Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) (6 page)

Morgana’s heart skipped a beat. She ran her
tongue o’er her suddenly parched lips, but did as he demanded. The
flesh was a deeper tone than the rest of his skin, slightly ruddy,
in fact. And ‘twas warm—hot, really—to the touch. Hard. Like silk
covered iron. No wonder it had felt as if she’d been torn asunder
the night before.

She could hear the meter of his breathing
begin to change, grow short and rapid. Did he enjoy feeling her
hands on him then? She took a chance and looked up at his face. His
cheeks were flushed, his head bent back, his mouth slightly open,
and his eyes were closed. She smiled. A sense of womanly
satisfaction filled her. Aye, he liked it well.

She lifted her head and took as much of him
into her mouth as she could fit, continuing to hold him with both
her hands fisted along the length. The blunt round head of the
thing filled her mouth and she started exploring it with her
tongue. She heard Robert gasp and he shuddered rather forcefully,
so she continued along in that same vein. Some deep, primordial
need rose up in her and she began to suckle. Lightly at first, but
then with e’er more avid glee.

Robert’s head was spinning. He leaned
forward and took hold of the bed posts for support. “Christ,
Morgana. You have the mouth of a proficient.” Of their own
volition, his hips began to rock, forcing a bit more of his cock
into her mouth. Morgana took it, and then loosed her grip on him
enough to allow his pulsing shaft to move through them and into the
divine suction of her hot, wet, tongue-teasing mouth. His cods drew
up higher still, his sack tensed and thickened.

Morgana felt Robert’s manhood grow thicker,
more turgid, the muscles beneath the satin-smooth skin contracting
against her palms, felt with her tongue a tickling rush under the
skin of it and inside a large vein. Then she tasted something a bit
salty. Was this his seed then?

Robert yanked out of her mouth, out of her
grasp. “Nay, we’ll save that for another time.” His face was as
scarlet as her cloak and damp with sweat. He pushed himself back
and lay on top of her, tossing the extra pillow to the side once
more. When he was fully atop her, he took her face in his hands,
bent his head, and gave her the most sensual, gentle, sublime kiss
she’d e’er dreamed of receiving from him. She wrapped her arms
around him and hugged him to her. He ran his tongue along the line
of her bottom lip and nibbled at it with his teeth before softly
sucking at it.

This, this was how she’d imagined the first
time would be. She reveled in the tenderness of his assault.

When Morgana opened her mouth a bit wider,
Robert took advantage, sending his tongue into its dark, sultry
recesses. She tasted of heaven, of silvered moons and twinkling,
starry nights. Of home.

He began to move his hips, pressing his
erection against her mons and belly. “Open for me. Wrap your legs
around my waist.” After she’d done as he demanded, he trailed a
hand down to her breast, stopping briefly to tease and tweak the
nipple, and then went lower still, o’er the rest of her torso. He
raised his head and looked into her eyes as he lifted his hips and
positioned himself at her portal. And this time, with slow, gentle
pushes, he entered her.

They were both gasping for breath by the
time he was fully seated inside her.

Morgana ran her tongue o’er her parched lips
as she studied her lover. The black centers of his pale gray eyes
had grown large, his lips open, his cheeks flushed scarlet once
again. There was a look of ecstasy on his face that gave Morgana a
deep satisfaction. So much so, that she felt a thrill run through
her, straight into her canal. It clenched around him.

Robert jerked. “Christ!” He tossed his head
back and gritted his teeth, feeling his seed rise up again. He’d
ne’er had a lover like her, who could make him spend so quickly, so
violently.

He dipped his head and kissed her again,
this time showing her the explosive passion he was feeling for her.
He was out of his head now. He rocked and strained, pushed and
pounded away at her. He wanted to devour her. He fisted his hand in
her hair and yanked her head back, ignoring her gasp as he forced
her to take all of his tongue, just as her tight cleft was taking
the full length of his tarse.

All at once, her frame grew rigid beneath
him and her thighs widened. In the next moment, the strong fist of
her cunt began to milk him, begging him to give up his seed.

