Page 19
The stillroom was quiet as Kathryn worked in the light of the small window. Her mother had insisted upon having it put in when her father had the stillroom built on the side of the hall. Today, even with the door open, the small room was cloaked in a weighty silence from the flood of her thoughts—thoughts that circled rowdily in Kathryn’s mind while she held the pestle that her mother had used when she made her potions and salves. She doubted her mother’s moments of contemplation about the Bear had been as sensual as were Kathryn’s daydreams of Gavyn.
She couldn’t escape her husband. He occupied her imagination, filled her body by night and her memories by day. Her hands formed fists, one curling around the pestle while the other gripped the worn edge of the board she worked upon. Her back curved over as her insides clenched in the kind of spasm Gavyn wrought in her during the dark hours—long, yet not long enough.
She stayed bent over the board, dragging in the sharp scent of the herbs as if it would clear her head of him.
“God’s teeth, Kathryn. What is it, are you unwell?”
How could she rid her thoughts of this man when he stood there in front of her, filling the doorway, filling her gaze. She shook her head, “I’m fine—just a cramp in my fingers. I’ve been working o’er long,” she lied, yet what could she have told him? That she was thinking of him, couldn’t rid her mind of how it felt to be held in his arms. “Was there something I could do for you, Laird?” she murmured, as if to distance herself from him.
Then he was at her side. Taking the pestle from her, he lifted her hand and began gently massaging her fingers. “Couldn’t Lhilidh do this for you?”
She flexed her fingers. Was it pitiful of her to hope he wouldn’t stop? “I let her go to Geala’s wee house. She is collecting her mother’s possessions—those she wants to keep as a reminder. There is a surfeit of mercenaries looking to make Dun Bhuird a home, Lhilidh didn’t think it fair to leave it standing empty, so one of your men is willing to pay her a wee sum … to move in with … his woman,” she told him brokenly as his thumb pressed into the heart of her palm.
“This isn’t going to end up like Grogan with one of the clansmen complaining about my men stealing their women, I hope. We can do without any more strife of that kind,” he said, lifting her hand to kiss the centre of her palm.
She felt her knees buckle as his eyes lifted to hers. Her heart turned over in her breast as if twisted by a large hand—his. Only an idiot wouldn’t be able to gauge her reaction. She knew well that she hadn’t married a man with a shortage of nous, but such thoughts became redundant as he pulled her into his arms, pressing his mouth firmly against hers.
Sighing, Kathryn opened to him, revelled in the trust of his tongue against hers. A shiver thrilled through her spine as she pressed close, felt his arousal, welcomed its hardness pushing against her belly. That was all it took to feel her woman’s flesh melt with need.
Gavyn cupped her hips in large hands, raising her feet off the floor. She quivered, needing, wanting closer but her kirtle bound her limbs, preventing that dearest desire. “Help me,” she begged, uncaring that there was no bed to fall upon. No chair, naught but the two of them to support each other’s weight as Gavyn carried her across the stillroom away from light.
A kick of his foot swung the door to, and the press of her back against the wooden planks closed it tight. With his mouth in the curve of her neck, he hitched her skirts higher, around her waist, baring her to his need. She never noticed his plaid fall away, only the sensation of flesh against flesh—his against hers.
She was ready for him, ready to feel him fill her up, a sensation every bit as wonderful as when she felt apart in his arms. This was the first time they had made love in daylight, the first time of seeing the expressions on his face. His features, tanned from his time in France, appeared strained, drawn, eyes shut while he stroked inside her. She nipped at his earlobe, murmuring in the ear she held ’twixt her teeth, “Look at me, Farquhar. Show me your eyes. Open yourself to me.”
They were blue around the rims, dark blue with touches of green like the sea lapping at the cliffs of Cragenlaw. But in the dark centre she could see a flame licking and knew he was afire for her, that she wasn’t alone in these feelings he engendered in her once-cold heart. Kathryn wrapped her arms round his shoulders, holding him tight as she scattered feverish kisses on his face and neck.
