“I sincerely hope not,” Alex said in an undertone that made Simon explode with laughter.
His hands were on her hips already on the stairs. Inside their room, he kissed her; kissed her until she was soft and malleable in his arms, shaping herself to him in whatever way he wished it. He struggled with her bodice, her stays, she tore at his shirt, his breeches. He un-gartered her stockings, kneeling to pull them off her, and backed her against the wall.
“Wait,” she said, “I…”
His mouth covered hers. This was no time for talk. He sat down on the stool and pulled her towards him. She straddled him, he widened his legs and she slid down into his lap, onto his cock. He spread his thighs wider and all of him was inside her. Her inhalations came in short, quick gasps and she rose on her toes, sank back down, slowly, excruciatingly slowly. She was warm, she was moist, she smelled of rosemary and lavender, and when he bit her, none too gently, she called out his name.
“Matthew,” she groaned, rising a few inches from his lap before sinking back down again. “My Matthew!” He placed his mouth against the hollow of her throat, kissing the point where her pulse leapt like an imprisoned rabbit. Her pulse; fast and strong it surged through him, blending with his own beat, a perfect syncopation. He struggled to his feet, with her still there, on him, and she wound her arms round his neck.
And then they were in bed, naked skin against naked skin, legs twisted together and it was nigh on insupportable, this burning sensation that flowed through his balls and into his cock. His hands knotted themselves in her hair, he kissed her, he bit her, she bit him back. He rose above her, she shifted from side to side, and he buried himself in her, he pushed and thrust, and still she wasn’t close enough, not as close as he wanted her. Ah! Aye, there, her legs round his hips, her crotch grinding against his, and sweetest Lord, Alex, his Alex, his … Aaaah!
Like a gutted fish he lay on top of her, and it was only with a huge effort he succeeded in rolling off to lie gasping on his back. Beside him she stretched and curled up against him. Matthew smiled at her, raising his hand to caress her dark head.
“Was it like it’s supposed to be?”
She nodded, pressing herself even closer to him.
“I’m glad,” he breathed.
“So am I,” she whispered back.
The dance was a roaring success. Edged with desperation and fear, fuelled by far too much to drink, it became a wild get together, with the fiddlers leading off on one dance after the other to the loud cheers of the people. Cakes disappeared the moment they were set down, and in one secluded corner Alex found Mark and Ian with their noses stuck far too deep into the cider.
Matthew was everywhere; on the dance floor, by the fiddlers, talking to his neighbours, carrying a fretting Daniel to allow Alex to sit and eat something in peace. Toasts were drunk, and Rachel was hoisted to stand on a table receiving a raucous round of applause on account of it being her birthday.
“If we’re not careful she’s going to think this is her birthday party,” Alex said to Simon.
“She already does,” Simon laughed. “Have you seen Joan?”
Alex pointed in the direction of where the women were congregating.
“Over there, with Lucy.”
Simon sighed. “She knows you’re right, that you must think first and foremost of your family. But she’s equally convinced that it’s our Christian duty to help Sandy Peden and the like.”
“Fine; let her do it then – I won’t stop her.”
Tonight she wasn’t going to think about any of this; not of the roaming soldiers nor of Sandy Peden, shivering all alone in a damp, cold cave. Instead she threw herself into the party, laughing and dancing. At one point she bumped into Matthew on the dance floor, was lifted in a high arc, kissed and released, and off he went to find a new partner. A few moments later he came to join her on one of the makeshift benches, handing her a mug of cider.
“I’m going up the hill later,” she said.
He smiled indulgently. “Send him my regards, aye?” He looked around the teeming space. “Take Ian with you, I don’t want you to walk up there alone.”
“Why are we doing this?” Ian hurried after Alex, the lantern swinging this way and that in his hand.
“I always do this on New Year’s Eve,” Alex said. “In honour of my father.” Not once since she’d been thrown through time had she missed her annual New Year’s date with her father, some moments when she attempted to communicate to Magnus just how much she missed him.
“Your father? Is he dead then?”
“I’m not sure,” Alex sighed, aware that this only piqued Ian’s curiosity further. “He disappeared from me during a thunderstorm.” Not an entire untruth, even if it was her that had disappeared from Magnus, not the other way around.
“Oh,” Ian said. “How?”
