Lord of the Black Isle (22 page)

It wasn't that he did not trust her. It was simply that no one had complete control over their heart. Love happened when people did not want it to happen, just as it did not happen when one wished it to. Love could not be controlled, nor could it be contained for long. It had a will of its own. It could make you happy, sad, or leave you wishing you were dead.

He just wished he had more time with her… time to open his heart to her… time to tell her all the things he should have told her before, but dawn was not many hours away. It would have to wait. As he approached his room, he kept thinking, love without trust is not love. Trust came at a great price, for it left one vulnerable. It was also a paradox, for one could not find true love without trust. By the time he reached his destination, he had decided that he loved her too much not to trust her. He wished he could tell her that now, but she would have a long ride ahead of her tomorrow and needed her sleep. It would have to wait until morning.

He entered his room and paused long enough to remove his clothes and lay them across the clothing chest. Guided only by instinct and a sliver of moon coming through the drapery, he felt his way along the side of the bed. He sat down and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. He told himself the past belonged in the past, and Elisabeth was his future. She would return to him.

He lay back and brought his arm up so his forearm rested upon his eyes, for he hoped that would help keep them closed and usher in sleep, yet his mind wanted to rethink all the moments with her that he held sacred. God above, he would give anything to have just one more night. He knew sleep would not come to him this night, and he was about to get up when he felt the faint touch of something sliding along his arm…

“I love you, David. Only you and no other. I know you are the man meant for me and that is why things did not work before. It was the wrong man at the wrong time, and I know in my heart that you were always there waiting for me.”

He felt that his heart had burst into a million little hearts that all pounded furiously within his chest. “My lass,” he said, drawing her against him as he kissed the top of her head.

Emotion choked her throat when she spoke. “My heart aches at the thought of leaving you. I am so angry I wish I could tell Bosworth and Albany just what I think of them.”

David rolled over and kissed her, his lips moving slowly across her face and throat. He nuzzled her ear and whispered love words, encouraging, coaxing, leading her to go on a wild journey of lovemaking with him, and she was so captivated and so in love with him at that very moment that she wondered where she would find the strength to ride away from him tomorrow.

“You are the man of my dreams, the man I was destined to love. It matters not that we were born centuries apart because of the wacky misalignment of some planet or a prank played by a playful muse. I have journeyed back through six centuries to set things right, for our lives were destined to be entwined. I could never leave you, David, for you are part of me. I love you… I love only you…”

Something happened to him, for it felt like a deep, underground river came gushing to the surface. It wasn't a gentle emotion, but a strong one that carried him along until he began to understand that this was real, and Elisabeth was real, and what they had together was all encompassing. It would endure.

“You were meant to be mine, and I knew it the moment I saw ye watching me by the burn that day, and that night in the cave… it was agonizing for me to keep my hands off ye. Leaving you at Soutra cut into my very soul, and the only thing I could do was to ride away from ye as quickly as I could, for I feared if I lingered, I would risk everything just to take ye wi' me and the world be damned.” He did not speak the words. He breathed them as he brushed his lips against her throat. “I cannot imagine life withoot ye, and if ye didna return my love, I canna think what I would become.”

She smiled, her hand stroking the strong arms that she so loved—arms that would slay dragons for her. “And here I thought you could not wait to be rid of me and ride off.”

“I will never be rid o' ye, for yer image is burned upon my heart.”

She could feel the love he felt for her piercing her heart in a new way, for he was never a man to open his heart like this. She kissed him softly, her hands sliding over the hard musculature of his chest and lower, over the round firmness of his buttocks. He was so perfectly made in every way, and the best part was… he was all hers. He kissed her slowly and thoroughly, with such attention to detail, as if he could take the rest of his life doing it, and in a way, she wished he would.

His kiss was in her hair, moving across her brow and then covering her mouth, and he deepened the kiss as his hand came up to cover her breast, touching the sensitive points with his thumb and causing a tiny groan to escape her mouth. She moaned and moved beneath him, and she opened her mouth to speak words of love to him, but the words became a low moan when he deepened the kiss and moved his body above her, moving, pressing until she parted her legs.

The warmth of his breath washed over her, as if making room for the flurry of goose bumps that spread over her as his lips began to make lazy patterns across her skin. Each sensation traveled further and deeper than the previous one, and her breathing became more labored and shallow. She could see by the diffuse brightness in his eyes that he was reacting to her as much as she was to him, and the thought of it was as pleasing as it was powerful.

