The Captive Heart (29 page)

“You really do love him,” Maggie Ferguson said. “I can see it in all you do. You are so very good with Fiona, Alix. And your servants already respect you. I could not have wished for a happier ending to Colm’s woes than this.”

“They say she was beautiful,” Alix said. “I am pretty, but I am certainly not beautiful. Yet he loves me. I know he does, for I see it in his eyes. Why could he not love her if she was so beautiful?”

“She was beautiful,” Maggie said. “Breathtakingly beautiful, yet it was all on the outside. But when he chose her he did not know it. None of us did. She was a beautiful virgin from a good family, there was no scandal about her, and she brought him a respectable dower. It was the kind of arrangement made among families every day. My Robbie tells me you were brought up in the court of the old English queen. You have certainly been witness to many matches, and did any of them involve love?”

“Nay,” Alix admitted. “They involved wealth, prestige, power, land. Now and again a matched couple would know and like each other. The queen’s ladies would sigh and remark on how fortunate they were, but most matches brought strangers together. My parents knew each other when the Count of Anjou ordered their marriage. They grew to love each other, and I always wanted what they had.”

“And have you gained it with Colm?” Maggie Ferguson asked.

“I think I have gained far more,” Alix replied softly.

“You want children? Robena really did not,” Maggie told Alix.

“Oh, yes! I very much want children,” Alix replied. She did not tell her companion that she had a means of preventing conception that she had gained from her father. And she had faithfully used it once she had become the laird’s mistress. But she had taken her supply of wild carrot seeds and stored them away this very day. Tomorrow she would be the laird’s wife, and the sooner she could give him a son the better.

The evening ended, and they went to their chambers. Malcolm Scott did not come to Alix’s bed that night, and she was glad. In a way it put an end to the relationship that they had had, but tomorrow night when she lay in his arms it would be as his wife and not as his mistress. They would begin anew. When morning came, Fenella oversaw her bath. The steam from the perfumed water filled the air of her bedchamber.

“The laird is having his bath in the kitchens,” Fenella told her. “He’ll not linger long, for the kitchen maids cannot help themselves and are peeping at him from the larder.” She chuckled wickedly. “The cook cannot keep order, I fear.”

Alix laughed. “Let them look their fill, if they wish. The laird is mine!” She stepped from her own tub and wrapped herself in a large piece of toweling as she sat down by the fire to dry her hair. “I set Jeannie to look over Fiona while I dressed.” She began brushing her hair, leaning forward so that the heat touched it. Finally she began to dress herself, Fenella helping her first into her chemise and then into the royal-blue gown. The high waist on the garment flattered her breasts, pushing them up so that they appeared even rounder. She fitted a gold and silver gilt leather girdle about her torso. It had belonged to her mother. To it she attached her mother’s jeweled rosary. The very long strand of pearls that she possessed was a trifle shorter, for Alix had taken some of the pearls to make a little rope of pearls for Fiona. She smiled, looking at the miniature strand and thinking how pleased the child would be, then slipped the pearls and her two gold chains over her head. They settled upon her chest and the beautiful blue brocade beneath it.

Fenella now brushed Alix’s long hair out. She had taken it upon herself as the keep’s housekeeper to help prepare the bride. She fitted a beautiful gold caul dotted with tiny freshwater pearls on Alix’s head, carefully stuffing the long hair into the delicate netting. “I took the liberty of having the cobbler in the village make these for you,” she said, fitting a pair of sollerets on Alix’s feet.

“Oh, Fenella, thank you!” Alix exclaimed. “I had to leave my sollerets at Wulfborn, for I felt they would be too heavy to carry when I fled there.”

“A lady shouldn’t have to wear boots beneath her brocade gown,” Fenella said. Then she said, “Well, my lady, I believe you are ready to go into the hall.”

Alix stood up, and her gown settled itself, molding her torso and her hips, the pale fur on her hem brushing the floor. Together the two women descended the stairs. At the entrance to the great hall the Laird of Dunglais awaited his bride with his daughter. His garb was simple. He wore a length of his red Scott plaid wrapped about his loins, and a white shirt. Alix thought he looked very handsome as she slipped the small strand of pearls from her pocket and put them over Fiona’s head. The child’s mouth opened with surprise as she gazed at the pearls now gleaming against the deep rose velvet of her gown.

