Highland Moonlight (38 page)

ache continued to plague him. The fall that evening had left him feeling sore

in places he tried hard not to notice.

“You have more than a few bruises, my lord,” she observed, her

fingers lightly touching a blue mark along the top of his shoulder.

“‘Twas from flying bits of wood. I have bruises in places rubbing will do

no good.”

She chuckled. “I did not think harm could be caused by the service in

the aumry.”

“Aye, I know.” Alexander rolled over to look up at her. The sense of

betrayal he had felt earlier had faded away. She had chosen the weapons to

try to spare them both. That had become clear to him the moment Duncan

had made the announcement. Her tender heart made her too vulnerable to

hurt. He could no more protect her from that, than she could protect herself.

“‘Tis the nature of man to destroy himself, Mary. You can not prevent it.”

“Aye, I know,” she said with a sigh.

The wistful look in her pale blue eyes drew him to a seated position to

brush back the silvery blond strands from her shoulder. Light from the fire

brought sparks of life to the wavy tresses. The white shift she wore

skimmed her body, outlining the generous thrust of her breasts and the

swollen distention of her belly. Every time he looked at her he felt moved by

both tenderness and passion. Never had a woman made him feel so

much.

“‘Twould seem ‘tis the nature of man to show trust to their women only

within their bedchamber,” she said softly.

He hesitated. “‘Tis because ‘tis hard for me to believe you have truly

forgiven me, Mary.”

She fell silent for a moment. “At first I did not believe I could.” Her throat

worked as she swallowed.

The pain she experienced each time they spoke of it stilled the words

he wanted to say. If only he could explain to her—He slipped an arm about

her to draw her close and hold her. He stroked the shining hair at the back

of her head, his lips brushing her temple. The babe moved between them

with surprising strength. She drew back allowing him to rest a hand on her

abdomen, to feel a tiny limb press outward toward his touch. The emotions

rising within him in that moment were a jumble of tenderness and wonder.

If this fragile life they had made together was the only reason she served

him, it was good as any. He could learn to live with that. Or could he?

Mary leaned forward to brush his lips with her own. Her mouth moist

and parted, she found the bruise she had discovered earlier. With delicate

pressure to his chest, she urged him to lie back. She found another mark

on his ribs and treated it to the same caress. Her tongue sought his button

flat nipples, sending a lancing heat down to his groin leaving him hard and

aching.

Thus far, he had always been the aggressor in their lovemaking. The

fact that she was taking the initiative excited him beyond measure. The

silken length of her hair lay against his skin, pale and soft, against the

darker matt on his chest. Her tongue followed a straight path down the

center of his belly to his navel, delving within, and then circling it.

She dipped lower, and her mouth, wet and warm, closed around him,

and a raw wild pleasure lanced through him. The act of drawing breath

became difficult. A groan of arousal worked its way up from his very depths.

He could not bear such sensual torture for long and also retain control. His

hands reached for her, guiding her upward so his mouth could claim hers.

The frantic, beat of his heart settled over hers as he turned, shifting her

beneath him. Unable to wait, he thrust deep then drew back to looked down

into her face. “A man could die from such pleasures,” he complained

through breathless tones.

“I will remember that,” she threatened raising her hips in challenge,

spurring him on.

A blessed time later, their passion spent, they held each other as

sleep hovered.

“How now does your injury feel, Alexander?” she asked, her hand

caressing one cheek of his buttocks.

He laughed. “‘Tis cured, lass. ‘Tis cured.”

Alexander’s gaze followed David, Duncan, and Gavin as they rode

across the glen from the east. From where he stood atop the battlements,

he could see at least two red deer hung across the backs of the horses. His

eyes swept the verdant landscape. After a long tedious winter, spring had

blossomed with a vengeance. The May Day feast was almost upon them.

He turned, intent on making his way down to the solar where he had

seen Mary and Anne sewing earlier. As he descended the stairs the

women’s laughter, high and sweet, reached him, and he smiled. Mary

laughed more oft since her sister’s arrival, and her smiles came more

easily. After nearly three month’s beneath his roof, Anne seemed to have

lost some of her enmity for him as well. They had been so graced with good

fortune, he felt almost wary that some pestilence might befall them to end it.

His gaze sought Mary as soon as he entered the solar. She sat in a

high backed wooden chair, her feet propped on a small stool. She had

blossomed as the snows had begun to melt and small flowers had made

their appearance across the hills. Another two weeks would see her

delivered of their child.

Anne rose from her seat, opposite Mary, and poured a tankard of ale

and brought it to him.

He murmured his thanks with a smile. “Tis good to hear such

laughter, lasses. Will you share the jest?”

“‘Twas Tobias,” Mary explained, then began to smile. “He has made

the bairn a wee gift. She offered him the small object wrapped in bit of cloth.

Alexander folded back the fabric then chuckled. Within his palm rested a

small wooden oblong shaped disk. A platter in miniature.

“He said ‘twas for the bairn to practice with, so he might become more

able than his father or uncle.”

“Twill be used for him to teethe upon most likely,” he commented.

“Or her,” Anne pressed.

“‘Twould please me to have a daughter with her mother’s eyes and

hair,” he said.

Mary looked up at him in surprise. “I thought you wished a son,

Alexander.”

“Nay, lass. I wish a healthy bairn, be it a lad or a lass does not matter.

If you are not pleased with what you are given, mayhap we may try again for

another.” He smiled at the blush that tinted her cheeks.

