Chapter Ten
Waiting had never been one of Harper’s virtues and as the hour grew later, worry clutched at her. With no clocks, she had to guess the time, but she was certain it had to be near midnight. Stepping to the window, she looked up to see the moon high in the sky. Yes, definitely midnight.
Maybe he would not appear. Maybe he did regret being with her. Maybe she wasn’t good enough. “Stop it!” she admonished herself out loud. She could hear Skye in her head and knowing what her friend would say. “That’s your ex talking. Banish him!”
A noise caught her attention. Was that a tap at the door? She hurried over to it and, taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart, Harper cracked it open to peer out into the hall. Daimh stood there, actually looking as nervous as a small child caught in the act of doing something he knew was wrong. Harper stifled a laugh and swung the door wide, ushering him inside, then leaning back against the closed door.
Neither spoke for a moment. Then, he slowly drifted toward her, his gaze never leaving hers. Like two magnets, they were drawn together. His hands wrapped themselves in her hair, holding her head as his mouth crashed down, plundering hers, demanding, seeking, exploring.
Responding in kind, she had never wanted anything in her life as much as she wanted to feel this man’s naked skin against her, his body becoming a part of her own.
She quickly stripped her night shift away. Daimh reached for his own clothing when she stopped him. She wanted to look at him, somewhere deep in her soul hoping he would think her as desirable as she found him. She needed to know. And she desperately wanted this to last, to become a memory embedded in her heart, in her body and bones.
With aching slowness, she released his belt and unwrapped his plaid, holding his gaze as they dropped to the floor. His manhood stood erect against her thigh beneath the hem of his linen shirt, evidence of her effect on him, and she inhaled with joy. Lifting the shirt over his head and throwing it aside, her hands stroked his cheeks, his neck, his thickly muscled chest. Her fingers absorbed the feel of him as they slipped behind to cup his shoulders, his back, his buttocks.
He was perfect. His torso broad, tapering to narrow hips, dark hair sprinkled on his chest and trailed down to his manhood. Scars stood out in vivid relief against his sun-darkened skin, and she ached for the pain they must have caused him.
She moved her palms over his hips to his shoulders, then back again, finally curling a hand around his hard shaft. Using a single finger, she stroked the length of it, then slipped her finger between her lips to wet it and resume her attention to him.
***
His breath came in short gasps as he stood motionless while the lass tortured him. His cock was so hard, he thought it might explode, but he concentrated to control it so this would go on. He was no untried lad, but never in his life had he ever experienced anything like this. He craved her, needing to do to her what she was doing to him. He would get the chance. He just had to endure the most exquisite pleasure of his life.
When she dropped to her knees and her mouth, hot, wet, surrounded his manhood, he nearly died with the intensity of it. But he could stand no more. Pulling back, he lifted her and his heart nearly broke when he saw her expression. It was if she had disappointed him, and he wished her dead husband was in the room now so he could beat him to death. Instinctively, he knew the man had made her feel less than she was and Daimh wanted him to suffer for it.
He smiled at her. “That was the most—there are no words. You are simply magnificent,” he breathed. “It is merely my turn.”
Feeling her relax, he lifted her and carried her to the bed. And touched and tasted every part of her. He cupped her breasts, holding and kissing each in turn until her rosy nipples hardened and seemed to reach for more attention. His lips and tongue eased down to her stomach, her thighs.
Moaning, she lifted her hips, begging for him to enter her, but he wanted to give her climax after climax this night.
Easing her legs apart, she gasped as his mouth toyed with the nub tucked in her secret space, savoring it as it tightened, and she writhed with each touch of the tip of his tongue. She was delicious, like springtime and earth and flowers and the taste of utter happiness.
When he felt her spasm and she cried out, he moved his body over her and slipped his hard manhood inside her cocoon. Glorious sensations had him fighting to make it last, but she pulled him in deeper with her legs about his waist. Another climax gripped her, and he could restrain himself no more. White hot explosions erupted in his body as his release took him to heights he had never dreamed of before.