“They are now yours,” Alix said softly. “Take good care of them, Fiona.”

“Oh, thank you, Alix!”

“Mama,”
Alix gently corrected her. “From this day on I am your mother.” And she felt the laird squeeze her hand. Looking up at him, she smiled.

Then together the trio entered the hall, walking to the high board where Father Donald was waiting for them with the marriage contract to be signed.

“Good morrow, my children,” he greeted them. The priest then handed the laird an inked quill. “You will sign there, my lord,” he told Malcolm Scott. “There are two documents. One for you and one for the church.”

The Laird of Dunglais took the quill and scrawled his name twice where the priest had indicated. Then he handed the quill back to him.

Father Donald inked the quill again and handed it to Alix, pointing to where she was to sign.

She took the quill up and added her name,
Alix Margot Givet
, in an elegant hand to both copies of the marriage contract.

Next to sign were the Fergusons as witnesses to the deed. Robert Ferguson, like his nephew, scrawled his name. His wife made her mark where the priest had written her name and handed him back the quill.

Father Donald carefully sanded the signatures on both copies and then rolled each one neatly up, closing it with sealing wax into which the laird pressed his seal ring. He then handed the laird his copy and tucked his own into the pocket of his long brown robe. “And now we will adjourn to the chapel, where I will bless this union,” Father Donald said with a broad smile.

Malcolm Scott handed the rolled document to his steward, Iver, who would put it away with the other papers that were of importance to Dunglais.

The keep’s chapel was located just off of the great hall. It was a small room with a single arched glass window on one side. Within a leaded circle there was a cross of red and blue glass at the center of the window, indicating to any outside that the chamber within was a holy one. The altar was oak. It was set with a linen cloth. There were two fine polished brass candlesticks upon it and a simple silver crucifix set in a base of black wood. Together Malcolm and Alix knelt on the step below the altar while the priest blessed their union. Then they stepped back to join the Fergusons and Fiona as Father Donald said a brief Mass so they might take communion, which was considered to be good fortune when beginning a new marriage.

And when the Mass was over they returned to the great hall, where they broke their fast. There were eggs that had been poached and were now served with a cream sauce made from white wine and dusted with nutmeg. There was oat stirabout with bits of dried apple and pear in it. It was served with honey and heavy yellow cream. There was ham and bacon, fresh-baked cottage loaves, sweet butter, hard yellow cheese, and plum jam. There were both watered red wine and sweet cider to drink.

But when the meal was over the Fergusons made ready to depart. It was not even midmorning yet, but the weather was fair this day. If they left now they would be back at Drumcairn by the early night-fall. Their stone house was not fortified, and while winter raids were unusual they did not like leaving their young daughters to their servants for more than a night or two. And there was the weather that could turn at any moment at this time of the year. Alix was sorry to see them go, for she had enjoyed Maggie’s company, but she understood.

“The next time I see you, and I will come in the spring,” Maggie Ferguson said, “I hope your belly is rounding with new life.”

“I will do my best,” Alix told her.

“And so will I, dear aunt,” the laird said, having overheard them.

They all laughed, and then the Scotts of Dunglais watched as the Fergusons of Drumcairn made their way from the keep’s small courtyard and out onto the frosty moor.

As they returned to the great hall Alix said, “I’ll go and put my gown away now. I can hardly take up my duties dressed in such finery.”

“An excellent idea,” he agreed. “I will come with you,
Wife
.”

The very word sent a thrill of delight through Alix. She was married! And she was married to a man she loved. It was the kind of marriage she had always dreamed about. The kind of marriage she had not had with Hayle Watteson, nor would she have had this kind of marriage with his father. She shuddered slightly thinking of it.

Her bedchamber was empty. “Where is Jeannie?” she said aloud.

“I’ll help you,” the laird purred in her ear, as coming up behind her, he slipped an arm about her. A hand cupped her breast, squeezing gently as he kissed her neck.