He jerked up, straightening his arms as he
plowed e’er harder into her clenching womb. With a shout, he let
loose his seed at last, shuddered with the intensity of the release
it afforded. And then he collapsed on top of her, his breath
rasping and loud. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his
shoulder. Joy tripped o’er the corners of his heart, but to the
feeling, he shut tight his mind, shut tight his soul.

R
OBERT AWOKE LATE
the next morn. He opened his eyes and realized Morgana wasn’t in
bed with him. For a moment, a dark panic assailed him, but then he
heard a rustling noise to his right and looked to find her
preparing their meal for the morn.

He smiled. His wee vixen lover had wrung him
dry, it seemed, but he’d clearly given her more vigor. They’d spent
the better part of the night discovering each other, finding new
positions that they both enjoyed. Learning just how many climaxes
they could have in a row before they swooned. His smile turned into
a sheepish grin. That was the last part of the night he remembered.
Evidently, it had been he who had swooned first.

“Is—” His voice was a croak. He cleared his
throat and started again. “Have you taken the seed wool from you
yet? I can aid in that, if you wish.”

Morgana turned to him and nodded, indicating
with her hands that she’d done the deed and then washed up when she
arose this morn.

He rolled to his side and sat up, placing
his feet firmly on the floor and grasping the edge of the mattress
in his hands. “What smells so good? I confess, I’ve a grave hunger
this morn after the trial of strength and endurance you put me
through this night past.” And, surprisingly, he
was
hungry;
he didn’t lie.

Morgana lifted the lid to the pot she had
hooked to the spit o’er the hearth and took out a spoonful. She
walked over to him and pushed it under his nose. His eyes crossed
trying to look at it, but she didn’t give him time, instead simply
shoveled it between his teeth.

“Mmm. ‘Tis tasty,” he said between chews.
“Rabbit?”

Morgana nodded. She’d been assigned to the
kitchens at the nunnery, a thing, it turned out, that pleased her
well. For she loved to cook and she loved to feed those she cared
for.

He took hold of her other hand and raised it
to his lips, placing a kiss in its palm. “Lovely.”

Morgana trembled. Was he talking about her?
Or the rabbit stew?

After the previous night she’d shared with
him, her heart had grown e’er fonder, and she craved to know that
he might be feeling a bit of the same hopeful joy that she was
feeling now.

She leaned down and kissed him on the lips.
‘Twas a bold move, she knew, a romantic gesture. For, she knew,
much deeper feelings could be relayed in a kiss than in the act of
copulation of which so many at court partook.

Her heart warmed when he returned the kiss
in like fashion. She smiled into it, then grinned when he did the
same. He whacked her on the bottom, saying, “Finish cooking my
meal, woman, else I’ll not have the energy to finish where we left
off this night past.”

Morgana twirled away and happily continued
her endeavor. She wanted to sing, so filled with elation was she.
So she tried. But the effort was futile, as it always was. She
shrugged and placed a bit more spice in the sauce.

Robert rose and quickly dressed. Then he
grabbed the two iron pails from the corner with the intent of
filling them with snow and then heating it on the hearth for a
quick wash. When he opened the door, he nearly dropped the buckets.
Morgana’s uncle, Donnach Cambel, an earl in King William’s court,
and at least twenty of his soldiers were sitting astride their
mounts just outside the cot. One of his clansmen was bound and
sitting behind another of the men. ‘Twas clear he’d been beaten
nearly to death. The man gave him an apologetic look and Robert
gave him a short nod of understanding.

He stepped outside and closed the door
behind him, then took the steps down and walked to within ten paces
of her uncle.

“Have you my niece inside that cot?”

“Aye.”

“You’ll wed her then.” The earl lifted his
arm in a signal to one of the horsemen in the back and that man
made his way forward.

‘Twas a priest, Robert quickly saw. A
feeling of doom filled his breast. He was well and truly stuck.
There would be no way for him to e’er pay his father’s debts and he
would lose it all. Everything he’d been fighting to keep these past
three years was crumbling into dust right before his eyes. And all
because of his desperate scheme to abduct and wed an heiress.

