Chapter 24
Owen had not known contentment like it. Every morning, he awoke with Heather at his side: his body warmed and relaxed after a night spent worshipping every part of her.
Although it had only been a week since they first lay together, it felt like they had known one another, in every sense, for a blissful eternity.
“Ye’re… remarkable,” he panted, on the morning of their eighth day as a betrothed pair. Crisp sunlight filtered in through the windows, and though Owen knew he would have to leave the chamber soon enough, neither of them had been able to resist another moment together.
She glanced back at him: her belly flat to the bed. “No, you are remarkable. You make me feel things that I—” A moan cut off her words, as she rocked her buttocks back against his hips, drawing him in as deep as possible.
Owen slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him as he savored the powerful sensation of her silken heat enveloping him.
He preferred making love to her, face to face, with all the intimacy that offered, but in the mornings, she seemed to like him making love to her this way: her lying forward on the bed, with him atop her, his front flush to her back.
Sliding his hand further down and coaxing her hips up into a slight bend, he found her secret pearl. Gasping in delight, she pushed back to meet his every firm stroke, as he strummed upon her, reveling in the delicious sounds that came from her mouth and the pleasured shiver of her skin.
“Yes, my love,” she urged. “Yes!”
Listening to her body and her voice, he kept up the pressure, moving his hips quicker as he heard the shift in her breathing.
Taking hold of her waist with his free hand, he lifted her all the way up, propping her on all fours.
That way, he could tend to her needs more easily, bringing her to her conclusion with glorious swiftness.
As she began to cry out with the gathering tension inside her, Owen released his control, plunging into her with all the power and liberty he could muster. All the while, his fingertips continued their caress, until he felt the pull of his stomach muscles, bracing for his conclusion.
“Oh, Owen! Yes… My goodness, yes! It is… It is happening!” she screamed, pushing her hips back with equal abandon.
The moment he felt her tighten around him, in that delirious grip of ecstasy, he tipped over the edge into his own conclusion. He gripped her hips and sank into her, as he called out his pleasure, feeling his seed spill within her welcoming warmth.
“Och, Lass!” he moaned, pulsing his hips twice more before he stilled altogether.
Satisfied and breathing hard, Heather collapsed onto the bed.
Not wanting to leave her warmth just yet, he fell with her, slipping his arms underneath her so he could hold her in his embrace.
He always worried that he was too heavy for her to bear, but whenever he tried to move away, she always pulled him back, as if she liked the sensation of bearing his weight for a while.
“Good mornin’,” he whispered, close to her ear, smiling wide.
She chuckled. “It is a very good morning, my love.”
They stayed like that for a while, before Owen withdrew and twisted onto his side, tugging her into his arms. He liked nothing more than to stroke her hair as she lay upon his chest, both of them basking in the glory of their coupling.
“Must you go?” She peered up at him.
He nodded. “In a moment, love. The Clan and the castle clearly daenae understand that I’ve got more pleasurable things that I’d rather be doin’. Selfish of them, really.”
“Very much so.” She laughed, cuddling into him.
For the time being, they were living in a fragile bubble of peace and tranquility.
A letter had been sent to Elias, just shy of a week ago, but there had been no reply.
Nor had there been any sign of Englishmen marching on Castle Dunn.
It truly seemed as though Elias had decided to let it lie, likely because he lacked the soldiers and the influence to take his daughter back by force.
They wouldn’ae send an army for a lass who’s made her decision, he mused inwardly. After all, both Scotland and England were tired of war. They would not seek another battle without valid cause, and an errant daughter who had run away to be with her lover was not considered important.
“What are you thinking about?” Heather propped herself up on his chest.
He smiled and bent to kiss her slowly on the lips. “Nothin’ much, love. I cannae think of much after I’ve lain with ye. Me head is filled with only ye.” He paused. “What about ye?”
“Everything and nothing,” she replied, with a small sigh. “I am so deliriously happy, my love, but it all feels too wonderful. I am scared that it will be taken away.”
He shook his head. “It willnae, love. I willnae let it. Perhaps, the heavens have seen fit to give us this peace, after all we’ve endured.”
“Mmm… I like the sound of that.” She nestled back into his embrace, apparently soothed. “You are not the only one with much to attend to, today.”