Had he ever gazed so deeply into Kathryn’s eyes before, ever been close enough to see the glimmer of innocence and, aye, fear? In the hours of darkness, he had never noticed the way her pale blue eyes lit up at his touch, pupils growing larger as his thrusts reached deep inside her. When he first became aware of her clenching around him, clasping him inside her as if she never wanted to let him go, that in itself made him eager to stay where he was with the round tip of his shaft kissing her womb.
The little noises she made danced inside his heart. So strange that they should have ended up here, enjoying these moments of closeness, when she had hated him at first sight. And he hadn’t dared let himself feel o’er much one way or the other and now … mayhap it was still too soon to dare. To hope…
Kathryn’s mouth covered his, demanded. He parted his lips and let her in. Her tongue fenced with his, a duel to the finish as all thoughts floated away, unimportant. All that mattered was the moment they were in. He and Kathryn, stretching, reaching out for that bright beam, rising like the morning star coming up over the mountain, out of reach—yet still they strived, climbed, grasped. Succeeded.
Chest heaving, Kathryn came back to earth deprived of air, for there was none left in her stillroom, naught but the breaths she shared with Gavyn, and they had been used over and over. He was still inside her, though the storm had passed and naught but the aftermath of loving rippled out of her woman’s flesh as it clung, reluctant to let him go, to have the pleasure end.
Gavyn locked his arms around her waist and nuzzled her ear. “I’m always surprised that this thing betwixt us only gets better. Truth to tell, wife of mine, I wouldnae be surprised if it kills me one of these days. Too much pleasure can’t be good for any man.”
She let a smile lighten her speech, “It seems to me you have naught to worry about. It’s obvious you are in fine fettle.” She ran her palms down his arms, moulded the hard bulge of muscle and sinew unhampered by fat. “Even when we first met I could see that.”
“And here I thought you could see naught but my scar.”
Kathryn pushed against his chest, hands fisted to prevent her fingers reaching up to touch the scar he hated so much. “It worries you more than it does me. I barely notice it anymore, and I’m certain that it bothers you more than anyone living at Dun Bhuird.”
“It offends Brodwyn, and Harald mayhap a little less. I can tell by the way their eyes shift away as if it frightens them,” he said, leaning into her, his weight holding her against the door.
And more, she realised as his shaft hardened inside her again, filling her with a sensation that almost stole her words, made her stumble. “If it … does frighten them … then it’s not the look of the scar…” Her breath caught on a groan of overwhelming pleasure, as she closed her eyes.
Gavyn flexed his hips, his jaw tensed as he forced his question through tight lips, “You were saying?”
“I was trying to say that folk know your reputation and are intimidated by the power you exude… Oh, yes…” Kathryn felt the ridges in the wooden door cut into her hips. She would be marked. She paid that no mind. Her whole world centred in the place they were joined. Naught else mattered but the shaft pounding inside and the man wielding it. She had no notion of how she had come to this, and at this moment, she didn’t care as she waited for the supreme gratification to take her.
Gavyn let the plane of his forehead balance on the plank holding the door together. The wood felt rough, but he had no energy to do anything to improve the situation. His ear was moistened from Kathryn’s harsh breathing. He could tell she was drowning in the sensual bliss they engendered as one being—he filling her, she abandoning control.
Aye, it was a miracle, and he wished it could be like this between them all the time.
Surely it wouldnae last.
Mayhap that was the reason he felt no rush to withdraw out of her body.
Truth to tell, being inside Kathryn was the only time he felt at home, which was a dire comment on the state of affairs at Dun Bhuird.
Slowly he pulled out of her and let her feet touch the floor, yet he couldn’t let her go. Instead he held her close, hand on her neck. The act of stroking Kathryn’s vulnerable nape was an instant reminder of her tender years. He looked down; her cheek lay softly against his chest and gradually her breath gentled, signalling their raging desire had melted away. Finally he kissed her brow then released her, saying, “This has been an unexpected pleasure in the middle of the day.”
As he turned to retrieve his plaid, she swiftly smoothed her plain grey kirtle till its folds hung once more to the floor. He preferred her in blue to match her eyes, he decided as he kilted his plaid around his waist and held it with his broad leather belt. Strange how he had become used to the feel of the soft worsted shifting around his limbs, the unexpected comfort. He cast another glance at his wife and thought … the convenience .
