Chapter 40
Keirah chewed her lip avidly, darting her eyes toward the tent flap again. Had she heard something? Her feet staggered beneath her; she glared at the sore limb. Throb all night long, the will to check for Aonghus is still stronger! Clutching her gown’s skirts roughly, she limped toward the entry.
As she peeked out the flap there appeared a familiar face. “Nae sign of him yet, my lady.”
Callum. He stood guard with all the patience that would make any abbot proud; she had been busier than a butterfly in a field filled with flowers.
Butterfly? Naw, more a bee at her stinging mood born from anxiousness.
Dawn had to be almost upon them; the encampment held a hollowed eerie strain about it from all those who had taken their leave.
Even the king had finally retired for some rest, advising her to do the same.
Impossible! She would never sleep with the one who held her heart risking the beating of his out there in the darkness.
All day she had reclined in Aonghus’s embrace.
The hours spent in his arms while recovering had proved fruitful, particularly for her temples pounding with exhaustion from the cost of measure – but if only she could have gone with him!
She glared at the throbbing limb again, hidden beneath the chemise and gown; she could have kept watch…
“My lady.” Callum’s voice broke her thoughts. “My wee brother shall be fine; I would chance my soul to hell if I thought it untrue.”
She hobbled out, joining him in the night air filled with smoke from the numerous fires which aided in illuminating the vista, now rain free, with a show of dominance at the enemy.
“How are you so certain in your consideration?” She pulled the cloak heavier about herself when another salted gust hit her like a slap.
Slap away – still staying here to wait for him!
“I have heard you declare him a Highland bull when you thought ears were not present.” Her cheeks warmed.
“Your rendering rings true; he has been stubborn since we were wee lads. Yet I have never born witness to a time he was more so than at this moment. When he gazes upon you there is almost a sheer will to remain by your side.”
She stepped closer. “I am the same toward him, Callum.”
“Aye.” He grinned, sadly. Was he thinking about missing the lady who had betrayed him? “So is Alec with his Deidre.” Callum’s eyes lowered. He was thinking about his lost love – how sad.
Her brows furrowed. “Do you believe Alec and Deidre are safe? If the Northmen were already sailing so briskly for Loch Lomond, this must mean the raids are drawing toward a close near Clan MacCade.”
“I would care to believe so. If not…” Callum clenched his jaw before finishing, “I shall hunt the killers and see them pay, same as any who dare to harm you or Aonghus. I regret all I have done in my bitter state. I will do any and all in my grasp to make this right. To protect those nearest.” Was there a glisten to his gaze when he raised his eyes? Aye.
“I am so sorry for your loss, Callum,” she murmured, resting her hand upon his mail-clad forearm.
He looked down at her hand. “I could not hold on to her.” Why did it seem as if there was more to his words?
“Let me say once more, Aonghus will never walk in the path I have taken.” His gaze locked on hers.
“This is how I know he shall return. Once he sets his mind onto a task, not even the saints may halt his will to see it so. ’Tis the reason he would have made a grander chief than I.
He will return to your arms as sure as the sun shall rise in but a short while.
” Did she believe him? Aye, his confidence was infectious. A smile found her lips.
Snap!
What was that?!
Her hand dashed away as Callum went for his sword. Who was lurking in the woods where the trees seemed more like dark demons to the underworld with the fire’s shadows dancing over them than forest?
Callum’s sword released from the scabbard with a grind from leather on steel. “My lady,” Callum murmured, “step back into the tent.”
Another crack from a branch caused her heart to almost leap through her ribs. She hopped toward the tent fold…
“You may lower the steel, brother,” a deep brogue called out.
“Aonghus!” she cried in excitement even as she gasped inwardly at her leg when she tried running for him.
He charged forth in steps broad as a bull before clasping her closely. Sir Brayden and those flanking them had returned with their arms filled with bottles. Her knight’s lips lowered; she almost bruised his after the hours spent in anxiousness which flashed toward relief.
Her fingers weaved into his hair. Damp from sweat – no, more than this. Why was he completely soaked through? When another stiff wind hit her cheek, she broke the kiss, looking up at his flushed features. “Was a fresh tempest present at the shoreline?”
“Nae,” Sir Brayden broke in as the Scottish knights walked past mumbling about the looted bounty while heading toward their tents in preparation for a rest. “The raid was most successful! However, the outcome came with a different ‘cost in measure’. A wee cluster of Northmen who were charged with guarding the vessel upon the high deck grew suspicious when one of our fellow knights accidentally dropped a cask down below. My friend here” – Sir Brayden raised the bottle in his palm toward Aonghus – “had a determined mind to make certain all were not discovered in our task of looting the ship. So, he rather” – Keirah’s hairs on her neck stood – “drew their attention his direction by way of jumping in the surf for a midnight swim so we might escape unseen.” Her mouth became agape.
“In chainmail’s full weight?” Callum questioned, even as her fingers sought the edges of his tunic peeking out from the mail at his wrists. He is soaked!