“I don’t know. I was knocked unconscious by a bolt of lightning, and when I woke… well, I was here but he wasn’t.”
“Did it hurt?” He was walking close enough that their arms brushed against each other.
“Oh, yes,” Alex said. “Not something I ever want to experience again, let me tell you.” For a variety of reasons, the principal one being that she didn’t want to experience yet another fall through time.
He was still there. Alex relaxed. As she stood silent and toasted Magnus she could feel his presence, see him lean towards her through the ages to kiss her on the cheek. Not dead, not dead, rang in her head, making her want to jump up and down with joy.
Chapter 25
Matthew took a step back into the shadows and watched Mrs Brown hurry off in the direction of the kirk. Once, even twice could be a coincidence, but this was the third time he saw her in the vicinity of the makeshift garrison buildings.
Today he’d even seen her enter, shawl pulled high over her head in a weak attempt at disguise. A go-between; less conspicuous than her red-haired husband, and a woman to boot. He didn’t know for certain, he admonished himself, there might be a number of reasons for Mrs Brown visiting with the soldiers – not that he could think of any except two. Either she was informing or she was whoring, and for all that the soldiers might be desperate, Mrs Brown was no spring chicken. But wait, wasn’t there a son, a lad kept under lock and key? He frowned. As he recalled the lad had been arrested last August, and if so he was either dead or bonded out by now. Strange; he couldn’t recall Brown speaking of his son, at least not lately. He shrugged; mayhap it was too painful.
Any further musings on this subject were interrupted by Peter clapping him on the shoulder. As he needed a new axe head, Matthew fell into step with him, making for the smithy.
He was returning to the inn and his stabled horse when a voice rang out across the market square, calling his name. Matthew sighed in recognition. That accursed captain… He turned, wrapping the cloak tighter round him. Captain Howard and the young lieutenant were hastening across the cobbles towards him, their wide cloaks floating about them.
“Foul weather,” the captain grumbled. “Rain, rain, rain and this awful wind. Why in God’s name anyone would ever choose to live here is beyond me.”
“Well then I suggest you leave,” Matthew said. “We won’t bother you, and you’ll no longer bother us.” He kept his eyes on the lieutenant who was strolling round him.
“What brings you to Cumnock?” the captain asked, leaning menacingly towards him.
“Business,” Matthew said. “My business.”
The lieutenant shoved him hard, making him land on his knees.
“You have no business that is only yours,” the captain said, watching as Matthew got back onto his feet. “So why are you in Cumnock?”
“I already told you; business.” Matthew’s hands had clenched into fists, but he kept his voice under control, fighting back the clouds of rage that had him wanting to wheel and sink his dirk into that whelp of a lieutenant.
Captain Howard took a step back. “Take him into custody,” he said to the lieutenant. “He’s being obstructive.”
Matthew dug his heels in. “I’m not going anywhere with you, you have no reason to detain me.”
A small crowd of people were drifting in their general direction, and a low muttered agreement was heard, making the captain cast a nervous look over his shoulder.
“This is a rebel,” he said, “known to have repeatedly helped outlawed men.” There was a murmur of approval from the assembled people, making the captain glower at Matthew.
“You’ve searched my home regularly, and you’ve never found an outlaw there, have you?” Matthew spoke calmly, keeping his eyes on the captain while his ears strained to hear what the lieutenant was up to. Another push, this time not enough to send him to the ground, but still. Don’t allow them to provoke you, he thought, that is what they want.
“We know you’ve hidden that accursed Peden there!” the captain said.
“You do? Where? Seeing as I haven’t seen him myself.”
“I have witnesses assuring me that Peden has been taken into your home.”
Matthew laughed out loud. “If you had witnesses and proof to corroborate their saying then we wouldn’t be here. Instead you stand here and speak untruths, accusing me of things you can’t prove. And you …” He swivelled so abruptly the lieutenant scrabbled in his haste to back away. “… do you always sneak around the back of men instead of facing them upfront? Is that how the English are taught to fight?” A snicker flew through the crowd making the lieutenant flush.
Captain Howard stepped up close. “You’re coming with us for questioning, Mr Graham. Now, you may come quietly, or you may come screaming, but rest assured you will definitely be coming with us.”
“Why must you be so difficult?” Oliver sighed, handing Matthew a handkerchief with which to dab at his split lip. “If you’d only come away quietly this wouldn’t have happened.”
