Chapter 17
It was odd. After the closeness they had shared only a wee bit earlier with the kiss that still caused her heart to race quicker when her mind strayed into the moment, now it seemed they were two strangers.
The feast in the hall was deafening with drunken clansmen surrounding them, so conversation had been impossible, but now on the passageway with only the sizzle in torches or swish of a skirt from a chambermaid who strode past at the late hour, there was nothing but a tense silence between her and Aonghus.
It all changed…when? Her lips pursed: right after his talk with the Lord Chancellor. What had he said to her knight?
“MacCade,” she began as he held the passage doorway open for her into the earthy scented chamber.
They had been placed on the second level.
A pause took her step and speech when Aonghus raised his hand in a silent ask for her to remain at the threshold while he inspected the surroundings for threats.
A tiny spark, bright as the flames licking the peat bricks in the hearth, ignited her temper.
Raging hell! Who was the fate-seer here when disaster was about to strike?
Not the one checking every drape on the canopy bed, and the dark corner beyond the oak table with chairs, and behind the two chests which lined the far wall.
No, it was her! For years she had seen herself and those around her safe.
“MacCade.” She re-advanced swiftly on the topic burning her thoughts. “What was spoken between you and the Lord Chancellor earlier in the nave?”
His step paused unexpectedly as he darted his eyes at her. It must have been something powerful; look at that guarded expression. “I would rather not speak upon the matter,” he replied, sheathing the dagger’s blade back into his scabbard strap.
She crossed her arms, then widened her stance after he closed the threshold before he threw the board into place.
“Then we are at an impasse, Sir Aonghus,” she rebuked, formally, “as I would rather speak upon the matter.” It appeared they were going to engage upon one trait as a wedded couple: arguing. Her stance broadened.
“The past day’s events have unleashed a weariness for me.” He yawned; did he truly think he was fooling her with a fake yawn? “Are you not tired, Cluaran?”
Her shoulders straightened. “Nae.” He observed her a long moment. Was there a glimmer of mirth dancing within his gaze at her defiant reply? “I thought you considered me a clever lass; however, I only see one who believes me a fool.”
His mirth vanished. “I would never take such a consideration regarding your wits, my lady.”
“I dare say challenge them! Tell me what the Lord Chancellor proclaimed!” Silence. Ugh! “Or are you going to lie down and fringe sleep to avoid bestowing the truth for my ears?”
He gave a long sigh. “Aye, the yawn was a ruse. I yearn to stay awake all eve till dawn’s first light” – his tone turned fierce as the desire in his gaze on her – “for you to cry my name more than once in pleasure.” Oh.
My. More than once – a lad could do that?
“Cluaran, this shall not be, so why speak upon it?”
“This is the matter the Lord Chancellor pressed you upon?” Her temper turned from spark into flame. “He was reminding you of your post to stay away from me?”
“Aye; ‘The eyes may feast but the flesh shall not’, he advised. Truly, not even the eyes – he ordered I shall remain back turned while you disrobe in intimate moments such as this.” He raised his hands toward their chamber surroundings.
“Well, then I shall have to endeavor to share with the chancellor upon our next meet that I have seen Northmen bare-arsed on my travels over the years in their needs of having to pee. I also best not forget to mention to the Lord Chancellor” – she jabbed a finger toward herself – “I have been forced to shed my garments in others’ presence from Northmen to Sturan, a Scottish enemy whose head will soon be on a spike at the gates here at Stirling.
” Her voice continued rising with rage. “So, I’d better make certain the lad who saved me from their vicious grasp does not capture so much as a glimpse upon my breasts!
How dare he! I shall take the matter directly before the king this very moment!
” Her stride burst into action as she bolted for the door, not seeing the dark oak but red.
A thick arm captured her waist from behind. “Nae, MacCade! I shall not have him think so ill of you when others have demanded such vile things…” The words halted as his lips captured hers.
At the touch of his mouth, her anger turned toward desire as her arms wove about his shoulders when the firmness from his lips stole her breath anew.
