Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) (15 page)

Would he say her nay? Would he leave her
wanting? She would pleasure him thus, or with her mouth, if he so
desired. But she craved the release he could give her as well, with
only a few deep strokes into her with this, his lovely, long,
hard-muscled appendage.

If only he would.

He swooped and she gasped in surprise before
he took her mouth in a hot, carnal, devouring kiss. In the next
instant, she was on her back and her calves were o’er his
shoulders. He pressed forward then, his arms straight as he
balanced on his palms and pushed into her. He’d ne’er taken her
like this before, and the point of entry stung a bit, but the
feeling of being filled by him was instantly gratifying.

* * *

“Another first,” Robert mumbled. He didn’t
realize he’d said the words aloud until Morgana nodded. Then her
eyelids fluttered shut and she arched her back. When he saw the
rose blush begin to move o’er her chest and neck, to flush her
cheeks, he changed the meter of his plunging; began to move with
shallow strokes instead. He didn’t want her to come yet; he enjoyed
keeping her right there with him, on the edge. Enjoyed watching
those lush breasts bounce in time to his rhythm.

His eyes scanned down to her pale pink,
tightly wound nipples and his mouth watered. God, he’d love to suck
on them awhile, but he knew she’d climax then, so he waited. Later.
He’d savor them later, mayhap after they’d enjoyed each other.

Enjoy each other
. Was that not what
the ladies called it? Mayhap, he should use that phrase with
Morgana.

Did his coarse speech offend her? He’d ne’er
really thought about it until now.

He did a slow glide almost completely out of
her and then sank inside her again, up to the hilt. It caused her
breasts to grow rosier still, the nipples taunting him further to
take a taste. He dipped his head to do just that, but halted at the
last moment, his lips hovering o’er that tantalizing crest. Nay,
he’d wait. He forced his head up. ‘Twould be a first, as
well—enjoying a lady’s breasts
after
the climax. He’d ne’er
tried that. But the thought excited him.

Could he make her come again that way?

God, but her scut was slippery. He raised up
a bit further and beheld the place where they were joined.
Beautiful
. It reminded him of their first time together, of
the virgin’s blood. He’d ne’er thought anything of fucking a lady,
even during this—what did they call it? Ah, yes—
flowering
time. But he’d ne’er before met any—even Vika—who’d allowed him to
try it with them. Until Morgana. ‘Twas what he’d meant before by
‘another first’, tho’ she’d no doubt believed him to mean their
current position.

She was so free with her gifts to him, with
her body. What e’er he wanted, she enthusiastically gave.

And she wanted his babes! He still felt
stunned, and
honored
that she’d wanted his bairn so badly
she’d wept when his seed hadn’t taken root. No one—
no
one
—e’er had liked him so well.

A wave of absolute joy—different than the
ecstasy of release—filled his being, warmed his chest. What the
hell was this feeling he kept experiencing when he was with her—or
just thought about her? The question evaporated when she grasped
hold of his buttocks and undulated her hips, forcing him to move
faster and deeper into her. He threw his head back.
“Aaaahhhhh!”

And lost control.

No more thought, only the ardent, strident,
assiduous pursuit of visceral delight.

* * *

Morgana’s whole frame began to quake. He’d
kept her on the precipice for so long! And now she was near to
touching heaven. It felt so good, so
goooood
. Please,
please
—oh, God! He pounded into her even faster and she
tossed her head from side to side. Finally, finally, her canal
began to convulse. She saw the sparks and colored lights behind her
eyes, felt her body grow rigid with the unmitigated pleasure of
being taken so fully, so voraciously, by the man she adored. Her
eyes flew open for a split second. “
Robert!
” she cried. And
then darkness.

* * *

Robert folded Morgana’s limp legs o’er the
backs of his own as he collapsed on top of her. Sweat dripped from
his brow onto her chest before he could wipe it away and his
breathing was so ragged it echoed in the chamber. Still locked
snugly inside her warm womb, he rested his forehead on the pillow
to the right of her ear, just managing somehow to remain up on his
elbows, so as not to completely crush her. His mind spun like a
top, his ears rang, but still he managed a grin.

He’d finally made her swoon first.