“Oh?”
She smiled against his skin. “Edith and I are making final preparations for the wedding. I do believe it has been a welcome distraction for her, even if you have delayed it.”
“I didnae!” Owen protested playfully. “We’re to be wed in two days, Lass, and I’m lookin’ forward to it with all me heart.”
She sighed, flashing him a mischievous look. “But you said we would marry within a week, and it has been longer than that. One might think you were having second thoughts.”
“Never,” he growled, lifting his hands to cradle her face, before catching her mouth in a searing promise of a kiss.
Breaking away, he added, “In two days, ye’ll be me wife and Lady of Clan Dunn.
That day cannae come quickly enough. If ye want to blame someone for the delay, ye must blame yer faither. ”
Heather’s brow furrowed. “Do not speak of him. I would not ruin my pleasant morning with such thoughts.”
“Apologies.” He kissed her again, to bring the contentment back to her demeanor.
Although, it was the truth. The happy couple had delayed their wedding, in the hope that Elias would reply to the letter with a formal acceptance of their union.
It did not matter if he refused or did not reply, for they would marry regardless, but Owen knew that Heather would have preferred her father’s approval.
But we cannae wait for somethin’ that will never come. He was very glad that Heather had decided not to keep waiting for that letter, otherwise it might have been years, if not forever, until they were able to marry.
Heather stretched out her arms. “I hope there is word from Brandon soon. I feel rather guilty, lying here, enjoying you, while he his riding around the country trying to uncover a mystery that clearly wishes to remain buried. Nor do I know if I could marry without him being present.” She hugged Owen around the waist. “He is the closest thing I have to a brother, now.”
“Aye, but ye’ve got yerself a sister,” Owen pointed out.
In the past week, Heather and Edith had become inseparable.
They could always be found in some corner of the castle or another, gossiping like giddy birds in a tree.
When Edith and Heather were not together, Sawyer took the role of eager confidant.
There was nothing untoward between the man and woman, just a friendship that had been forged the moment that Sawyer had stopped Edith from crashing to her knees in grief.
Heather smiled wide. “Yes, that is true. Oh, I do adore her, my love. I am only sorry that I was never able to see her and William together. I know it would have cheered my soul, for they are so very similar, in so many ways.” She paused. “Do you think we are similar, my love?”
“Sometimes we are, sometimes we’re nae, but I think that’s what makes our love strong,” he replied. “There’s nay right or wrong way to love someone. For some, a kindred spirit strikes love in their heart. For others, opposite souls spark love, for they’re the missin’ piece of each other.”
Heather looked into his eyes with an expression of overwhelming affection. “I do not know how I ever thought you were a brutish barbarian, for you can be so very poetic at the most unexpected moments.”
“I have to keep surprisin’ ye, so ye daenae tire of me,” he teased, kissing her once more.
It was not long before he felt himself stirring again, as Heather tangled herself up in his embrace, slipping her thigh over his as she moved to sit astride his hips.
His duties would have to wait another half an hour or so, though no one in the castle seemed to mind if he was somewhat late, for they had welcomed the news of the wedding in a joyous, congratulatory manner.
They’re likely relieved they’re goin’ to have a Lady and, one day, with any luck, some heirs— He smiled at the prospect of having children with his beloved, for they were certainly doing their best to ignite that spark of life.
Still, it soothed him that his people adored Heather as much as he did.
Even Sawyer now treated Heather as if she had always been one of them.
Heather had just taken him in hand, poised to bring him into her depths, when a frantic knock came at the chamber door. A harsh pounding that did not hail the arrival of a maid or a servant.
“M’Laird!” Sawyer’s voice swept away the muted gasp that had just left Heather’s lips, as Owen swallowed the moan that had been bubbling up.
“What is it?” Owen shouted back, biting his lip as he lifted Heather from the tip of his length, and lay her down on the bed. Hastily, he covered her with a blanket, while he wrapped a second around his waist and headed for the door.
Opening it, he found Sawyer in a pale state of distress. “I’m sorry to interrupt, M’Laird, but ye must come with me. Brandon returned, and he disnae have good tidings.” He paused, lowering his voice. “He’s with the healer.”