He held out his hand to Kathryn. “Come here, wife,” a command she obeyed without question. Unusual. Taking her hand he tugged her closer to the window, to the light. “Do you realise how seldom we spend time together in daylight? I’ve just discovered how much I like looking at you.”
Kathryn glanced down, unused to flattery. That had been Astrid’s prerogative. Her cheeks felt warm as he tilted her chin, and to make light of the moment, she mentioned, “Strange. As I recall we didn’t do a mighty lot of looking.”
“Well, I am looking now, and I’ve decided we should get to know each other,” he told her bluntly.
She took a swift breath, swallowed hard, unsure how much more knowing he had in mind, since they had spent every night together in the Bear’s big auld bed since Gavyn returned. She narrowed her eyes to give him a tentative stare.
“What I mean is, I know next to naught about you, nor you of me. I’m of a mind to remedy that. The crops are in … and Abelard has the masons under his thumb and seems to be enjoying the challenge of making sure they don’t waste any of that silver I brought home.” His mouth curved up at the corners and she noticed a dimple in one cheek, the side away from his scar. “There’s never been a better time to discover Bienn á Bhuird. Soon the leaves will turn and winter will be blowing down over the mountains, confining us to the Dun. I thought you might be persuaded to act as my guide.”
“I would enjoy that as I’ve seldom managed to travel farther than the crofts outside the wall since the Bear was killed.”
His face returned to his usual stern mien, as if she had pointed the finger of blame at him. Would she ever learn to mind her words? As if make matters worse, she followed her instincts and allowed herself a laugh as dry as her mouth and blundered on.
“You’ve no notion how happy I was to realised the masons wouldn’t be reduced to robbing my father’s cairn for stones.” She paused a space to take a short breath and continued, “Did I tell you how handsome the curtain wall and gate towers are starting to look. I should have realised that the world of wars has moved on. Dun Bhuird will be more like Cragenlaw, a stronghold to make our enemies think twice afore attacking it. I thank you for ignoring my reluctance to change. When you lose everyone you hold dear it’s natural to want to cling to all that is left to you. For me that was Dun Bhuird.”
When she dared glance at him again, she saw a glint of admiration lightening his dark eyes and decided her venture had worked.
Believed it when he proclaimed, “You are brave as well as bonnie, Kathryn. Few women, never mind men would have the courage to admit what you have, and I’m not so hard-headed, or indeed blind, that I can’t admit you had good reason to feel as you did.” He took her hand again, held it while his thumb rubbed across her knuckles. “How say you, Kathryn Comlyn, will we start over—all except our nights. I have no wish to change the only time when we have learned to come together with mutual satisfaction.” He caught her gaze and she nodded. “The next braw day, I’ll have horses mounted and you can teach me about Bienn á Bhuird and show me your favourite places. I want to see them all, but we can take our time, mayhap become friends while we visit the places that can’t be taken in at a mere glance.”
Friends?
She had never thought to be his friend the way his sister Morag was to the McArthur, so when she said, “Yes, I’d like to do that,” it meant more to her than simply showing him how beautiful the Comlyn clan lands were beyond Dun Bhuird.
“Good,” he nodded, as if satisfied. “I’ll tell you when I’ve made the arrangements.” He strode away, his back to her as he opened the door and walked out into her herb garden.
Her stillroom felt larger now he had gone—a reminder of how much room he took up in her life, in her bed, in her thoughts. She supposed his intentions were good, and one day, if the fates smiled on her, he would no longer simply tell her about the arrangements he would make for her, but ask her as well.
Success. Nhaimeth felt pretty pleased with himself. He, Jamie and Rob had six trout betwixt them—had caught, or, rather, guddled the fish in a calm patch of water he had remembered lying at the far end of the lochan—a shallow wee bay away from the torrent tumbling frae the waterfall on the cliffs at the far side of Dun Bhuird.