She closed her eyes, sensing the faint aroma of soap on his skin before she was gently encircled in warm, comforting arms. The heat emanating from his body relaxed her, and she felt his gentle, caressing hands stroke her face and throat with inexhaustible patience, followed by a nuzzling kiss to the cheek.

It felt so perfect, so right that she knew she had been truly blessed. She had no thought of what was to come, only the thought that they were both naked, and with closed eyes she let her body lead the way. She opened herself to him, softly whimpered, and clung to him because she knew it could not last.

“I could spend all night just kissing you… everywhere. I want to make love to you and cannot maintain my sanity if I do not. I have thought of little else since the day you came into my life.”

He kissed her breasts, first one and then the other, and she felt the softly breathed wetness that hardened them. The muscles in her stomach grew taut in response. He turned and shifted the angle of his body until he was lying full upon her and she knew the feel of the hard length of him, hot as a brand against her flesh. It felt so right to be with him like this, and yet, she did not want to dwell upon that.

David could feel the soft pliancy of her breasts pressing against the bare flesh of his chest with each breath she took. His hands wandered at will over the loveliness of her exquisite body and the response from her—a soft rapture that washed over him because of the magnificent throb of her intense passion. His mouth came to hers repeatedly before he dropped lower to kiss her breasts and take the hard points into his mouth. He wanted to touch her again and again until she was wild with wanting him, but at the same time he feared he was too raw with wanting her, too hungry for her, and too desperate because he feared this might well be for the last time. He knew then that he loved her, that he would give all that he owned to keep her here with him.

She had come into his life as strong as the wind blowing across the Highlands from Njord, the Norse god of wind, fanning the heated coals of his desire, and when her hand closed around him, he burst into flames, calling out her name. But before he could roll on top of her, she pushed him away and began kissing her way downward from his chest, and when she reached the place she sought and took him into her mouth, it splintered him into a million prisms of light and he reached for her and held her close.

“My lass, my only love,” he said and he entered her. Flesh against flesh, warm and moist, fitting together in perfect union as if they had been missing, one from the other for all eternity, and now, after eons of searching, he had found that part of him that had been absent for so long. He ground his hips against hers and could hold back no longer. With a groan, he felt the surging release as his body tensed, and then he enjoyed the luxury of moving slow and relaxed inside her.

The sound of her passion went over him like a silent mist, a hypnotic harbinger of exquisite peace. There was nothing to match the joy of lying tangled in the long skeins of her silken hair, which seemed to wrap itself around him. They fell asleep for a time, trapped in that drowsy, sated feeling and the joy that comes with lying together after passion is spent. He thought this was the most perfect peace of all, and he wondered if he was dreaming and would soon awake to find she was already gone from him.

Later, when he opened his eyes, he breathed a sigh of relief, for he could feel the warm nearness of Elisabeth, and he stole a look at her, lying in a tangle of auburn hair. He kissed his way across the soft warmth of her neck and over the delicate wisps of hair curled behind her ear. Too strong… too overpowering… to the point that he was desperate to grasp, hold, and keep every possible memory he could make with her.

Hardened by desire, he felt as if he had drunk a magic potion, for already he wanted her, but before he could speak of it, she turned toward him and whispered, “Make love to me again,” and her words curled seductively around him, as soothing as the warm waters of the Isle of Milos, flowing into the sea.

Later, when she lay nestled against him, her breathing even and steady, he held her close, afraid to let her go, as if she would remain beside him for as long as he could hold her to him. But soon Hypnos, the god of sleep, came upon them, and Elisabeth fell into a deep sleep where she was greeted by Morpheus, the god of dreams, who filled her mind with strange shapes and vivid colors that swirled around her, bright as a cluster of stars.

Elisabeth awoke early, while it was still dark, and she found comfort in the soft sound of David's breathing while she waited for dawn. She slipped out of bed, not wanting to awake him, and for a moment she stood beside the bed, gazing down upon him as if by doing so she could etch the memory of his beautiful, strong body and peacefully slumbering face into a part of her mind. And there it would remain, safely sequestered from anything she might face at Bosworth Castle.

She crept silently to the window and gazed out upon the mist that was beginning to fade in the thinness of early morning light, fragile and soft hued as gossamer. An uneasy breeze sent a dust devil spinning across the keep and sent a rush of wind through the castle parapets, then faded away to lonely silence.