Vika.
She was to blame for this as
well. A ball of hatred formed in his gut. For if she had not
arranged for the switch, had simply not arrived for their tryst,
then he’d still have three moons in which to find another fortune.
Or….

Robert ground his teeth, swallowing a roar
of anger and betrayal. Mayhap, this had been the plan all along.
Mayhap they’d thought to foist Morgana, the poor relation, the
mute, hardly marriageable lady, off on him. And Morgana had
willingly gone along with the plan, knowing ‘twould be her best
chance of getting a husband. Aye, the scope of their vile plot was
growing e’er more clear to him.

“I’ll go inside and get her,” Robert said.
He turned and went into the cabin once more, stormed over to
Morgana, and yanked her up by her upper arm. Her head whipped
around and her eyes went wide with dread. “So. You thought to trick
me into marriage, did you? Well, you’ll not be pleased for long, I
trow, when you discover the depth to which my fortunes have sunk.
You’ll be lucky to have a roof o’er your head in three moons’
time.”

Morgana’s brows drew together and she shook
her head in confusion, in denial of his accusation.

Robert’s laugh was derisive. “To think,
‘twas I who was plotting to trick your cousin into a wedding, as I
and my clan desperately need the coin she can provide. What a foul
twist it has all taken.”

Morgana tried to break free of his hold, but
he tightened his grip, hauling her up against his chest. “Your
uncle awaits us outside, my sweet, with a priest in the ready to
bless our vows. ‘Tis fitting, I think, that you’ll be wed in these
rags, as they’re likely to be the best you’ll see for many years to
come.” He swung around and dragged her by the arm out the door,
down the steps, to stand in front of the priest.

The gaunt, black-haired man of the cloth
stood silent, his craggy mien rigid with disapproval, his back
stiff with it, and his hands tucked around the holy book, which he
held with great piety against the front of his thighs.

* * *

Morgana was stunned, horrified, in fact,
that her uncle had caught her thus—with her lover. And the look on
the priest’s face made her cringe inside. Aye, he, like the others
like him she’d met at court, surely already believed her a consort
of the devil, now he no doubt felt he had the final proof of
it.

The priest looked directly at her then, his
black eyes piercing her, sending a trickle of alarm, a strange
feeling of awful recognition, through her before it vanished as
quickly as it came. ‘Twas no doubt dread of his power and position,
she decided. And then, he began a slow incantation:

“
Pater noster, qui es in caelis

Sanctificetur nomen tuum—”

Morgana’s ears began to ring. Her heartbeat
quickened and she swayed, nearly falling forward, but Robert caught
her up against him. The priest did not falter; he continued on to
the last of the prayer.

Afterward, he settled his gaze on Robert,
saying, “Will you, Robert MacVie, willingly wed this lass?”

“Aye, I will,” Robert said between clenched
teeth.

“And Morgana Cambel, do you willingly wed
this man?”

Morgana pushed away from her lover and shook
her head.

“Aye, she does,” the earl interjected.

She turned toward her uncle and motioned
with her hands, with the shaking of her head, that she absolutely
would not agree to such.

The earl stepped forward and slapped her
across the face, so hard that she stumbled. “You will!”

Robert caught her before she fell. Now, he
was confused.
Hadn’t
Morgana been part of the plot? And
then: Had it been a plot, or had it been a very unlucky
happenstance that the uncle arrived back much, much sooner than was
expected?

The earl grabbed her away from Robert and
began to shake her. “You will wed this man now, else I’ll lock you
away until you agree to do so. Which will it be?”

“Release her,” Robert said, his voice dark
with anger.

The earl looked at the bloodlust shining in
the mighty warrior’s eye and thought better of arguing with him. He
let go of his niece and stepped back. “We’ll return to the abbey,
but be prepared to wed my niece in three days’ time. ‘Tis clear,
she needs a bit more
persuading
as to just what is her
duty.”

One of the earl’s soldiers brought forth a
white palfrey with a gray mane. From the look of joy that settled
on Morgana’s countenance, ‘twas clear the horse was a favored
mount. Robert watched her avid reaction to the beast. Had she not
seen the horse in a while? The way she pressed her cheek to its
neck, as if greeting a long-lost friend, made him wonder.