Finally, both sated, he was careful to rest his weight on his elbows to keep from crushing her, but she pulled him closer.
“You will not hurt me,” she whispered.
Those words, they had more than one meaning. The thought of marrying her and making her his own filled him with sadness, since he could make no promises. He could never share the truth of his secret, but he also knew deep in his bones, he could never let this woman go. She had bewitched him, and he was so tangled in the snare, he would never be free of it. The cords that bound him were silken and sweet and he had no desire to break them. His inner turmoil was tearing him apart, but he had no answer.
***
The castle was ready for the arrival of the queen. Beautiful gowns had been made for the women, with embroidery and golden and silver threads. They had helped each other with elaborate coiffures and then praised each other for their beauty. Everyone wanted to look their very best. And it was time.
Mary, Queen of Scots, was escorted by her retinue into the hall. All bowed or curtsied as she was led to the main table, her chair set apart.
Harper was awestruck. This was one of the most famous monarchs in history and even knowing she would make terrible decisions and end up with her head in the executioner’s basket, it was nonetheless amazing to actually see her in the flesh.
The woman was not a disappointment. In fact, she embodied every story about her Harper had ever heard. Young though she was, she was every bit a queen. Tall, beautiful, and graceful, her auburn hair caught the late morning light and set off her pale skin. This was someone born to be a queen and she was breathtaking. No wonder so many fought for her. And even when she had chosen love and religious devotion over good sense, Harper could understand her people’s loyalty.
Guards took up their stance behind her as the women brought platter after platter of specially prepared food. There was fish in cream, beef in a rich stew with vegetables, roasted fowl, loaves of fresh, fragrant bread. There were cakes and tarts and candied fruits. The queen ate daintily and praised the dishes and the women who had worked so hard were delighted. The warriors of the clan spent more time gawking than eating, but the food was soon consumed. The conversation was of recent battles and the bravery of the clansmen. Mary spoke of her desire to visit each of her loyal clans to express her gratitude for their defense of her.
After the sumptuous meal, the tables were cleared away against the walls with the exception of the dais and Mary requested the laird and his wife join her for conversation. Ian and Skye were delighted to oblige. After the usual pleasantries, Mary made a point to thank Ian and his clan again for their service to her and inquired if there were any problems she needed to address. The clans were at peace, which pleased Mary. She spoke in elegant French and Harper had never been so relieved to have taken those language classes in college.
Talk then turned to Skye. Mary was very interested in her history and Skye related the story she and Harper had agreed upon.
“It was happenstance that brought you here instead of our court?” Mary asked Skye.
“Yes, your majesty. As I said, I was planning to petition to enter your service, but I was waylaid. And although serving you would have been my greatest privilege, I cannot say I am sorry to have met my husband and now carry another bairn to serve Scotland.”
Mary laughed, a sweet melodic sound. “Between you and the laird’s sister, Maisie, we do not have to worry about the growth of Clan MacKenzie.” Sobering, she sat back. “But the remainder of your family are gone?”
“Aye, your majesty. I have only my childhood friend remaining who has found her way here.” She waved an arm toward Harper who stood against a nearby wall. She was afraid there was no avoiding an introduction to the queen, but fear that she might say something that would make Mary suspicious worried her.
“Well, although we are sad that you are not in our retinue, we understand that love is always to be honored. And it appears you have made a good life for yourself here.”
Patting her stomach, Skye grinned. “Aye, your majesty.”
Mary’s smile lit her features. “Then we shall say prayers for continued health and happiness.”
The queen then turned her attention to Harper. “It is our understanding your friend has come from France as well. Was it true she was in a nunnery before traveling here?”