Elisabeth fought against the loneliness she could feel rising in her throat, heralded by the steady pounding of her heart, for already she felt separated from David when she wanted so much to be with him. She put her hand to the wavy pane of glass, thinking how thin and fragile a barrier it was between the comfort of a familiar room and the cold unfriendliness of the unknown. A feeling of acute loneliness gripped her, and she faced the fright that tried to steal her composure and pushed it back to the dark confines of her mind. She would not crumble and play the weakling, for she was made of sterner stuff, she reminded herself. She was mindful of her ancestors who fled Scotland after the decimation of the Highlands following the Battle of Culloden Moor and the unknown they faced when sailing to a new home in America.

How odd it all seemed now and how distant, for she felt as though she had always been here and smiled at how very angry she had been at Sir James for inadvertently bringing her back with her sister. “I forgive you,” she said and smiled, just before she frowned, for suddenly it occurred to her that it was beginning to seem that her coming back with Isobella had not been inadvertent after all.

I
see
Douglas's hand in all of this…

Confirmation came with a sudden whoosh of wind that swept down the chimney. It was reassuring to know that Sir James was never very far away, even if he did choose not to show himself.

Stay
with
me…

She turned away from the window and saw that David was awake and watching her. “Come back to bed. I want to hold you for a little while longer.” She slipped into bed beside him and laid her head on his shoulder, and they talked quietly until the castle came awake and they knew their time together had come to an end.

I had else been perfect,

Whole as the marble, founded as the rock,

As broad and general as the casing air,

But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in

To saucy doubts and fears.

—
Macbeth
, Act III, Scene 4 (1606)

William Shakespeare (1564–1616)

English poet and playwright

Elisabeth pulled her hands from her pockets, lifted her skirts to accept a boost into the saddle, and settled her cloak about her so that it covered her properly. Already she could feel the coolness of a breeze upon her hands and she wished she had thought to bring her gloves, for there was still an early morning chill in the air. She glanced at David and smiled brilliantly, wanting to assure him that she was at peace and already looking forward to the day she returned home to Aisling.

Then she pulled the reins to guide her horse around to fall in with the armored escort in front and behind her, as they rode slowly across the keep and under the portcullis gate and toward the abbey. As they passed, she nodded at Taran. He was standing in front of the hospital with all of his brothers and the clansmen who volunteered to help him. And then she saw dear, sweet Ailis standing on the stones that bordered the walk, and she recalled her vow to keep the hospital running, if it took the entire castle to do it.

They were soon past the hospital and on a narrow trail. She had been told they were riding to the western part of the Highlands, which she knew fairly well, although she had never been to Bosworth Castle. She did remember the beauty of the wild granite peaks, the wide span of moors, the glens and gurgling burns, and the poor Highlanders in small villages who gathered along the wayside to stare at the sight of newcomers. She could almost read the curious stares as if they were asking themselves, “What did the lass do to find hersel' riding wi' the armed soldiers of the Earl of Bosworth?”

As a reminder of what she left behind, she would forever keep locked in her heart the expression on David's face as they left, for it bespoke the control it took to keep himself from calling his men to arms to bring her back, and Boswell be damned. Reality began to set in when she turned around to look back and saw that the turrets of Aisling Castle were now out of sight, swallowed by the dense foliage of trees. None of the men riding with her spoke more than necessary, and while they were mannerly and hospitable, they were not prone to talk, so she entertained herself by taking note of the fact that there was beauty even in the rough terrain they traversed. She did steal a glimpse a time or two at the man riding beside her, who nodded his head and remained silent.

Soon, she saw no more red sandstone priories or flat, rolling countryside and thick woodlands, for the terrain became rougher and more inhospitable, as if doing its part to prepare her for the journey that lay ahead. They pushed on through landscape of such stark grandeur that it made her feel small and insignificant. The sun seemed less inclined to appear here, and when it did, it was more intense.

And Scotland would not be Scotland without rain, which seemed to come down harder and harsher than it did on the Black Isle. She wondered if that was only because everything about the land was hard and harsh. But the wind whistling down from the high corries reminded her of the Atlantic storms that would come out of nowhere to sweep over Màrrach Castle. That ushered in thoughts of Isobella, and she wondered how big her son was by now.