His eyes went wide.
She’d called out his
name!
He lifted his head. ‘Twas an effort, but he managed to
raise up a bit more and study her slumbering visage. She’d spoken
her first word in God knew how long, and it had been
his
name
. Something important, something profound, settled into
place inside him, somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. He
trembled as he gazed at her, studied her, memorized every lovely
curve, every gentle line of her countenance.

Then he kissed her lips. Softly and
reverently.
I love you, Morgana
. The words, which expressed
that unknown feeling, took him by surprise as they flitted across
his consciousness and took up permanent residence in the center of
his chest.

* * *

When Morgana woke, the sun had already begun
to lower in the sky, as evidenced by the receding line of sunlight
across the dim bedchamber’s wooden floor. She looked around, for
Robert, but he was not about. The chamber was silent, except for
the slight hiss and crackle of the hearthfire.

She yawned and her body moved into a long,
satisfying stretch. The edge of the blanket dipped below her
nipples and she realized she was no longer in her gown and chemise.
Curious.

With a flip of her hand, she tossed the
blanket aside and sat up. Her eyes scanned her body and the bed
covering for vestiges of the mess the two of them had made earlier.
Naught. She was bathed clean and—dear Lord!—she had a new wrapping
on her lower half as well. ‘Twas not possible, surely! Aye, she did
sleep soundly, she knew, for the nuns had chided her often enough
as she grew, when they could not wake her for matins, but this?
Nay, surely not. ‘Twas too mad. She giggled. Aye, but he
had
made her swoon first, and that no doubt sent her into an even
deeper slumber than was her habit.

She nibbled on her bottom lip. Robert? Had
Robert,
her
Robert, ministered to her as she slept? She
shook her head. Nay, ‘twas more likely he’d asked one of the young
chamber maids to do the deed. Her cheeks grew hot at the thought.
But then, after another moment of horror, she sighed and shrugged.
‘Twas much too late now to waste time cringing about.

She got to her feet and dressed in one of
her prettier gowns. ‘Twas the pale blue one with the snug-fitting
bodice and waist; the one that had caused a warm light to shine in
her husband’s eyes, a small smile to curve his lips, the last time
she’d worn it.

* * *

“She’s written the tale out. Her husband’s
been bandying the pages about in his effort to find me.”

A gust of wind blew at the hem of the other
man’s long, dark tunic. The material made a
whip
ping sound
as it tossed to and fro. “Have
you
read it? Does she mention
the ambush?”

“Nay, I’ve not read it.” The man turned the
woolen cap in his beefy, calloused hand. “But naught has been said
about the ambush, nor all that happened afterward, either, so ‘twas
likely not revealed in her script.”

“Good, good.” After a pause, the other man
said, “And no one suspects you of the deed the other night? Even
tho’ you’ve only been amongst the apprenticed masons for less than
a sennight?”

The man shrugged and shook his head again.
“It seems so. Not a query have I gotten in regard to it, at least
not as yet.”

The other man nodded, his shoulders visibly
relaxing. “I’ll meet you here again in two days’ time. I’ll give
you further instruction then. For now, keep on as you have been;
gathering as much information as you are able about the lady and
her memory of that time.”

The two men parted then: One moving back in
the direction of the fortress, the other turning toward the
hermit’s cot he’d discovered upon his arrival.

* * *

Modron took one more quick look o’er her
shoulder before slipping out the door of the keep.

‘Twas past the chimes of midnight, and all
but the night guards on the curtain wall were well abed. The air
was crisp and calm, filled with the dust of ground stone, dank with
the scent of still-wet mortar. Her son-in-law had done well in his
bid to repair and furbish his much-ignored fortress these past
moons.

It had taken Vika near to two moons to reply
to Morgana’s query regarding her past, but the letter had arrived
this morn, and since that time, all had been in flux. For Vika, it
seemed, had decided upon a visit.

Since their arrival at this holding, Modron
had allowed some of her disguise to fall away. She’d slowly stopped
applying as much of the pale gray ash to her face and golden brown
hair, discontinued the slower, slightly stooped gate she’d employed
during her few sennights at William’s court.