“Aye,” Sir Brayden quipped, “seems he needed a wee bit more salt unto his palate.”
He would catch his death! “Come!” She tugged his arm. “Into the tent at once!”
“Good eve, Sir Brayden,” her knight said dryly.
“Good eve, Sir Aonghus, till the morrow; rest well.”
Callum clapped Aonghus on the shoulder. “Rest, brother; you are a bull, but even bulls need to recover before the next charge.” Aye, into the holding pen at once!
Aonghus looked at Keirah. “Thank you for keepin’ my lady safe in my stead.”
“Always – she is Clan MacCade,” Callum replied, then nodded at her.
Sir Brayden raised the bottle again before taking a long swig, then handed Callum another bottle. “Come, Callum, let us join Stewart, who is to tell the king the victorious turn! Including the tale of your wee brother’s heroics in almost being impaled by the arrows during a daring escape…”
Keirah bolted for the tent, dragging her knight with her.
Nope. If she heard another frightful word about her knight risking himself she would be gray by morning.
One step she stumbled slightly. Hell! Was it the fear gripping her again at how Aonghus had chanced himself on the raid or the injury which had caused the misstep?
Both. Aonghus’s arm was about her waist steadying her immediately.
He must have sensed her worry. “Sir Brayden tells a robust tale, nothing more, my lady,” he assured her.
“I believe not,” she challenged, raised eyebrow in place
Once inside the tent her fingers tore at him, unleashing the scabbard around his waist.
“Take the chainmail off before death captures you into a greedy fist!” she advised. Breaking free from his grasp, she stomped toward the linen bath sheet she had made use of earlier in cleaning the seawater from herself.
Stepping before him, she demanded, “Tunic as well. Any fresh wounds?” Her eyes searched even as he pulled the tunic over his skull.
Bruise under the right rib; that was there after battling in the storm.
The stitched wound on the shoulder was quiet looking – good.
Hands? She grasped his fingers after his tunic hit the soil beneath their feet.
“’Tis a query which I should cast upon you, my Cluaran; how fares your leg?”
Her eyes narrowed in the light from the oil lamp.
A second bruise on his shoulder. “Do not worry for this; simply a scratch, all is vastly improved since you took your leave,” she replied then questioned again, circling his back, “Any fresh wounds?” Her hands dragged the linen across the muscled terrain of his back, almost resembling a set of wings at its shape and width.
By all above, he was magnificent. What are you doing?
Injuries are supposed to be checked, not sizing him up like a slab of beef.
“Simply the knuckles, Cluaran. What have you gathered here?” She looked up after she returned to his front, finding he was staring at the far corner.
“The fruits from my anxiousness at being left behind bore a grand want to gather honey, a basin with clean water, fresh garments” – she rattled off the list at the pile beyond their pallet – “all for your return.”
“Who gathered all those into this tent?” He glanced up at the taller tent height he was now standing in, then pointed toward the tent’s far side. “Even chairs with a table?”
The muscles on his torso, how they rippled…
focus, dammit! “Lower!” Her fingers with the linen sheet began ruffling his hair, drying the strands while he bent over aiding in her reach.
“My idle hands grew weary from worry – purpose they needed and purpose they found! Callum helped at my request; I made certain this was prepared for your return.” She met his expression when he stood, which turned blurry as she blinked by emotion.
“I felt a great need to have this here, so I would know…” Her words trailed off.
“I would return.”
She used the linen for dabbing her eyes.
“Aye, my knight.” She then took the linen strip lower, beginning a sway over his torso, drying every muscle and ridge and trench which led toward his manhood.
It was like wiping a granite wall in a cave, oh my.
Everything tightened on him at her touch, including the top of his braies which pressed his chausse from his arousal.
“I have had much time to think in your absence.”
He grasped her wrist gently as her eyes rose, locking with his. “Aye?”
She draped the linen over his wide shoulders, then grasped the cloth in her fingers.
“The storm has passed, Aonghus,” she murmured when a slight grip of shyness flickered within her.
“The Northmen have been forced from our shores. In the wake of the evening’s events with you at the helm, they must leave lest the remaining starve.
” Her fingers strayed over his torso, the tiny hairs almost standing at attention.
“I have made my choice; my heart chooses us. Our accord was we would speak upon the matter once we returned to the Royal Castle in Ayr. After the dire times filled by peril directly before this eve, I find the wish to wait for our return there stifling. I yearn for your hands upon my flesh, for you to lie with me, directly now. This desire has turned fierce after hours spent this eve fearful for your return.”
“You are certain?” he asked softly, his finger tracing a gentle line down her delicate jaw; she quivered. “Once I seek your embrace, I fear to halt will be too great an ask.”
She covered her palm over his, then lowered both onto her heart, which pounded quick as a filly’s while galloping over the Highlands.
“I have waited for so long,” she whispered fervently.
“I thought upon a time my love would never find another.” Her thumb brushed over his roughened knuckles.
“I look upon you and see my fate. More than anything, my Scotsman – take me and make me yours for all time.” At her consent, his lips captured hers.