“It’s the nicest gown I’ve ever had,” Alix said softly. “I used the best fabric in the storeroom, my lord. We have no other.”

“Then we must take particular care with your gown,” he murmured, reaching for the lacing and undoing it carefully. When he had the gown unfastened, he slid it off of her, lifting her from it, setting her down, and then carefully laying the gown upon a small chair. Then he drew her chemise off and set it aside. Alix was quite naked but for her stockings, shoes, and jewelry.

He stepped back and smiled a slow, wicked smile. “I quite like you like this,” he told her. Her round breasts with their pert nipples, her graceful torso, her fair skin gleaming in the firelight. There was something deliciously sensuous about a naked woman in her stockings and shoes. He lifted her pearls and her gold chains from around her neck and laid them down on the bedside table.

“My lord, we have our daily duties to perform,” she said.

“This is our wedding day, madame. They will manage quite well in the hall without us,” he told her.

“But Fiona’s lessons will be neglected,” Alix protested faintly.

“It is a holiday,” he said. “Fiona is being well cared for, madame. I think it is your husband who needs caring for right now. Will you be negligent in your duties to him?” He stood behind her, his hands now cradling her two naked breasts. “I am afire with my lust for you, lambkin.” His lips pressed a hot kiss on her bare shoulder. His hands gently fondled the twin orbs in his possession. Then, retaining possession of one breast, he let his other hand wander freely over her body.

Alix sighed as he touched her belly and then moved down to stroke her smooth mons, which he very much enjoyed, for it allowed him a freer access to her most intimate parts. He had recently taught her the pleasures of sucking upon such parts. She had been a most eager and capable student. He remembered how Robena had protested such actions on his part, complaining it was unnatural and wrong. Yet when he had first watched her with his brother, she had been on her knees before him quite obviously enjoying herself.

Alix broke into his thoughts, turning about in his arms and unfastening his plaid. It fell to the ground as she unlaced his shirt and drew it off over his dark head. Then she fell to her knees before him and began to caress his length with gentle fingers. His hand went to her tawny head, kneading the scalp as he encouraged her further. Alix began to slowly lick him up and down. And after a time she pushed his foreskin back and the pointed tip of her little tongue encircled the flesh beneath the rim of the head of his cock.

The laird drew a sharp breath. She continued to tease him in this fashion until finally she took him into her mouth and began to suck upon him. At the first tug of her mouth on his manhood, Malcolm Scott almost screamed like a girl, so unbearably sweet was the sensation her mouth produced. As she continued to draw rhythmically upon his sensitive flesh, he groaned with acknowledgment of the pleasure she was giving him. And when he was thick and hard and could bear no more of her torture he growled, “Cease, lambkin! I would put my seed tonight where it should go.”

He pulled her up, and she pushed his shirt from his frame. Their naked bodies met. Breast to chest. Belly to belly. Thigh to thigh. Their mouths fused into one as kiss melted into kiss and tongues jousted within the warm cavern of mouths. He backed her over to and pushed her down upon the edge of the bed. Kneeling quickly, he pushed her legs apart and began to lick first at the soft insides of her thighs. His tongue then licked the length of her moist, shadowed slit. His thumbs opened her to him and his tongue found her sweet core with perfect aim. He licked it for several long and heated strokes. Then, pressing his dark head between her open thighs, he fastened his lips about that little nub of sensitive flesh and began to suck hard upon it.

Alix screamed softly. Ever since he had introduced her to this particular pleasure she found she could not get enough of it. He would suck and suck upon the sentient nub, and it would swell and tingle, and the tingling would increase until it was unbearable and it finally burst. And when it did she would feel a small release, but then she would yearn to be fucked until the larger delight became totally insupportable and finally crested, leaving her utterly replete and weak with pleasure.

The first release came, and she sighed with utter contentment, but then the longing began to evince itself once more. “Hurry!” she begged him.

“Greedy wench,” he teased as he rubbed the tip of his cock against the opening of her sheath. “Do you want this, my love?”