“Mayhap Mary will have something more to say on the matter after

birthing this one,” Anne suggested.

He frowned. That was something that had not occurred to him.

Curbing his needs, for a short time before the birth, had thus far, not been

too difficult. Being denied her sweet body for a lengthy a time, after the birth,

brought him real concern.

His gaze went to Mary to find her fighting a smile. His expression must

have been easily read for the two women laughed aloud.

The fact that she jested about the subject brought a smile to his lips.

Aye, they had traveled a long journey together and had found some

contentment with one another.

He took his leave of the women a few moments later and made his

way down to the stables. Waving to Corey, busy trimming a horse’s hooves,

he entered the stables. He paused at the stall and lifted the slat that held

the door closed.

“Greetings, Alexander,” Tira murmured softly. Her musky scent teased

his nostrils as she came to stand close beside him.

He found himself stepping away a pace. “What are you about, lass?”

he asked.

“‘Tis been some months, since we last spoke. ‘Twas my hope you

had made some decision about Cassidy.”

He relaxed somewhat, though a frown worked its way across his brow.

“‘Twas my hope you would change your mind about sending the lad away,

Tira.”

“Does he not deserve to be rewarded for his father’s service to you.

And my own?” she asked, her green eyes focused on his face intently.

He nodded, the movement abrupt. “The Mayday feast is, but a week

hence. I will see to it then.” He began to turn away only to feel her hand

grasp his arm.

“Lady Mary has grown large with child. ‘Tis difficult for a lass so well

bairned to see to her husband’s needs.” Tira grasped his hands and

stepping forward she guided his arms about her waist. Pressing her full

breasts against him, she slid her arms about his neck. “‘Twould not be a

hardship for me to serve you once again, Alexander. Remember how good

‘twas before.” Her lips found his throat.

Surprise held Alexander still beneath the woman’s blatant invitation.

Her hand snaked downward to his groin. A feeling akin to revulsion rushed

over him, and he grasped her wrist. She clung to him like a vine, cloying and

obstinate. With greater force, he grasped her upper arms and set her away

for him. “Nay, Tira.” His voice was sharp. “I do not need, nor want your

attentions. I do not want any woman, but Mary.”

Tira staggered back a few paces as though he had struck her. At first,

her features started to crumble, then her anger flared and her lips twisted in

a spiteful grimace. “She will not ever love you, as I have. May God strike her

dead before she does.” She shoved past him to the open doorway of the

stables.

Her steps faltered, and Alexander looked up to see Gavin, Duncan,

and David behind her in the doorway. And still worse, behind them stood

Gabriel, his features slack with shock. With a sound somewhere between a

shriek and a sob, she thrust between the men and ran away from them all.

Silence followed her departure, broken by the hollow rasp of Corey still

working on the horse’s hooves outside. Alexander’s gaze moved past his

brother’s and Gavin to the large man behind them. “Gabriel—” he began

only to cut himself off as the man raised a hand.

“‘Twould be a service to us all, and to her, if you would send her back

to her own kin, Alexander.” He turned abruptly and walked away.

Alexander slammed the heel of hand against the stall door, rattling it

on its hinges and startling the horse within.

“He is right, Alexander,” Duncan said, his tone grave. She will not

forget or forgive you for spurning her. Nor us for hearing and seeing you do

so.”

****

as she watched the dancers weave in and out around the maypole. The

graceful, light bands of color they held fluttered up and down with their

movements. Sunlight reflected off the ribbons and dappled the women’s

faces and clothing with color. Their skirts bounced about their ankles, and

the green sashes about their waists swung merrily with their steps.

When they could weave the pole no farther, they turned and began to

unwind their handiwork, their movements practiced and sure. As the long

streamers straightened completely from the pole, the music ended and the

dancers kneeled. The crowd of onlookers clapped and cheered their

appreciation, as did Mary and Duncan.

Mary wiggled on her seat to lean back a little as a tiny foot seemed to

wedge itself beneath her ribs and push downward. She absently rubbed the

spot until the babe eased its painful stretch and curled into a more

comfortable position.

“You are not growing tired, are you, lass?” Duncan asked from beside

her.

She grimaced. “Nay, I have not done enough to grow tired. I have

barely had my feet on the ground this week past.”

“I have warned Alexander of the dangers of encouraging a lazy wife but

he will not heed them,” he said, his features stern.

She smiled at Duncan’s teasing and wriggled forward to the edge of

the wooden bench. “I should like to walk about and enjoy the festivities for a

wee bit, Duncan.”

He chuckled and offered her a hand to rise.

They wandered down a meandering path through the village and

paused beside a field where a group of young men played a game. The

large stone they threw landed dangerously close to one of them, but he

seemed not to notice. Mary shook her head at the folly of manhood. Even in

play, they courted danger. Worry over Alexander’s continued absence

plagued her. He had ridden out with twenty of the men soon after the

morning meal. There were riders on their way to the castle.

Recognizing one of the men in the game, Mary said, “‘Tis good that

James and Robert are back among us. It has been a lonely winter for their

mother without them.”

“Aye. They could not make the journey back until the snows ended.”

“Where did they journey that it took so long a time to return?” she

asked, curious. They began to stroll once again.

“Mayhap you should ask Alexander, Mary. ‘Tis he who sent them.”

His unwillingness to answer her question surprised her. “The day

after they arrived home, they spent a long while with Alexander. Mayhap they