Chapter 11 #2
Ailith stilled beside William. Had something else transpired to make her stand out or call unwanted attention to some peculiar behavior?
Ugh. What had she done now?
Instead of asking, she reached her hand over his thigh, and he readily clasped her hand in his. She breathed out a shaky breath and waited for home to continue.
He exhaled harshly. “I know I asked ye never to tell me anything of my future, but then I never thought I’d be asked to walk onto what seems to be enemy lands. Is there anything, mo ruaidh, anything at all I might need to know about the Morays before I venture to their stronghold?”
It seemed to Ailith that all the air in the room was sucked out. Her skin burned under her léine.
“Ye told me never to tell ye. Ye said ye dinna want to be part of that curse.”
He nodded slightly, barely noticeable. “Aye. But ‘tis no’ for me. I dinna care to know my fate. ‘Tis more about the Moray clan and the future of Alba. Is there anything I must know?”
Here it was, his full acknowledgment of who she really was -- his awakening, she realized. William’s mind was open to her knowledge.
His hand tightened against hers, and, for a moment, her mind went blank. What did she know of the Morays? Especially this far back in history, when Pictish culture had a tighter hold on the Highlands than Christianity? Where kings came and went, and the whim of the clans?
Other than the history surrounding Dunnottar Castle itself, particularly during the Scottish Wars of Independence, her knowledge of this time was severely limited.
But there was one thing she did know, and it wasn’t all due to her history studies.
Ailith had to give a nod to her Shakespeare studies from Freshman Literature.
“Ye know they are power hungry,” she replied in a secretive voice.
How much of what she told William would he believe or find useful? That was up to him. All she could do was tell him what she did know.
He nodded but remained silent.
“Their craving for power knows no bounds. And they have no alliance to kings –to any kings. They believe themselves kings.”
“But they were aligning with mad King Donald before he was killed,” William countered.
“Nay,” Ailith answered. “They aligned with him for position. Years from now, about a hundred or more, a Moray great-grandson of King Donald and the Morays will slay a sitting king to become King of Scotland, of Alba. He will be named MacBeth, and his mad thirst for violence will rival that of King Donald’s.
The Morays dinna support a king for the king; they support those who might help them retain their power in Alba.
Especially farther north, where they see themselves as kings in their own right. ”
William wordlessly nodded again, taking in her information. Though she desperately wished she had more information to provide, understanding the true nature of the Morays and their power might work in his favor.
“We know their quest for position and power, and I had heard of their Mormaer of Morays in the north, who rules like a king, but I had no idea how far they would go to retain that power.” He snorted in derision.
“Feckin’ Morays, dinna want to unite with the rest of the clans.
So ye suggest we dinna trust these Morays at all? ”
How might she answer that? How did one measure trust?
“I think,” she said slowly, “that if what they say is something that keeps their hand on their power, then ye might trust it. Anything else . . .”
William straightened. “Anything else is questionable. Aye, I understand ye.”
He turned to her suddenly and wrapped both strong arms around her shoulders, crushing her against his chest. He buried his face in her vermillion tresses.
“Thank ye, lass. ‘Tis an uncomfortable position ye are in, and my request only makes it worse. But this knowledge, unrelated to me, might make all the difference for the allied clans of Alba.”
He spoke the words, and might have found them to be true, but to Ailith’s ears, they rang hollow. She knew the violent and bloody history of the Highlands, and she feared such vague knowledge would do little for the clans.
That night, when William caressed Ailith’s body in the flickering candlelight, it was not the furious, rough joining of their previous encounters.
Instead, he gently drew her léine off her shoulder, kissing each bit of skin as he exposed it, sliding his lips over her smooth skin.
She shivered under his touch, the feel of him driving as deep inside her as his cock soon would.
“I would have ye tonight.” The rich timber of his voice spoke with need and vibrated to her core. “Lingering and slow to recall it as long as I must.”
She turned her head to peek at him from under a cascade of red-wine waves and curls. The side of her lips curved into her cheek. Two could play his game of need.
“Then ye must earn me,” she answered in a husky voice designed to entice him. She sat back so her ample breasts bounced under his chin.
