Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Steam softened the edges of the chamber. It gathered upon the stone walls and clouded the narrow window above the hearth, shutting out Dun Ard until the room seemed to contain nothing beyond warm water, wavering candlelight, and Roy seated behind Donaldina in the bathing tub.
The water had already turned faintly gray from the soil they carried in from the garden. Small traces of honey floated across its surface, catching the light whenever either of them moved.
Donaldina rested against Roy’s chest while he poured water slowly over her shoulder. Neither had spoken much since entering the chamber. Words seemed unnecessary.
His hand moved along her arm with a damp linen cloth, wiping away the dirt gathered beneath her sleeve and the sticky sweetness clinging to her skin.
His touch was careful despite the strength in his fingers.
He cleaned each mark as though the task required the same attention he gave maps, wounds and weakened walls.
Donaldina watched his hand travel down to her wrist. Roy lifted each finger, cleaning the honey from between them.
“Ye missed a place,” she murmured.
His mouth brushed near her ear. “Where?”
The warmth of his breath made her shiver with delight.
Donaldina turned within the circle of his arms. Water lapped softly around them, against the wooden sides of the tub.
Roy’s dark hair was damp, pushed carelessly from his face.
Droplets clung to the scar along his jaw, traveling slowly down his throat.
She touched the streak of dirt near his collarbone. “There.”
Roy looked down at her fingers. “A grievous failure.”
“I expected better.”
“Then ye may correct it.”
She removed the cloth from him and started at his shoulder, gradually sliding it over skin bearing old scars and recent scratches from the hives.
His sizable form filled the tub, making their legs to remain tangled beneath the water.
With each movement, her knee brushed against his thigh.
Neither of them looked down, maintaining a shared silence.
She washed the line of his chest, following the paths of pale scars beneath her fingertips. Roy remained still, but his gaze never left her face. She did not want to pretend any longer. Donaldina leaned toward him and pressed her mouth to his.
The kiss began slowly, almost gently, carrying all the ease they found working beside one another in the garden. Then Roy’s hand entered her wet hair, and his restraint gave way beneath her lips.
He kissed her more deeply. Water spilled over the edge of the tub as he drew her across his lap.
Donaldina’s knees settled on either side of him, leaving no distance between their bodies.
His hands moved over her back, strong and certain, yet still carrying that impossible care he never seemed able to abandon with her.
His mouth left hers and traveled down the side of her throat. Donaldina tipped her head back as his lips found the place where her pulse beat hardest. Heat followed every touch, spreading beneath her skin until the steam-filled air no longer seemed sufficient to breathe.
He lifted her from his lap and set her upon the broad edge of the tub. Warm water ran from her body and gathered beneath her upon the linen spread across the wood. Donaldina caught his shoulders, uncertain only for the instant before his mouth found her again.
Then, his lips traveled down her collarbone, licking the pebbled nipple of her left breast. His tongue remained there for one tantalizing moment, as he took her nipple into his mouth, sucking on it, flicking his tongue over it.
The gentle pressure made her entire body yearn for him in ways she could never have imagined.
Then, his lips released her and found a different place. Her breath caught sharply, and she saw his wild curls buried between her thighs.
“Oh…” she moaned, closing her eyes and grabbing a fistful of his hair, keeping him in place.
Roy’s hands settled at her hips, holding her steady as the room dissolved into heat and sensation. There was no haste in him now. The fierce impatience of their kisses became something slower and more devastating, where every movement was deliberate enough to make her tremble.
She tried to remain quiet. The effort did not survive long, especially not when she felt his tongue delve into her slowly and tantalizingly. He added his finger, circling her wet pearl, while all she could do was dig her nails into his back.
“Faster,” she heard herself say, though she had no idea how she knew that this was exactly what she needed.
She could feel his lips grinning devilishly against her most sensitive flesh, as he slid his finger inside of her, curling it at just the right angle, while his tongue kept sucking her, playing with her, bringing her to the edge of the abyss of ecstasy.
The pleasure gathered until it became unbearable.
When release overtook her, her head fell back against the stone wall.
Roy held her through it, refusing to let her turn away from the intensity of what he had drawn from her.
She was still gripping her hair when the aftershock released her from its grip, and when he smiled at her, his lips were still wet with her dew.
Her breathing remained uneven as he rose. Donaldina reached for him immediately. Roy settled between her knees, and she pulled him into another kiss. She tasted warm water and the faint sweetness of honey on his mouth. The knowledge of where those lips had been sent another shiver through her.
Neither of them attempted to move. His hands remained at her waist while hers rested against his chest, over the steady violence of his heartbeat.
“We are still dirty,” she whispered.
Roy looked toward the abandoned cloth floating in the tub. “A grave failure.”
Donaldina smiled and drew him closer. “Then we shall have tae begin again.”