Harper was then brought up to be introduced to the queen. It was so incredibly surreal. How was this even possible? She was nervous and very excited. Not only that, but knowing how history had been made, she again worried that she might slip and say something suspect, or anything that could alter history’s outcome. Harper took an instant liking to the queen and wished she could warn Mary of her future. But if the course of events didn’t play out as they were destined, Elizabeth I might have her reign threatened and that would change virtually everything in the modern world.
Still in awe of meeting the queen, Harper bent into a deep curtsy, glancing over to Skye for moral support. “Your Majesty.” It was like being in a Renaissance play with all the characters playing their parts. But knowing it was actually history unfolding and she was an active participant was hard to take in.
Mary indicated Harper should rise and then smiled at her. “You and the Lady Skye are both Scottish bred and French raised. Caen, we were told? A place of rich history. We wish all could appreciate the comfort of our religion. But alas, even the celebration of Christmas is banned here now in favor of the Protestants. It truly saddens us.”
***
Three days passed quickly with the feasting and entertainments, but the nights dragged for Harper. With all the additional guards sleeping in the main hall, she knew Daimh dare not sneak up into her room for he would surely be discovered. And Mary might not be pleased with such behavior. But Harper missed him. And, from the hot looks he gave her during meals, she was certain he missed her as well.
Once Mary left the castle and life had returned to normal, Harper anxiously awaited a message from Daimh to let her know he planned to join her tonight. Aching for his nearness, she had to control her desire to just throw herself at him. Not knowing how long she would stay here made her want to squeeze out every moment with the man, since she was well aware she would never meet another like him in the future.
Moonlight wrapped itself around the room as if waiting, as she was, for something to happen. Harper paced the floor. She would not sleep unless Daimh knocked at her door.
No sooner had the thought passed through her mind than she heard a tapping at the door. Rushing to the door, she swung it open. Her warrior, as she now thought of him, stood grinning at her and he slipped inside quickly before he was seen.
“Forgive me, but I could not rest until I touched you again,” he said. “These last days hae seemed like an eternity.”
Rather than answer him with words, she threw herself into his arms and kissed him with all the passion built up over days. Immediately, he responded in kind and swept her up in his arms, carrying her to the bed.
They made love once, twice, three glorious times, and finally sated for the moment, they both drifted off into a cocoon of sleep.
Harper was vaguely aware that sometime in the night, Daimh slipped from the room, leaving her to console herself with the scent of him which still lingered. She dreamt of a wedding, children, things she thought she would never again consider after her divorce. But, reluctantly, she realized she was wildly and unashamedly in love with the man who had just left her bed. Of course, that was ridiculous. She had known him for such a short time, but then the definition of time was an entirely new concept.
He was fearful of compromising her reputation, which he could solve by committing to her. But then what? He could not travel to the future or could she really stay here? Her practical side debated the pros and cons and Harper had to admit the pros of staying far exceeded the cons of leaving. There was really nothing to go back for. Her life had been her job and her friend, Skye, and little else. And Skye was here.
She could never tell Daimh the truth about her origins. Marriage needed to be based on trust and if they were to marry, she would begin theirs with a lie. A lie she would have to maintain throughout their lives. If she confided in him, he would think her a witch or insane. And then Skye would be at risk as well.
She decided she would have to discuss this with Skye, ask her how she maintained the subterfuge. So, did the end justify the means? It was hard to deny that she was completely—what was the medieval word? Besotted.
Snuggling down into the covers, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
***
Sunlight streamed in through the beveled glass, casting rainbows across the bed. If Harper believed in auspices, this would certainly be one.
She had managed to drift off at some point and she was wondering what the day would hold when Skye burst into the room.
“Get up, you lazy thing. We have work to do,” she announced.
Suspicious, Harper frowned. “Work?”
“Aye. Baskets won’t fill themselves.”
“Baskets?”
“Just because we are no longer allowed to actually celebrate Christmas doesn’t mean we shouldn’t give out gifts. So, we are to fill baskets for the villagers and deliver them. Come on, get dressed.”