What would have suited him best would have been a wee fire at the side of the lochan and a tender trout stuffed with wild fennel. Instead, Jamie, who had become exceptionally staid for a lad his age, hadn’t wanted to stay away frae the Dun too long. Which meant their trout would be left to the tender mercies of the cook at Dun Bhuird. Everyone knew the cook was a proper tyrant, though one with a dab hand at roasting a side of venison, yet he missed the delicacy necessary to the cooking of trout. Nhaimeth’s only hope was to get the fish handed off to whichever of the young scullions the cook was abusing that week.
So, while Jamie elected to remain in the stables a while longer and polish his gelding’s rump yet again, he and Rob headed for the hall.
“Oh-ho. What’s this, Nhaimeth ma lad? Teaching my nephew to poach are you?”
Nhaimeth chuckled. “I’ve merely been teaching him one of the essentials of staying alive in a wild land when all ye have are yer bare hands.” Rob came up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder but said naught, mayhap because he was too busy laughing, and he didnae stop when Nhaimeth said, “However, Laird, since that glint in yer eyes is mighty green, I think bribery is called for, and since there are three of us and six fish, we are willing to share.”
“And rightly so,” Farquhar scowled. His voice rumbled as he continued the game. “One for me and another for my lady wife and I won’t cut off yer hands.”
Nhaimeth took a step back, eyes wide as he stared up Rob’s uncle. “Is that what they do in France?” he mumbled. He hadn’t had as much to do with Morag’s brother, even though they had sat at the high board beside him most nights.
Farquhar grinned, “No, but I’ve heard that’s what they do to thieves in the Holy Lands. I suggest you two lads avoid the place—though I doubt that Morag would let either of you go on a crusade.”
Rob answered, “Unlike you, Gavyn, neither of us has any ambition to cross the sea to a foreign land.” The lad chuckled again, “Especially not Jamie. He’d be terrified something might happen to his precious horse. We have to drag him out of the stables these days. I’ve no notion what has got into him. He had a great time this afternoon helping us catch the trout, yet he couldn’t wait to get back. Now he’s brushing the beast again. It wouldn’t be so bad if it were a woman, but he no longer competes for Lhilidh’s attention.”
The three of them began walking abreast in the direction of the slope, with Nhaimeth in the middle of what felt like two giants—Rob the shorter of the two.
“What’s this, Rob. Have you decided to abandon Lhilidh as well?” Gavyn questioned.
“It’s not that. I really like her. She is very good company and one of the bonniest lasses around, but it wouldn’t do to give her notions. I’m too young, and so is she.” He grinned, “Nhaimeth might be in with a chance though.”
Nhaimeth felt his face darken. It wasnae like Rob to tease, though he had a notion the lad was playing up for his uncle’s benefit. “Ye ken fine the lass is like a sister to me and deserves my respect. Aye, and ye want to remember that as well, Rob.”
“Nhaimeth is right. The lass is special. Kathryn treats her like a sister.”
“I was only jesting. I would never insult the lass. It’s easy to see, just talking to her, that she thinks Kathryn hung the moon and stars in the sky. All I meant was, I have plans and, until they’re accomplished, marriage has no part in my future.”
Nhaimeth noticed a slight pout that showed Rob’s age, and the lad confirmed it, saying, “I have barely fourteen years under my belt, time enough for lasses and bairns.”
That said it all as far as Nhaimeth was concerned. His best friend had no intention of bringing another bastard such as himself into the world. It was one thing to be the McArthur’s true heir, but his father hadn’t been there to protect him and Morag, back when he was needed by them—the reason Rob had always appeared much aulder than his real age. Nhaimeth had nae the slightest notion what Rob’s plans were. He was only certain that he would be part of them, come hell or worse. He couldnae anymore imagine his life without Rob in it.
But the Laird was asking where they had caught the fish, so they described the lochan and the enjoyment they’d had guddling for fish. “Well,” said the Laird, “mayhap you can show Kathryn and me the way there the next fine day. Now the harvest is over, I’ve promised her a few wee outings. There is a lot of Bienn á Bhuird I have still to see.”
With that promise left hanging in the air, the Laird went ahead and entered the hall and he and Rob sought out the kitchens and the bad-tempered cook.