down, blocking his view of Elspet. He twisted to break free.
“This will bloody stop your fighting,” a deep voice snapped.
A boot slammed against the back of Cailin’s head, and blackness consumed him.
* * * *
The drip of water echoed from a distance, and a foul stench permeated Elspet’s every breath as she stared between the bars at Cailin sprawled upon the floor in the cell across from hers in the dungeon.
Since they’d shoved him inside yesterday, he hadn’t moved. Please God, let him be alive.
After their capture, she’d been haunted by her coldness toward Cailin. No, his offer of marriage wasn’t the romantic one she’d envisioned, but he cared for her deeply, and though he hadn’t admitted love, ’twas more than many women received.
If nothing else, their capture had taught her that life was too short. Should he revive and once they were free—if that miracle happened—she would marry him.
She tugged the moth-eaten blanket tighter and ignored the suspicious stains on the floor within the cell, refusing to try to decipher their contemptible origin.
In several of the cells, men moaned in agony, their ramblings interrupted only when guards stormed in and hauled a prisoner away. She closed her eyes against the memories of the men’s pleas for mercy, entreaties ignored by the stone-faced sentries.
The distant tap of steps grew. Moments later, the wooden door scraped open.
Elspet braced herself, prayed the Earl of Odhran had returned and demanded that she and Cailin be freed.
An elder with stringy gray hair, bushy eyebrows, and age lines dredged deep across his face limped forward, a bucket in his hands. He paused at each cell, filled a battered clay bowl with foul-looking stew, shoved it beneath the iron bars, then shuffled on.
He paused before her. Lumps of unidentifiable brownish-gray meat plopped into the bowl.
Bile rose in her throat. “Has the Earl of Odhran returned?”