Harper was washed and gowned in record time and hurried down the steps to the main hall. Skye, Neasa, Freya, Maisie, and Kenna, along with other clanswomen were already busy sorting tarts and meat pies and cookies, along with handmade dolls and small wooden swords. There were also woolen scarves and gloves and hats.
Standing back for a moment and watching the flurry of activity, Harper asked how she could help. Neasa explained how each basket was to be filled with the toys and other gifts, and then the food on top.
“Where did all this come from?” she asked.
“The women of the clan knit the scarves and things and make the dolls all year long and the men carve the swords for the boys. And then we bake.”
“And we get to deliver these things?” Talk about the spirit of Christmas. This was a heartwarming way to spread joy and Harper was thrilled. It also kept her thoughts on things other than her dilemma with Daimh.
“Aye. That is the best part. To see the happiness. It truly is what this holiday is all aboot no matter that the John Knoxes of the world try to convince us otherwise.” This from Neasa.
After watching for a moment, Harper gathered a basket and began filling it. The women were all smiling and talking about who made what and who should get which doll. The room was filled with such joy that Harper’s chest expanded. This camaraderie with other women was something she had never experienced before, and it was wonderful. In fact, everything about being here was becoming more and more fantastic.
After several hours, they were ready to head to the village. Boats were loaded with the gifts and there were several carts waiting for them on the other side of the loch, along with many of the men on horseback. Once the baskets were transferred, the women jumped aboard the various conveyances and headed in different directions. Skye sat with Harper on her cart and they leaned into each other, silently sharing how amazing these people were, how wonderful this experience. The wind whipped around them, the drizzle dampened their clothes, but none of that mattered as they bumped along the rutted roads.
Stopping at each cottage, people ran out to greet them, the children laughing and squealing with delight. Harper hugged as many as she could before it was time to move to the next place. The phrase “giving is better than receiving” was never truer than this day.
***
Daimh was following the cart with Harper, and he was amazed at how comfortable she was with the villagers and their children. She actually seemed to love hugging them and watching their delight as they received the offerings. Boys were already mock fighting with their toy swords while the girls tightly held the homemade dolls to themselves and showed them around to each other. Scarves were wrapped around necks and gloves donned, and it was glorious. Those from the castle were offered cups of ale and cider, but the true warming came from the people themselves. Their singing and dancing, despite the dampening weather, expressed their gratitude. It was impossible not to feel the contagious joy.
Daimh loved this time of year. Sharing bounty and holiday pleasure filled his spirit and crept into the dark places, filling them with light. His only regret was not being able to share this with his brother. Eilidh knew to hide the boy from visitors and Daimh could only imagine the child’s heartbreak at not being allowed to join the festivities. Daimh hoped that one day his real brother would be returned and he could share all this with him, too. But he would miss Thomas. Would it be possible to have them both? In the meantime, he dared not allow Thomas to be discovered for fear the people would reject him out of fear.
As he watched Harper, the thought of her learning the truth sent what could only be terror through his body. He feared no man, no war, no fight, but the idea that she would find out about Thomas chilled him to the bone. If she knew, she would certainly think Daimh cursed and walk away, leaving him desolate. But he couldn’t continue being with her without revealing the truth. It was not honest and it was not fair.
Seeing her with the village children today, a kernel of hope formed. She obviously liked the bairns, even the dirty ones, and maybe she could accept that Thomas was not his fault. Could she forgive him for the curse his parents suffered? Or would she believe him to carry the curse as well? The thoughts tortured him. Admitting to himself he had fallen in love with Harper and wished to make her his was all that he hoped for. But unless she knew about Thomas, it couldn’t be.
***
It was dusk when they headed back to the loch for the trip across. They were wet and cold, but no one seemed to notice. Many of the villagers followed them and were welcomed into the castle for a feast prepared for them and the festivities continued.
After they had eaten their fill, the children gathered around Daimh.
