Chapter Twelve #2
James’s men all stood at once, lifting their tankards high and answering back the same chant in thunderous voices.
The hall shook with the intensity. Lara glanced around the table and saw that every person stared at James, including Malcolm, who watched from his place behind the table with Philippe.
Instead of fear, excitement and awe filled his face.
Stunned by it, she looked around at the other MacDougall servants and villagers who’d stayed on at Dunstaffnage. All joined in the revelry. Was she now the only one carrying on the fight? Then she felt Sebastien’s hand on hers under the cover of the table and she met his gaze.
“All will be well, Lara. Truly,” he said, trying to reassure her with his words and a gentle squeeze of her fingers.
She could say nothing, so she sipped from her goblet and watched as the hall quieted and the people went back to their meal. Exhaustion began to claim her and all she wanted to do was sleep.
“May I retire, my lord?” she asked in a low voice.
“Of course,” he answered, waving to Sir Hugh at the other table where he sat with Margaret, to bring the maid to her lady. “I will join you soon.”
He stood when she did, as did everyone in the hall.
Startled by the sign of respect, she left the table and sought the comfort of her chambers.
So many things were changing in her life and she did not know how to deal with all of them.
Unfortunately, her room held not the comfort she sought, for it presented her with more choices to make.
Lara stopped at the entryway and looked about.
Her father’s chair stood on one side and the bed on the other.
Where should she go? It seemed a farce for her to take her usual place in the chair, fully dressed, as she had each night since Sebastien’s arrival.
She turned and looked at Margaret, who seemed as confused about what to do as she was.
“Help me wash and take down my hair, Margaret. We’ll figure out the rest later.”
“Aye, my lady,” the maid said as she crossed the room and gathered the things needed for her tasks.
With another glance at the bed, Lara sat on a bench placed near the hearth and accepted the linen cloth and soft soap from her maid.
Once Lara had washed her face and hands in the basin held out to her, Margaret took the water away and returned with a brush.
Lara allowed her thoughts to drift as first the snood was removed and then the intricate braids were loosened.
The maid’s long, sure brush strokes through her hair calmed her. The tension in her shoulders and in her back from meeting a dreaded enemy melted away. It was as her head drifted forward and her chin fell onto her chest that Margaret spoke.
“He is a good man,” she whispered. Lara was not certain if she defended Sebastien or Hugh until she continued. “I have watched how he treats the others of our clan who have remained behind. I think you are fortunate that he is your husband and lord now.”
“But my father was—”
“Pah! Your father would have sold you to the highest bidder. We both know who he had in mind for your bridegroom, my lady. And we both know how things would have gone for you married to such a rogue.”
Lara had not thought about the man her father had intended her to marry since the day Sebastien had arrived.
Actually, her father had declared several men to be candidates for her husband, “to take the Maid of Lorne in hand and in control” were his words.
Now, thinking on it, she realized the kind of life she might have had with another in Sebastien’s place.
A shudder raced through her at such thoughts.
“My thanks, Margaret,” Lara whispered as she tried to shake herself from the images of what might have been. She allowed the relaxed state brought on by her maid’s sure hands and calming strokes to take over once more. After a few more minutes of silence, Margaret shook her gently.
“My lady, he is here.”
Lara discovered that Sebastien was indeed there. He stood in the doorway, staring at her with an intensity that nearly frightened her. Her mouth went dry and she swallowed several times, trying to moisten it.
“Here now, my lord,” Margaret said, walking to him. “Allow me to take that for you.”
Lara blinked and then noticed the tray in his hands. He carried some kind of broth, a small loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese there. He’d brought food here?
“I noticed that you did not eat much at table. ’Twas probably due to the company.” The corners of his mouth curved into a smile—an attractive smile that warmed her. Before continuing, he nodded to the maid, who took the tray and placed it on the table. “Hugh waits below stairs for you.”
“Margaret…”
Lara thought to stop her maid from making the same mistake she had, but from the expression of joy on Margaret’s face, it truly was too late. Sebastien closed the door behind her and leaned against it.