“Give me a moment.” Shedding his blanket, Owen rushed to dress in his belted plaid and shirt, for it was easier to don than his breeches and jerkin.
“What is happening, my love?” Heather asked, peeking out above the edge of her blanket.
Owen fixed a smile to his face. “It’s nothin’, love. Take some rest and I’ll come back soon. Brandon is hurt, but he’s with the healer.”
“Brandon is hurt?” Heather threw back the blankets and joined her beloved in dressing quickly. It was not what Owen wanted, for he had hoped to keep any unpleasantness from her, but he supposed she had as much right to hear what was afoot as he did.
Clothed and still flushed from what they had been about to do, Owen and Heather exited the chamber, following Sawyer through the labyrinth of the castle hallways.
Indeed, they went down and down, likely further into the belly of the castle than Heather had ever been, until they came to a curved doorway that stood alone along a wide hallway.
“Where are we?” Heather whispered.
Owen opened the door. “This is the healer’s quarters. I pray ye never have need to come here.”
Inside, there was a vast chamber that had once served a more violent, less healing purpose.
Now, there were ten beds, equally spread out around the enormous space.
At the nearest end, an old, stained table took pride of place, with towering shelves behind it, filled with bottles and jars and vials and bowls of every medicine that the healer had made or acquired.
“I thought you were the healer,” Heather said, staring in awe at the array of healing items.
Owen smiled stiffly. “Only when I have to be. I learned everything I know from our healer.”
At that moment, a curtain drew back at the other end of the room, where a mirrored table stood. Upon it lay Brandon, his arm bound tightly in bandages, while more were wrapped around his head.
The healer, a grizzled old man with a stoop, by the name of Fergus, raised a hand in welcome.
“There’s nothin’ to fear. He’s nae dead, but he’s in some pain.
Whatever ye have to say, ye best say it quickly.
I’ll need to feed him a sleepin’ brew soon, so he can rest. There’s nothin’ that quickens the healin’ so swiftly as rest.”
“We’ll nae be long,” Owen promised, approaching the table.
Brandon blinked up with one bleary eye, while the other had been caught in the swathe of bandages. “I made it… just in time. I am sorry… I was not… swifter.”
“Be at peace, Brandon.” Owen rested a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Who hurt ye?”
Brandon shook his head. “That is not… important.” He heaved in a breath. “I know… Owen. I know… who killed… my friend.”
“Who?” Heather leaped in, taking hold of Brandon’s uninjured hand and grasping it desperately.
Brandon winced. “It was… your father.”
“Pardon?” Heather gaped at him in obvious disbelief, though Owen felt less surprised. The possibility had nagged in the back of his mind for a while, growing louder and louder after their scrape with Elias’ soldiers in Brock Woods.
“Your father… never accepted… the marriage. He hated… your brother for… refusing to leave Edith. It… shamed him, and he gave William… a choice. He asked if… your brother would die for… his wife, and William said that he would,” Brandon wheezed.
“Your brother… suspected he was… in danger, but I suppose… he did not truly believe that… your father would kill him.”
“But he did? Ye’re certain?” Owen’s hackles rose at the thought.
Brandon nodded as best he could. “Elias wanted to… teach William a lesson. Wanted to… scare him. He instructed a few… of his men… to badly wound William, but they… injured him more than they were… meant to. As soon as I… suggested your talents, Owen, he saw… an opportunity to cover… what he had done. He knew William… would die in your… care. I suppose he did not imagine that… William might speak to you before he… died.”
“He put the blame on M’Laird to ignite fresh hatred against us Scots?” Sawyer chimed in: his lip curled into a snarl.
Brandon squeezed his eyes shut in pain. “I believe so. He wants… Edith dead, and that… is the simplest way, if fighting… with the Scottish begins again.” He paused for breath. “I heard… this all from Elias’ men. They admitted… it, when they thought… they would kill me, too, but I… escaped.”
“Bastard,” Owen hissed, glancing at Heather. Her expression was blank with shock.
Brandon rallied for a moment. “But that… is not all, Owen.” He huffed out breath after breath, as the color drained from his face. “They are coming. They are… marching here, and they are… less than a day away.”
With that, he fainted.