“Tell us a story. Tell us a story.” The children’s voices rang through the hall and the adults smiled. The meal had been cleared away and the bairns pleas were joined by their mothers and fathers, who were clearly anxious to hear a story as well.
Harper turned to Skye in question.
“Daimh is a wonderful storyteller,” Skye responded. “Wait and see.”
Daimh nodded and a roar of affirmation filled the hall. He took his place in front of the fireplace, and all gathered around.
“Shall it be the Otter King or the Seal Maidens?” he asked.
“The Seal Maidens,” many called out.
“But it has a sad ending,” he warned.
“The Seal Maidens,” the crowd repeated.
Daimh shrugged his agreement and sat in one of the larger chairs.
“In days long past, those who sailed here believed that our island was home to mermaids, also known as the selkies. In order to turn into humans, though, they had to cast off their sealskins. But they dare not lose them, as the skins had the power to return them to their real form and allow them back into the sea. If, however, the skin was lost, the selkie was doomed to stay in human form until the skin could be recovered.”
Taking a breath, he built the suspense like a master.
Harper scanned the faces of his audience, impressed how Daimh held them all rapt with his tale and his voice. If she had not fallen for him before, this alone would eliminate any question. Like the others, she was on the edge of her seat.
“Now, it was well-known that if a human found the sealskin, he could hold the maiden captive.”He paused for effect, and everyone seemed to lean forward as one.“One night, three brothers went fishing in the loch. Yes, our loch. They saw three seal maidens frolicking about in the moonlight, having shed their skins, and taken on human form. Well, of course, the brothers were enchanted.
“The brothers quickly gathered up the seal skins, hoping the legends were true and they could make the beautiful wumman their wives. The youngest of the brothers, though, had a soft heart, and was moved to return his chosen beloved’s seal skin. As a reward from the seal king, he was permitted to see her every ninth night and if ye watch very closely from a distance away, since ye dare not disturb their meetings, ye can see the lovers reunite when the moon is bright. But you must be verra careful or they will disappear.”
“Tell us of the others,” a child called out.
“Aye, they were not so lucky.” He stopped and frowned deeply at the sons’ misfortune. “The middle son’s wife found her fur and was able to return to the sea. She loved her husband, but she more missed her home. The verra sad brother mourned until he died, for no other would suit him as wife.” Taking a deep breath again, he continued. “But it was true tragedy that struck the eldest son. He did not want to risk his wife leaving him, so he tried to burn her fur in order to prevent such a thing from happening. But he accidently burned her in the process. She screamed in agony at the pain, which was only matched by that of her broken heart. Then he, like his brother, spent the rest of his life in sadness.”
Tale ended, the hall grew quiet, until one of the children called out. “Tell us another.”
Several voices joined the first, but Daimh shook his head. “I fear it is time for you bairns to sleep, but another time I will tell you of the “Otter King”, but only if ye behave and do what your mother and da tell you.”
The group slowly gathered blankets and found places to sleep.
Daimh wove his way through the families bedding down to Harper, who stood along the wall with Skye. He was intercepted by a young woman holding a mug for him. Nodding his thanks, he drank deeply and handed the vessel back to her. She was an attractive girl, if a little coarse-featured, and her bosom was nearly spilling over the top of her too-tight bodice. She managed to stroke his arm before walking away with hips a-swinging.
“Who is that?” Harper asked Skye, the green-eyed monster taking a bite.
“Oh, that’s Iona. She’s a widow who works here at the castle and lives in Dornie with her mother. But don’t worry. Daimh has never given her a second glance.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Harper stated a little to firmly.
“Yeah, okay. If you say so,” Skye teased.
“That tale was amazing,” Harper greeted Daimh as he reached her. “You are a born storyteller.”
Smiling in pleasure at the compliment, he took her arm and, nodding to Skye, led Harper away from the others. “May I see you tonight?” His voice was low so as not to be overheard.
“Yes.” She hoped midnight would hurry. A warrior, a magnificent lover, a grand weaver of tales. No, she could never leave.