Authors: Margaret Moore
Eager to see Nicholas, sure the little boy must be Seamus, she rounded the bend, to behold the mighty Sir Nicholas of Dunkeathe prostrate on the ground, seemingly held there by the foot of a happily triumphant four-year-old Scot waving a small wooden sword.
"I won, I won!" Seamus cried.
"I cry you mercy, valiant knight," Nicholas answered, throwing his arms out in complete surrender. "Allow me to rise before my tunic is ruined from the damp."
The little boy removed his foot. "Very well," he said with another flourish of his sword. "I give you back your life."
Nicholas rolled over and got to his feet. "Thank God," he said as he brushed bits of twig and grass from himself. Then he raised his eyes and saw Riona.
His smile of recognition made her heart sing. The glow in his eyes for her alone filled her with joy and made her quicken her pace, and his low obeisance made her feel like a queen.
"I fear I'm interrupting a tournament," she said when she reached them.
Seamus looked as if he agreed.
"We're finished, and alas, not too soon, for I was soundly beaten," Nicholas admitted. His smile disappeared as he addressed his scowling nephew. "Sir Knight, where are your manners?"
Seamus bowed. "Greetings, my lady," he muttered.
She bowed low in response. "Greetings to you, Sir Knight. I perceive you are a fine and valiant swordsman if you can triumph over your uncle. Although alas, I fear he's getting old."
When Nicholas shot her a disgruntled look, she tried to stifle her smile.
"Uncle Nicholas once beat twenty knights in a single day in a tournament," the lad said, rushing to his uncle's
defence
.
"I was much younger then," Nicholas grudgingly admitted, "and by the end of that day, my arms were so tired, I thought they'd drop off."
"You won anyway," Seamus declared, obviously not willing to allow his uncle to be criticized, even by himself.
"I was lucky," he replied. He looked at Riona with another devilish smile that played havoc with her heartbeat. "What brings you here, my lady, beyond seeing a demonstration of fine swordsmanship? Were you looking for me?"
"No. Your sister wished to speak to me."
Nicholas's grin disintegrated and his eyes narrowed a little. "What about?"
Riona wondered how much she should say to Nicholas about his sister's views. She had heard enough to know that their relationship had not always been a smooth one; it was now, and she didn't want to ruin it.
"I bet I know," Seamus piped up before Riona could answer. "Mama thinks Uncle Nicholas doesn't know how to find a wife."
Having been forewarned by her conversation with the lady, Riona wasn't nearly as surprised as Nicholas by this observation.
"She said that to you?" Nicholas asked.
Seamus's face turned red. "Noooo," he mumbled, digging his toe into the dirt and not meeting his uncle's eye. "To Father. They didn't know I was still awake."
"I see," Nicholas said in a tone that sounded interested, not annoyed. "And how does she think I ought to go about it?"
"I didn't hear that part. They started whispering and laughing and I fell asleep."
"I'll have to ask her what I'm doing wrong."
The little boy looked up at him with a stricken countenance. "You won't tell her I said, will you?"
"Of course not. We're brothers-in-arms, sworn to be loyal forever, and such an oath means that if you wish me to keep a secret, I will until the day I die."
Seamus's eyes widened, and well they might, for there was no mistaking the firm sincerity of Nicholas's words.
"Now run along, young man," he ordered, "or your mother will be angry at me for keeping you so long."
The lad did as he was ordered, and scampered off toward the castle.
Nicholas reached out and took Riona's hand. His touch was warm and welcome, intimate and friendly. Wonderful. Achingly, heartrendingly wonderful.
They strolled toward a large willow on the riverbank, its slender branches like long, flowing hair. He parted the natural curtain and led her inside. "And now, my love," he said sofdy as they stood together beneath the branches, "what did Marianne really want to talk about?"
"You," Riona answered, leaning against the willow's trunk. "She wanted to be sure I knew your history and that you deserved to be happy."
She reached up to brush her fingertips across his wrinkled brow. "She was disappointed when I said you wouldn't marry me.
I don't think she realizes that everything she told me only made me better understand why you can't."
He regarded her with such tenderness as he caressed her cheek, it was hard to believe he was the powerful lord of a great
castle
. Now, he was simply the man she loved. "Riona, perhaps I should forget marrying Eleanor."
She put her finger to his lips to silence him and shook her head. "If you lost Dunkeathe after all your efforts and suffering because of me, you might come to resent me. I won't hazard that. Let's enjoy what we have now, for the few nights we have left."
"Once I'm wed, that will be the end, Riona," he said, his voice low and mournful. "I will be faithful to the vows I make before God."
"I would expect no less. And when you announce your choice at Lammas, my uncle and I will leave."
Afterward, she would never see him again.
In spite of that, she gloried in the strength and warmth of him as they held each other, basking in his affection. Not afraid of the future, whatever it held. And yet... "Nicholas, if I should be with child when I go home, should I send word to you or would you prefer not to know?"
Taking hold of her shoulders, he held her away from him, and in his face, she saw the answer even before he said it, and was
glad. "Of course you must tell me. Girl or boy, any child of ours will be known as mine, and proudly so."
She smiled at him, loving him. Respecting him. Proud to have been his lover, come what may.
"But what of you, if that should be?" he asked, concern in his dark eyes. "How will your family treat you?"
"Uncle Fergus will be shocked, and disappointed, I'm sure. Kenneth...?" She shrugged her shoulders. "The same. But they won't abandon me or force me from Glencleith. They are too kind and generous."