But now, she feared, she’d be forced to
resume the guise. And that worried her. For Morgana had noticed and
commented upon her changed demeanor, but had accepted Modron’s
explanation that the rustic air away from the bustling court had
been the reason; it had been a balm to her aching bones and
vitalized her weary flesh.

As she’d done each eve since arriving o’er
three moons past, Modron nodded to the guard and escaped the walled
fortress through the postern gate.

The nights had become warm enough to enjoy
the cool bath by moonlight in the clear water of the burn she’d
discovered that first day. ‘Twas hidden in a dense crop of pine,
oak and spruce not far inside the wood. The place she liked to
bathe had been dammed by the trunks and branches of fallen trees,
so there was a deep pool in which she could immerse her tired and
sore body, cleanse it for a few hours of the smothering ash.

At its edge, she quickly doffed her gown and
chemise and then inserted the torch into the natural nook she’d
made between three large stones. Afterward, as she always did, she
walked directly into the depths until she was chin-deep in the
still-frigid water. And, just as always, within a few minutes, her
body stopped quaking and she began to glide and swim.

‘Twas not long before her mind turned to her
daughter once more. Only three days past, she’d discovered that
Morgana was with child. The news had both pleased and stunned her.
Even now, she was having a bit of trouble imagining herself as a
grandmother.

Yes, she was of an age to be one, as she was
just past her thirty-second summer, but still it seemed too soon,
somehow. For, so much of the life she’d been promised—had expected
to have—had been stripped from her while she was prisoned away in
Brittany these past thirteen years. And now, she wanted to live
again; enjoy life, enjoy her newly gained freedom.

Modron twisted and dove under the water.
After several strokes, she reemerged, sweeping her hair back off
her forehead with the palms of her hands as she lifted her face to
the silvery moonbeams that gleamed above her.

Still, her mind would not settle, and her
thoughts crowded in once more. But, she must make sure she, and
most importantly, her daughter, were free from harm first.
Recalling the bloodied, striped flesh of her daughter’s back Modron
had tended in those days after Morgana’s prisonment by Donnach and
the vicious priest—another of Donnach’s minions, she had little
doubt, tho’ she’d not gotten a view of the man—and recalling as
well her own anguished impotence at not being able to contravene,
Modron was e’er more certain that Donnach would not rest until he’d
destroyed Morgana as well. With a shiver, she sent a small prayer
heavenward for both guidance and assistance in gaining the
protection and the justice she craved for them both. And, aye, she
knew that her being here in Alba, and this close to Morgana, would
instantly bring danger, if ‘twere discovered. Yet neither of their
lives were safe as long as the savage devils remained untried and
free. She was not meant to survive the attack, this she’d come to
ken not long into her captivity.

She dove again, and paddled hard, yet the
anger and unease remained.

Nay, her captor had gone against orders, had
wanted her too feverishly, to destroy her that day.

But after her escape…. Aye, ‘twas why she’d
disguised herself, created a new identity, gotten herself inside
William’s court. It had not been easy, but her experiences there
when she was a young wife and mother had aided her in her device;
had allowed her to remain unnoticed as she sneaked about and
maneuvered her way into her daughter’s chamber and life.

And then, when she’d learned that her
husband’s brother, Donnach, the unsuspected man behind her
husband’s murder, behind her and her daughter’s abductions, was
successful in forcing a marriage on her little lass, Modron had
made sure that Robert allowed her to travel here with them. If
Donnach had further villainous intentions toward her family, as she
suspected he did, then she was determined to stop it this time.

Rolling to her back, she glided through the
moon-kissed ripples, allowing the silken-soft, cool bath to soothe
her abused skin, her tightly drawn muscles.

After a long moment, a sigh escaped. Aye,
she’d wavered many times o’er the past moons between revealing her
ruse (or at least warning Robert about her worry) and keeping
silent, especially after Morgana’s strange vision the night of the
Bealltainn
fire and feast. But, when no real danger was
found, she decided it best to keep silent. ‘Twas clear from
Morgana’s inability to speak, and from that vision as well, that
she was in no state for another blow. Besides, Robert, being a man,
was better made for hand-to-hand battle with a known enemy, and
this required a woman’s facility for cunning and stealth, if the
traitors were e’er to be rooted out.