The scout arrived shortly after noon with mud to his thighs and blood dried along one sleeve. Roy saw him from the battlements before the horn sounded. The man rode hard through the outer gate, his horse lathered beneath the saddle and stumbling upon the courtyard stones.
Roy was already descending the stair when Hamish called his name.
The scout dismounted badly. One knee struck the ground before Malcolm caught his arm.
“Inside,” Roy ordered.
They took him to the council chamber, where the fire burned low beneath a heavy smell of damp wool, sweat and peat smoke. Water gathered beneath the scout’s boots as he stood before the long table. He refused the offered chair until Roy pointed toward it a second time.
“Report.”
The man swallowed from a cup before speaking. “Cormac has left the northern woodland. He is moving between the inland glens.”
“With how many men?” Hamish asked.
“That is the trouble.” The scout wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “He has fewer mercenaries than before. Perhaps a dozen still ride beneath him.”
Malcolm frowned. “Then he grows weaker.”
“Nae.”
Roy heard the answer before the scout gave it. The room had gone too still.
“He is meeting chiefs,” the man continued. “MacAulay men near the western pass. Two branches of the Gunns. A MacRae cousin who holds land beyond the loch. Others, too. Small houses. Men with perhaps ten warriors each, perhaps twenty.”
“Men who would sell their swords,” Malcolm said.
The scout shook his head. “He isnae purchasing swords. He is promising land, council places, fishing rights along MacNicol water.”
Roy’s hand settled upon the edge of the table. The old wood felt rough beneath his palm. Lachlan’s maps lay open before him, with the western coast divided by faded lines, each boundary earned through marriages, bloodshed or bargains so old that no living man remembered which had come first.
Cormac had begun offering pieces of it, land he did not possess and power he had not won. The promises did not need to be lawful. They merely needed to be desirable.
“What does he ask in return?” Roy demanded.
The scout looked toward him. “That they oppose the marriage.”
The fire shifted softly in the hearth. No one spoke.
Roy looked down at the map. Dun Ard stood marked by a small black tower near the coast. Black Craig lay farther south. Between them stretched glens, roads and minor holdings whose chiefs had endured generations beneath stronger neighbors.
Cormac was no longer gathering desperate men for raids. He was giving resentment a banner.
“He says the accord died with Lachlan,” the scout continued. “That the King who signed it nae longer concerns himself with Highland law. He claims Lady Donaldina was forced intae accepting ye while her clan stood divided.”
Hamish muttered a curse. Roy did not. Anger came easily. It rose through him, cold and familiar, demanding horses, steel and enough men to drag Cormac from whichever borrowed hall presently sheltered him. Roy held it still.
That was what Cormac expected; a military answer to a political attack would grant every accusation weight.
Roy could ride into those glens and scatter the gatherings.
He could burn the homes of men who received Cormac’s letters and place guards upon every road between Dun Ard and the inland passes.
And by nightfall, Cormac would tell the Highlands that Roy MacIver used a royal marriage to conquer MacNicol lands by force.
“He learned,” Roy concluded.
Malcolm glanced at him. “What?”
“Cormac learned that taking Donaldina strengthens us.”
The name altered something within him, as it always did now.
He remembered her in the hunting lodge, with smoke surrounding her and ropes cutting into her wrists.
He remembered the certainty in her eyes when he reached her.
He remembered her in the garden that morning, sunlight upon her hair and honey bright across her fingers.
Cormac had seen what violence accomplished. Each attempt to tear them apart made Donaldina choose Roy more openly. Each blade raised against her drove the MacNicols toward the man who stood between her and danger. Cormac had put away the blade… for now.
“He means tae make the marriage itself the enemy,” Roy continued. “Nae me. Nae Donaldina. The accord.”
Hamish moved closer to the table. “Can he challenge a decree sealed before the King’s council?”
“He doesnae need tae win before the King.”
Roy traced the northern road upon the map. “He needs the minor clans tae believe they will lose land and influence if MacIver and MacNicol become one house. He needs our council tae fear unrest. He needs Donaldina’s people tae question whether accepting me means surrendering their name.”
“And once they are divided?” Malcolm asked.
Roy looked toward the window. Beyond the glass, Dun Ard’s walls rose against a colorless sky. Gulls wheeled above the cliffs. Far below, the sea struck the rocks in slow, heavy blows.
“Then he moves.”
Not with six frightened men in a forest, but with chiefs, banners, and claims dressed as law.
A coordinated challenge could force Dun Ard’s allies to hesitate before offering men.
It could make every order Roy issued appear foreign and every decision Donaldina made appear corrupted by affection.
Cormac would weaken their authority first and strike only when defending the castle risked proving him right.
For the first time, Roy understood that the next battle would begin long before any man drew a sword.