William growled like a wild animal inside him was threatening to break his chains. Though his desire burned off him like a wildfire, his touch remained soft and delicate on her skin as he drew her léine down over her hips and off her legs, baring her body to his roving eyes.
Then he stood next to the bed, dropped his sword belt to the floor, and whipped his tunic over his head. The defined lines of his bare, golden chest shifted temptingly as he moved. She licked her lips at the fine sight that was her husband.
His hands dropped to the laces of his braies when Ailith lifted her hand to halt him.
“Slowly,” she purred and adjusted her position on the bed to see him better. “I would watch ye undress.”
He paused where he stood, his blue gaze scorching as his eyes eagerly roved over her body.
With a devastating grin, he moved his fingers with slow, steady precision as he loosened the ties until the rich blond thatch of his pubic hair poked through the laces.
His cock was bulging toward her as he lifted it from his waistband and let the braies fall to his ankles.
As she watched, Ailith twisted to her side, pulled her léine off her legs, and moved her leg so she could press her finger between her own thighs.
His eyes flared hotter as he studied the movement of her hand, and she reveled in the thrill her fingertips sent through her body as she brushed them over her clit.
The muscles in his chest tensed, and he reached for her.
“Not yet,” she teased, and he groaned again.
“Dinna deny me, mo ruaidh. Ye have no idea how much I need ye.”
“Then show me. Entice me. Make me feel as on edge as ye. Make me feel as ye feel,” she purred again.
Her lids lowered as she seductively eyed his throbbing erection. William groaned deep in his throat.
Then his gaze shifted, coursing up her body with such intensity, like heat upon her skin. She burned under his gaze. Suddenly, his eyes moved, shifting to the table against the wall.
His expression became sultry with his lips curled, and in two long strides, he was at the desk, then, just as quickly, returned to her side.
Using a single strong hand, he pressed lightly on her shoulder until she was fully face down on the bed.
He brushed at her tresses so they spilled into a red pool on the bed fur, exposing her backside to his view.
Despite the command to entice her, Ailith reached her fingertips to his cock that was right in front of her face and dragged her nails lightly along the top. His dick pulsed, quivering, and William moaned. The sound and his reaction sent a thrill through her entire body.
It was then she saw what he had retrieved from the desk. Her feather quill. Flicking his wrist, he spun the quill so the feather side was downward, close to her skin.
“Hold still. Until I give ye leave to move, hold still, and ye shall feel the dire urgency in me whenever ye are near. Ye shall feel the agony of my desire for ye.”
His voice was at once tender and harsh, ragged as if this moment, dragging it out, was going to be as torturous for him as it would be for her.
Agony of my desire… maybe it would be as torturous for him.
Keeping her sights upon him as he neared, she tensed, waiting for his touch. Her skin tingled, and he hadn’t done anything more than look at her.
The tip of the feather was so light, Ailith wasn’t certain it was touching her until William flicked it over her more sensitive lower back.
She shivered at the delicate sensations of the feather tip as he caressed her back with the feather’s edge, up her spine, and in wide whorls across her shoulders.
She shuddered, and her skin pimpled at the deliberate, nearly erotic tingling of the feather against her body.
Her lower belly and thighs tingled, too. Her body was ready for him, more than ready, weeping and throbbing deep inside. Her sheath begged to be filled, to have William inside her, joined with her as one, to lose herself with him, yet she lay still as he had directed.
The only sounds in the room were the low fire popping in the hearth and her thrumming heart in her ears.
He brought the feather tip up, over her neck, around her ear, then down her arm where she rested her head.
The heat burning off his body was hotter than the hearth, and she tasted the desire, the pure need wafting off his lean, muscled body, a salty-sweet drink.
She swallowed and lifted her fingers to brush against his blond-furred thighs as he worked the feather.
“I said dinna move,” he chastised in a heady tone as he flicked the feather against her underarm.
She shivered again, losing herself in the sensations of the feather against her skin and William’s seductive presence.
The feather tip dragged its tingling touch down her back in touches so light they seemed like a dream. Her skin sizzled under this dream-touch. When he placed the flat of his hand lightly on her shoulder, she thought he’d burn his handprint into her skin, as if marking her as his.