“I did come away quietly, and yet this did happen. They set upon me the moment they were out of sight from the crowd.” Matthew said, wincing as he sat down.
“They’re frightened of you,” Oliver said.
“Of me? I’ve never done them any harm.”
“Of all of you; it’s a nerve racking experience to live amongst so much silent hatred.”
“We’re not stopping you from leaving,” Matthew said.
Oliver poured them some wine and sat down to study his prisoner. Bruised and battered, his cloak dirty and torn, Matthew emanated a silent authority that made Oliver look at him with grudging respect. Matthew Graham hadn’t changed that much from the lad he once had been, no doubt he still possessed the level head and the capacity to lead which early on had singled him out for tasks requiring not only courage but a developed sense of right and wrong.
“Why am I here?” Matthew said.
“You know why; Alexander Peden. The price on his head has been raised, and it’s only a matter of time before we find him. We almost did, a few weeks back, but somehow he evaded the dogs. I suppose he went into the river.”
“I have no idea, but at least he hasn’t floated up in my millpond.”
“No, we would probably have heard had he been dead,” Oliver agreed.
“Why are you here?” Matthew asked.
Oliver drained his wine and shrugged. “Alexander Peden.”
Matthew snorted. “Sandy may be a lot of things, but surely he can’t be considered such an enemy of the state as to merit your specific presence. ”
“I’m not here out of choice!”
Matthew looked him up and down. “Aye you are; you’ve not survived this long in the army without being adept at manipulation.”
Oliver laughed. “I fear you think too much of me, Matthew.” If it hadn’t been for that accursed streak of bad luck he wouldn’t have been here at all, but forced into earning his living by mounting debt, he’d been handed the task of cleansing the north of these loud, opinionated preachers that spoke of sedition the moment they opened their mouths. It tallied well with his private concerns, but he had no reason to share this information with Matthew.
“It’s going to get much, much worse,” Oliver said. “The present parliament will stop at nothing in their effort to stamp out the Covenanter movement.”
“It can’t be stamped out, and you know that as well as I do; some things once woken can’t be put out.”
Oliver nodded dourly. “
Build a man a fire and he will be warm for one day
…”
“S
et a man on fire and he will be warm for the rest of his life.
” Matthew filled in. He stood. “I have to go. If I may, of course.” This said with a steely edge. Oliver regarded him for some moments before nodding. There was nothing to be gained by locking Matthew up for a night or two.
“How do you square what you’re doing with your conscience?” Matthew asked Oliver as he followed him towards the gate.
“My conscience? I’ve told you, haven’t I? I’ll warn you as I can and fervently hope I never catch Peden, or any of the other preachers.”
“You will,” Matthew said. “Men like Captain Howard will make sure you do.”
“I know.” And once he did, Oliver would stand silent and watch.
Oliver walked back to his own quarters deep in thought, a coil of self-disgust winding itself tighter and tighter round his innards. What was he lending himself to? It had seemed so easy when Luke had drawn up the overall details; have Matthew arrested for sedition, fine him from home and hearth and all his debts would be forgiven. According to Luke, Matthew was heavily involved with the outlawed preachers anyway, so all Oliver had to do was make sure the levied fine was huge and that he was not condemned to death.
“Because if he dies his son gets Hillview,” Luke had explained, “and that’s not at all what I want.” Oliver sighed; a pity about the attractive wife and the children, but what was he to do? It was the Graham family or his own home and son.
“You let him go?” Captain Howard was so surprised he forgot the customary address to a senior officer.
“I did,” Oliver replied. “There was nothing to hold him for, was there?”
“But the woman! She said she’d seen Peden with Graham.”
“And that would hold at a trial?” Oliver sank his eyes into the younger man, noting how Howard tried to avoid looking at the damaged side of his face. “All you achieved is to put him even more on his guard. I’ll have to work that much harder to make him lower it.” He pursed his mouth. “I’ll warn him a couple of times, and then… well then I simply won’t.” He smiled complacently at the younger man. “All we need is for him to attend a conventicle and arrest him there – preferably with Peden.” Or mayhap set a more subtle trap, he frowned, reminding himself that Matthew Graham was no fool. Yes, a baited trap… his mind whirred into activity.