"For your sake, I'm glad, but if you ever need anything, whether you bear my child or not, you mustn't hesitate to come to me."
"I will." She stroked his arms and her body warmed as she leaned closer to his. "So we won't worry about a child, but accept it as a gift, one to the other, if that should come to pass," she whispered as she wrapped her arms about him. "Now kiss me, Nicholas, and love me, while we can."
His eyes flared with exciting intensity as he took her in his arms. He kissed her fervently, while her tongue invaded the heat of his mouth, seeking that slick intimacy that foreshadowed the other.
Her upper back and shoulders against the tree, his fingertips glided over her bodice, then his palm cupped her breast. His hips
pressed against hers, reminding her of what they'd done every night since she'd gone to his chamber the first time, as if she needed it. All the reminders necessary had been in his eyes when he looked at her, the smile she'd never seen him give another, the fierce passion in his kiss. And now his touch.
How she loved the strength of him, the power, the resolute will that had kept him alive for so long. She even admired the toughness he had acquired to survive.
She had to feel his naked skin, the heated flesh. Eagerly she thrust her hands under his tunic and over his flat stomach. One went higher, to brush lightly over his hardened nipple in a way that made him break the kiss to gasp, while her other hand went lower, to stroke the hardness there.
He closed his eyes and groaned as she aroused him further, delighting that she could make him feel such pleasure. Licking his neck. Kissing his jaw. Nibbling
lightly
on his earlobe as he stood still, powerless to move.
Until suddenly his eyes flew open—his desire-filled eyes, wild with a primitive hunger that took her breath away. "I want you now, Riona," he said, his voice husky and urgent. "Right now. Right here."
She said no word, but reached for the drawstring of his breeches and pulled the knot undone.
With a low growl that made her burn with passionate yearning, he grabbed her buttocks and lifted her. Her arms about his neck, she wrapped her legs around his waist, her skirt and shift bunching about her thighs. His breathing ragged, he moved forward so that her back was full against the tree.
Holding herself steady with one arm, she reached down and guided him into her, muffling her moan of welcome against his neck as he entered. She held tight as they loved, biting her lip to keep from crying out with the sheer pleasure of having him hard inside her, filling her anew with every thrust, his breath hot on her cheek. The tension, wondrous, delicious, seeming never ending, built and built until she could stay silent no longer.
"Faster," she begged, panting. "Harder." She had to feel that moment of shattering ecstasy. She couldn't wait. "Please..."
And then the tension snapped. Throbbing, she couldn't stifle the groan that arose deep in her throat, a primal cry of release, echoed by her lover as he, too, climaxed, there against the tree.
Afterward, he stood still, his chest rising and falling as he breathed deep while she kissed his cheek and stroked his hair.
When he eventually withdrew, she unwrapped her legs and lowered them until she was standing. He adjusted his breeches as she brushed down the skirt of her gown.
Taking a deep breath, he raised his dark eyes. "Riona, that was..." He shook his head, and his wonderful, rare smile
reappeared. "You simply astonish me. I've never met a woman like you in all my life."
"I've never met a man like you," she said, fixing her
dishevelled
hair.
He took hold of her upper arms and kissed the tip of her nose. "You look
beautiful
—like a goddess of the forest."
"I think I probably look a mess, and if I don't fix my hair before I return to your castle, everyone will guess what I've been doing, if not with whom." She cocked her head and ran her gaze over his magnificent body. "If they could see you now, they'd have their suspicions about you, too."
"You think so?" he said, sidling forward and pressing her back against the tree.
Her breathing quickened. "I know so."
"You think I have the look of a man who's just made love?"
"I think you have the look of a man who's been doing something that gives him pleasure and dishevels his clothes and makes his long hair need a comb."
"Perhaps I should cut my hair."
She reached out and ran her fingers through it,
marvelling
at its thickness. "That would be a pity, my lord."
"Then you like my hair this way, my lady?" He grinned and brushed it back over his shoulder with his hand. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. It's how the Scots wear it."
"I am a Scot," she replied, loving it when they spoke like this. Did anyone else ever hear that tender, teasing, yet incredibly arousing, tone in his voice?
Would his wife?
She pushed that thought away. "You should braid it at the sides the way Adair Mac Taran does," she suggested. "I think that would look quite fetching."
He laughed softly. "Fetching? Why the devil would I want to look fetching?"
"Because you are," she pertly answered as she tucked a stray lock of his hair behind his ear. "Very handsome and thus, very fetching."
"I don't care what other women think of me." He put his arms about her waist and drew her close. "Only you. What do you think of me, Riona?"
"That you're a very vain fellow who blatantly seeks compliments."
He frowned like a petulant
little
boy. "And here I thought you liked me."
"Sir Nicholas of Dunkeathe, if I didn't care for you a very great deal, I would not have made love with you, now or ever," she said with mock severity.
His frown dissolved to a wistful expression. "I would give nearly anything..." he began, the words trailing off.
Nearly anything was not everything, and she accepted that. "I think we had best quit dallying underneath this tree, lest we be discovered."
He nodded, becoming again the resolute, stern overlord. "Will you return first, or should I?"
"I will," she replied. She kissed him once more
lightly
on the lips. "Until later, m'eudall, " she whispered before she hurried on her way.
ONCE RIONA reached the village, she slowed to a more leisurely pace. Although there were few people about, it not being market day, she didn't want it to appear that she was running from anything, or anybody.
She strolled toward the stall of the man with the beautiful fabric. The indigo, she noticed, was gone.
"Good day, my lady," the merchant said, nodding a greeting.