Oh, aye. She may not have all of Aonghus, but dammit, she could have this taste in pleasure.
Aye! She would devour it with all she was.
He crushed her close as he opened fully to taste her.
It ended all too soon when he pulled back, his breath panting upon her with their mouths remaining close.
“You are magnificent,” he said, “Your wish or will or fight to stand against those who seek to tarnish me is unlike any other I have ever beheld.”
Her eyes locked on his. “MacCade, your strength is matchless; how could a lone lass tip such a vast scale?”
“Passion.” He grinned at her. “You have a fiery will in your grasp. A passion for life.”
She held her gaze on his. “When one sees life taken away as many times as I in all the ‘glances’ over the years, it trenches in my soul to live each moment to the fullest, for it can be taken away in a blink.”
“I find your fierceness ‘to live each moment to the fullest’ intoxicating, Keirah. This passion I see at each turn is what gave the strength for your survival all those years in the Northmen’s grasp.
” She nodded. “Your spirit is beyond compare; this was why I yearned for you to choose me from those who gathered.”
“Ten of Sir James could never shadow one of you, even with his feathers spread wide.”
“Feathers?”
“He appeared part rooster in the solar.” Her fingers found a natural rhythm caressing the tiny hairs upon the back of Aonghus’s neck.
“Strutting about. He was the same in Bj?rgvin. The only matter missing from his arse was a sprout in feathers.” Aonghus’s breath brushed her lips heavier as he gave a chuckle.
“Aonghus?”
His smile faded at her serious tone. “Aye, Cluaran?”
“Please do not keep elements hidden from me.” She nudged her nose against his, once, delicately.
“I may not be able to share all my flesh with you, but thoughts – these are another matter. One I hope will be a signature in our times to come even after you have been released from this post and…and have chosen another.” Best to air this out now; maybe the heartbreak would lessen.
Nope, not a chance – heart still cracking in two at the mere thought.
“Another?”
“Aye; once the Northmen are vanquished from these shores, you shall be free to choose another who may be a wife in every sense.” Her heart broke completely. “This cannot be me; you shall wish for a family of your own…”
“Cluaran,” he interrupted gently, “you are mistaken. I am to be at your side, always. The choice taken by me this day is not one which will be cast into the winds once the siege is done.” He….he meant to stay with her? Her heart skipped a beat.
“MacCade” – she tripped over her words slightly – “I considered you would wish to seek another to warm your bed and not remain a guardian knight.”
“Nae, I only seek you.”
Her brows rose slightly. “Regarding the chancellor’s warning, in one aspect it does ring true. A lad, I am well aware, has needs which must be met. Instinctual needs.”
“You let me worry for this.” Aonghus nodded casually.
Her brows shot higher. “I could not possibly ask for you to remain celibate for the remainder of your days. I saw those wearing a gown in the feasting hall, the direction in stares your way. There shall come a time you yearn for touch, MacCade; it would be ill of me to consider otherwise.”
“There are knights who take a stronger vow than what I seek forthwith.”
“The Templars.”
“Aye, they are but ones who gather to such a calling, alas; there are other knights in a similar stead.” He shook his head.
“I do not seek to remain fully celibate as they are. I yearn to savor kisses from these delicious lips you own.” His mouth brushed hers in a bold caress.
“I long to capture a touch.” She gasped when his palm rose, then brushed her breast. “My thoughts grow wild with how you will appear when your garments line the floor.” He let his other fingers linger upon the curve belonging to her backside.
“There are thresholds I shall not cross; however, I propose we claim what is offered within them. We stay the course till deemed otherwise, agreed?”
She kissed him – hard.
***
Her touch was beyond reproach; could he remain to those thresholds he had just stated? Deepening their kiss – if it meant chancing never being able to savor this with her, then, aye, discipline must reign supreme. Would it break him? Hell. It just might.