“They are in love.”
“Hugh is a mercenary who will travel all over the land, fighting wherever and whenever and for whomever can pay his fee. He will not marry her.” Her conviction was such that she shook with the words she spoke.
“They have a place here and wish to marry, but have feared asking your permission.”
His announcement, almost whispered, struck her like a blow.
Margaret had said not a word of this to her.
Lara had spoken to her maid on the subject many times and, in a strange way, she’d hoped that it was simple lust. Lust would be easier to recover from when the worst happened.
She drew back from the hurt that Margaret had not confided in her, and looked at him.
“But, as this shows, you are lord here and they need not my permission for anything.”
Sebastien approached and took her hands in his, holding them firmly as if he suspected she would withdraw them from his grasp. “You are lady here and in charge of the women. She is your maid, Lara. I would never give her permission when it is your place to do so.”
“My place?” He confused her constantly with his attitude. “But you are lord here now,” she repeated, trying to convince herself more than him.
“Aye, and you are Lady of Dunstaffnage. All you have to do is take your place at my side to make it so.”
“Your words make it sound as though it is easily done.”
“’Tis not easy, Lara. But it is your place and I would have you there.”
Standing with him, as he offered her everything she had truly wanted in her life, she could not find the strength to refuse. Her throat tightened and she could not get the words out. He opened his arms to her and she stood and walked into his embrace.
She felt his strength surround her, and for the first time, allowed herself to feel some bit of hope that this could all work out between them.
Lara felt his hands tangle in her hair, and slid hers around his waist, holding him as he held her.
Laying her head on his chest, she listened, or rather felt, his heart beating strongly there.
His body was all hard muscle beneath her hands, and she allowed some of his strength to seep into her, into her heart and soul.
After a few minutes, he freed her hair and leaned away. Her body reacted on its own, following his direction to keep him close. He chuckled under his breath and untangled himself from her hold. “Come. It has been an arduous day for you. ’Tis time to rest.”
He took her hand and led her to the bench where she’d been sitting until Margaret left.
Grasping her shoulders, he turned her away and she felt his fingers move to the laces tied at her neck.
With swift, nimble movements, he loosened them all the way down the back of her tunic.
When she thought he would lift it over her head, he instead whispered in her ear from his place behind her.
“Do you know what the Church calls this style of tunic you wear?” She shook her head. “The gates that lead men to hell.”
Lara looked down at the garment. “Truly?”
“Truly. One bishop in England has declared it a sin for women to wear it for it tempts men to lust and fornication.”
Lara felt ill-informed and unable to figure out how a tunic and gown that covered every inch of her skin and her form could be a temptation to anyone. “You jest, my lord.”
“Allow me to show you. Since we are married, it will not be too great a sin for me.” There was teasing in his voice, but heat, too.
She gave him the permission he sought, and felt his hands begin at her shoulders and slide down her arms until he reached her elbows.
She could still see no sin in this touch.
Then he slipped his hands inside the tunic, where it hung open under her arms. With his palms, he stroked her belly and nearly touched her breasts, but did not.
Then his hands moved softly over the tops of her thighs and nearly touched the juncture of them, but did not.
Heat grew within her, spreading from his hands into her belly and breasts and that place between her legs.
Over and over he teased her until she writhed under his touch.
Pressed against his body, she could feel the proof of his lust and hear it in his breathing.
Still he did not touch her as she wanted him to.
Lara was about to beg him when he released her.
Even that was a teasing, for he slid his hands slowly away from the places that tingled and ached for more, until the tips of his fingers barely glided over her.
“And that is why the Church decries this kind of tunic. Even you can see the danger to men’s souls if they are subjected to this kind of—” he did touch her then, reaching under the edge of the fabric and cupping her breasts in his hands “—temptation every waking moment of the day.”
“I had no idea of it, my lord,” she said in a voice that exposed her own sin of lust. “No idea at all.”