Occasionally they passed a monastery or abbey, and one in particular was exceptionally beautiful and small, but rather like a dollhouse made of roughly hewn stone, and a time or two, they passed a small village huddled below the protective brow of a gloomy castle. Then the terrain began to be more sparsely populated and gaunt, where swiftly flowing burns seemed to thunder down the steep slopes, only to slow to a calm trickle in the bare hills huddled around a lonely loch or a cluster of twisted pines or a desolate moor.

And it looked like it might rain, for the sky began to darken and thunder rumbled in the distance. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head just before the skies threw open the doors to heaven, and the rain came swiftly down, cold and in pounding sheets that seemed in no hurry to let up. With the arrival of the inclement weather, her spirits began to slip, and she had to force herself to think of wonderful memories from her past so that she would not despair or feel abandoned and forgotten.

They splashed across a burn and up a steep, slippery side, and she was grateful to her sure-footed hobbler, for he did not slide as did some of the heavier horses. Only once, when they made a steep descent, did the gelding lose his footing and slide, but he recovered quickly and Elisabeth made it a point not to look down to see just how far she could have fallen.

By the time the rain let up, the sun was starting to drop in the sky and the air was moist and warmer. One of the men rode up beside her and handed her an oatcake, which she accepted with a smile and a pleasant, “Thank you for your kindness, sir.”

“Ye are welcome, mistress,” he said, before he turned his horse to take up his place behind her.

They hadn't ridden much further when they came to another steep descent, and about halfway down, in a small clearing, a snake slithered from behind a rock and one of the horses reared, throwing the rider against a sharp boulder that pierced his armor and left his arm bleeding. By the time she reached him, blood was dripping from his hand.

“'Tis naught,” the man said.

“It will not be naught for long,” she said, “if you don't let me see how bad it is. You are losing too much blood. You could bleed to death before we reach our destination.” She turned to one of the other men. “In the pouch behind my saddle there is a small bundle, rolled up and secured with a cord. Bring it to me,” she said, in the authoritative manner of the physician that she was.

An expression of indecision settled upon his face, and he looked at the wounded man, who nodded and said, “Fetch it!”

The soldier went to her horse and returned a few minutes later with her medical supplies. “Can you remove his breastplate so I can see his entire arm?” she asked, and the man did as she asked.

There was a nasty gash from his elbow that ran half the distance to his shoulder and was bleeding profusely. “This wound must be closed. I can suture it, with your permission, of course. If you refuse, you will, without a doubt, bleed to death before we reach Bosworth Castle.”

He nodded and extended his arm, which she steadied on a smooth section of a large, jagged boulder. She ripped away part of her underskirt and told one of the men to wet it. When he returned, she wiped away the blood on his arm, careful not to get too close to the damaged skin.

She then poured a bit of powder from a small vial over the wound and offered an explanation as to what it was: “This was given to me by the friars at Soutra Aisle. It will help to keep down infection.” She then took a needle and threaded it and began to suture the wound. When she finished, she bound it with another part of her underskirt and used the ribbon from her chemise to hold it in place. “That will have to do until we reach Bosworth Castle.”

“I thank ye fer yer kindness, mistress,” the soldier said. Then he mounted and with a nod in her direction, he rode off. Soon, she was back on her horse and they continued on their way as if nothing had happened, riding until after darkness settled around them, and she wondered if they would ride all night. The thought no more than formed when she noticed a glimmer of lights through the trees and found herself hoping it was Bosworth Castle, for a chance to lie down somewhere would be heavenly, and she was so very, very tired, for already she had dozed off and might have fallen from her horse if one of the men had not pushed her back, which awakened her.

It had been a very long day, but she was happy to arrive, even after dark, rather than stopping to make camp. Some of the exhaustion began to leave her, or perhaps it was just overridden by pleasure of knowing their journey was about to end, for the horses began their descent into an open area. Soon they were on a trail that led to the castle, which she hoped would be their final destination, for she had no way of knowing if this was indeed Bosworth Castle or simply a stopping-off place, but as long as she was able to dismount for the night, she did not care.

A short while later, they arrived at a massive castle that would rival any she had seen. She inquired, “So, this is Bosworth…?”

The man whose arm she sutured and saved from bleeding to death replied, “Aye, 'tis Bosworth, mistress.”

“Can you tell me where we are… what part of Scotland this is?”

“Ye are on the western coast o' Scotland, mistress, near Loch Carron, not so verra far from the Isle of Skye,” he said, with a nod, which she interpreted as a “thank you” for saving him from bleeding to death.