As he leaned back to marvel at the acceptance of their terms regarding intimacy, he found her lips were flush; more than this, her…her whole face was a rather crimson shade. He had hurt her! Dammit. It had to be from his beard.
Her delicate skin was burned by his touch. He would see about this first thing tomorrow. For he was not going to give up the taste she held or the ferocity which drove her touch upon him.
His eyes strayed toward her gown; even unable to claim her fully, if yearning to see all of her could cause the flames to rise in the hearth, the chamber would be ablaze.
No, a Templar he was not. As if sensing his desired thought, her whisper snared his attention: “At the feast’s close I saw fit to dismiss the chambermaid from her duties in undressing me for the eve. ”
Before the final word left her lips, his palms sought the ties at her gown’s waist. Her hands reached skyward while he lifted the gown.
Whoosh. The woolen bathed the floorboards.
The curves belonging to her figure gave a hint of outline beneath the pale chemise, which was the weight of a petal.
The effect had been uniquely intensified by a single trail of moonlight soaring through the arrow slit behind her; the result seemed as otherworldly glorious as she.
He raised his hand to caress her cheek. “Always and forever, my Cluaran, I am yours. I will guard and watch over you as none other unto my last breath,” he vowed and brushed the stray tear having escaped her lash with his coarse thumb. “Every last speck you own, my lady.”
Stepping forward, he brushed his lips over the curve belonging to her neck. “This I will protect.” She gave a sigh from pleasure.
What to undo next?
Her hair. It must be down – free and wild as she. In deliberate movements his fingers released the wimple, which joined the gown in a blink. He began unplaiting the braids about her skull in utmost care. For a moment, her fingers wove in his as she met his eyes, searching his face.
All the years he had a bitterness bottled up regarding his past. Never.
Never had anyone believed in him as she.
It made this bitterness and anger gush from that bottle till the last drop was now gone.
He was hers to command after she had claimed the feat he never considered possible: to carry hope.
She leaned forward, kissing his palm, before releasing him for completing his next task. The first braid became free as her spirit; the waves wove like an auburn cloud down her shoulders, cascading about her waist. Moments later the second braid released.
He paused a moment to bathe in the sight. The firelight behind him etched time flecks in a crimson dance over her tresses. He took a knee before her; she looked down at him curiously, his action as if he were almost to worship her. I am.
On a will of their own, his hands reached for her chemise’s hem.
He raised the final barrier between them.
As the linen lifted, his palm grazed her flesh: a brush upon her ankles, up her calves, a long and slow and burning trail he took; her breath caught at the caresses from his palms while his fingers meticulously held the frail fabric.
“These limbs I will guard, always,” he declared and paused while meeting her gaze.
He could tear the wisp of linen away and claim his view. No, this would not do. Savor every touch. In the days to come the war would be unleashed; even with her element as a fate-seer, the fates might strike with a fist to take him away in a moment beyond all control.
His palm stroked the curve belonging to her thigh as she murmured, “Aye, MacCade, for you, ’tis only for you.”
Raising up, he pulled the chemise over the two proud globes, the peaks flushed – magnificent.
He leaned forward, his lips finding where his eyes admired.
Her fingers wove into his hair as he tended to both delicate breasts from tips as aroused as he was to the softly rounded base.
“These I guard with my life.” He cupped the first before his mouth claimed the nipple on the second.
“MacCade.” She breathed the word at his touch.
He re-took a knee before the thatch of dark plum curls, letting his fingers rest a moment on her hips with the re-lowered chemise; his lips sought to kiss the line which marked pale flesh from the juncture to her womanhood.
“Aye, my Cluaran, this I would die a thousand times over to protect.”
Standing, he gave one final tug to the chemise, which pooled on top of the gown as he looked over all before him.
Her toes began to stammer awkwardly as they had done the eve at the inn. “Cluaran” – he elongated the words weighed by awe – “you…are….a…goddess.” Her toe stammering halted as she smiled. Aye, he would perish upon his sword if she deemed it so.