She started to dismount, but before she could, he helped her from the saddle, which was a good thing, for her legs were a bit rubbery. When her feet touched the ground, she had to hold his arm and wait a moment before trying her legs. In the meantime, she stood there, looking at the imposing structure towering around them. In the predawn light it seemed to be frowning down upon her, not that she cared, for she wasn't planning on making her home there. She had her own home and a castle much lovelier than this one, and it came with a resident Prince Charming, and the thought warmed her.

One of the soldiers came to escort her. But the man whose life she saved put a detaining hand on the arm of the soldier and said, “I will take the lass inside.”

The soldier nodded and turned away, and the wounded soldier guided her into the castle. Upon entering, she was met by a well-dressed man, whom she assumed was the steward, and when she glanced at her escort, he nodded respectfully and turned away.

“If ye will come wi' me, mistress, I will show ye to the room we ha' prepared fer ye.”

It was a lovely corner room, well furnished, with a warming fire, and the most blessed thing of all was a tub that was being filled with warm water. She turned to watch two men carry in her baggage, and a maid went quickly to where it was placed and began to unpack Elisabeth's few belongings. She was about to inquire about her medical bag, but a servant walked in with it.

Elisabeth eyed the tub and wished everyone would stop hovering and leave so she could relax before the water cooled, but that might have to wait, for another servant entered with a large tray of food, which was placed on a nearby table. That was followed by another servant who carried a decanter of wine and a silver goblet. So far, so good, she thought.

The woman who saw to her baggage said, “The earl wishes ye a good night's sleep and plans to meet wi' ye on the morrow. Will there be anything else ye might be needing, mistress?”

Elisabeth smiled and said, “No, you have gone far beyond my expectations. Please convey my gratitude to the earl.”

Everything passed quickly after that, for after her bath, she ate a most welcome meal accompanied by wine, which made her terribly sleepy, and the bed was delightfully soft, and then she was out like the proverbial light, and the first part of her journey had come to an end.

The next morning, Elisabeth opened her eyes to the sound of a woman bringing her breakfast, followed by another woman who carried in clothes for her. After she ate, her hair was dressed and she put on one of several new dresses that were delivered to her as a gift of gratitude, and she was thankful she brought both of her aprons. She thought the dresses far too nice for her doctor routine, but she did not want to offend the earl by wearing one of her working dresses, so she chose a gown that was actually quite lovely, of green silk trimmed with cream lace.

She no more than finished dressing when she was escorted to meet the Earl of Bosworth, a squat, awkward figure of a man with a face as ugly as a plowed field, but his eyes were not the gentle kind, for they seemed to regard her with suspicion, which she supposed was normal, considering who his son-in-law was. She couldn't help wondering if he felt the least bit guilty.

“I welcome ye to Bosworth Castle, Mistress Douglas, and I thank ye for coming on such short notice. My daughter, Judith, is gravely ill and we ha' no idea what it is that ails her. I am beholden to ye for gracing us wi' yer company and pleased that ye were able to come so quickly.”

“I pray that I will be able to help your daughter, your lordship. And now, I suppose I should see to Judith so I might give you a swift diagnosis as to what ails her.”

Bosworth nodded, and then said, “I have asked her husband, Ronan, to come and escort you to Judith's room. He is looking forward to seeing ye again.”

“It will be a pleasure to see him again as well, since we are related by marriage and both claim our proper places as aunt and uncle of the child born to Isobella and Alysandir.”

“Aye, I understand that ye were there for the birthing of the laddie.”

She smiled. “That I was, and I have never felt so blessed as when he tried out his new set of lungs.”

Bosworth chuckled and then looked toward the door and nodded for the guard to open it, and Ronan stepped into the room.

Elisabeth's heart skipped a beat and time spun backward. Two years had done little to change him, although he did look older and the bloom of youth was no longer upon his cheek. The memory of their love, the agony of being separated, the suffering of thwarted desire. It all came rushing back—only this time were nothing more than memories. She had loved him once and deeply, and he loved her, but they weren't the same people they were back then.

Ronan… once so dear to her. She did not wish him to suffer. She ached at the sadness in his eyes, and she knew he still loved her. She looked down for a moment to gain her composure, as if she could break the chain of memories that connected them. She thought of the days after he was gone, of the wrenching pain and how horribly she had suffered over his absence, the feeling that her life was over.