CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Grizel could not later have said who moved first.
One moment they stood beneath the moonlight, neither willing to step away. The next, her hand had found Malcolm's, and she was leading him towards the castle.
She ought to have felt uncertainty. Instead, with every step she took towards his chamber, her certainty grew. This was what she wanted. Not because she had fallen under some spell, nor because desire had robbed her of reason, but because she had chosen him.
When the door closed behind them, the silence seemed to deepen.
For a moment they simply looked at one another.
The journey from the garden had done nothing to lessen the tension between them. If anything, the quiet intimacy of the bedchamber seemed only to sharpen her awareness of him. Neither spoke.
Slowly, Malcolm lifted a hand to cup her cheek.
“Ye are certain?” he asked softly.
The question should have embarrassed her. Instead, it steadied her.
“Aye”
Something eased in his expression then and when he kissed her, there was nothing hurried about it.
The kiss deepened slowly, as though he were giving her every chance to change her mind. Grizel could scarcely come up with a coherent thought, nor did she really want to, she stopped questioning and kissed him back without hesitation.
The kiss seemed to last for an eternity.
Then Malcolm’s gaze searched hers for a brief moment, offering her the chance to retreat.
She did not. His hand slipped gently to the fastening of her gown and began unhooking the buttons, one at a time.
His tongue traversed the line from her lips to her earlobe.
His hands continued moving, releasing them both from the constraint of clothes.
She closed her eyes as she felt the cool silk of her sleeves and bodice slide down her skin.
Desire no longer felt like something to be resisted.
She knew what she wanted, and for once found no reason to deny it.
The warmth of his mouth against her skin, the brush of his breath at her ear, sent a shiver running through her.
Every touch drew her closer to a future she had stopped trying to imagine and simply wanted to embrace.
All that mattered now, was Malcolm’s touch, the warmth of him, and the shiver that followed wherever his lips wandered.
A soft laugh escaped her at the unfamiliar rush of sensation.
Malcolm drew back just enough to look at her and for a moment neither of them moved.
Then slowly she lifted a hand exploring the planes of his chest and then hesitantly moved down the ridges of his muscles and the trail of dark hair that led down his abdomen.
She felt the palms of her hands burning, but she refused to pull away.
Without taking his eyes from hers, he gently led her toward the bed.
The room seemed strangely distant, reduced to little more than shadows and candlelight, while her awareness narrowed to him alone.
He lowered her onto the bed with reverence, his mouth found hers again as he settled himself on top of her.
The few remaining pieces of cloth that separated them were quickly removed and every lingering touch, every brush of his hand against her skin, seemed to set her nerves alight.
A tremor ran through her as he drew her closer.
All uncertainty gone, in the face of the growing ache of wanting him nearer still, she instinctively, spread her legs for him, welcoming the play of his fingers, feeling starved for his touch, for the pleasure that she knew he could bring her.
She arched her back, murmuring softly, as his finger pressed against her velvet entrance.
When she felt him inside of her, her entire body was overwhelmed by pleasure.
“Ye are beautiful,” he murmured in her ear. “Ye are so wet for me…” She heard him say, and his words sent fresh heat through her body. She reached for him, pulling him closer still, unwilling to let even the smallest distance remain between them.
His finger slid in and out of her while his thumb circled her throbbing bead, and Grizel was overcome with sensation.
His lips found her pebbled nipple and took it into his mouth, sucking and licking until she started gasping loudly and all control was gone.
She whimpered as his tongue continued making slow circles around her nipple, first one then the other, sucking, teasing, biting softly.
The wet heat of his mouth and the sensation of his fingers stretching her, making her ready for him, overwhelmed her and she closed her eyes tight as her belly tightened and her toes curled, the tension becoming almost unbearable.
“More… oh please… more” she whispered, scarcely recognizing her own voice.
A low sound rumbled in his chest at that plea. Whatever careful restraint he had been maintaining began to fray. The pace quickened, carrying her with it, and the tension that had been building for what felt like an eternity finally broke.
Pleasure swept through her so suddenly that she could do nothing but cling to him as it passed through every part of her.
When she finally opened her eyes, Malcolm was watching her with a quiet intensity that made her pulse quicken all over again.
“Grizel,” he murmured softly.
The sound of her name in his voice made her shiver and she became intensely aware of what would come next. She had thought she might feel afraid, instead all she felt was an intense desire to be overwhelmed by him.
“Tell me if ye feel any pain,” he whispered.
“Mhm…” That was all she managed to say, as he adjusted himself on top of her.
He didn’t take his eyes off her as he slowly slid inside of her, and paused.
He searched her gaze for acceptance, and when he found it he started moving in a slow deliberate, controlled rhythm, burrowing deeper with each thrust, but always cautiously, as if he were afraid she might break. A rush of tenderness seized her.
She gripped him hard, locking her legs around his waist, keeping him close.
She could feel him deeper inside of her, filling her, stretching her, taking her to the very edge of pleasure.
She moaned and he lowered his head, silencing her with a kiss so deep neither could breathe.
Their bodies moved in the same rhythm, taking everything from each other, frantic with a need neither could voice but both understood.
Suddenly they both tightened around the other, Grizel’s blood was thundering through her.
She clenched around him, and a sensation she simply couldn’t describe overtook her, took everything from her, and then brought her back to a life that would never be the same.
Both of them stilled, breathing hard, Malcolm lowered himself onto his side, his arm remained wrapped around her, like he would never let her go. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.
Outside, the castle kept its watch against the dark, but within the hush of Malcolm’s chamber, Grizel knew only the warmth of his body around her and the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek.
She fell asleep held close against him, with the strange, tender certainty that peace had found her at last, and that it breathed beneath her hand.
The messenger arrived while the wedding cloth was still being hung.
A gust came in with him when the hall doors opened, bringing cold rain, horse-sweat, mud, and the sharp metallic scent of haste.
Conversation thinned at once. The women near the upper table went still with red ribbon in their hands.
A lad carrying greenery stopped mid-step.
Even Tavish, who had been making some low remark to Grizel near the hearth, straightened.
Malcolm saw the seal before he saw the man’s face. It was royal wax. And it had Drummond’s shadow behind it.
The messenger crossed the hall, as his boots were leaving dark marks across the rushes, and dropped to one knee before him.
“Me laird.”
Malcolm took the letter. No one spoke as he broke it open.
The parchment was damp at the edges, but the hand within was clean, formal, and cold as a drawn blade. He read it once, completely immobile. Then he read it again, more slowly, though the meaning had lodged itself in him on the first pass.
Drummond had petitioned the Crown. He claimed Grizel Calder had been taken unlawfully from a contracted match.
He claimed Malcolm had abused the royal decree for pirate lairds by turning sanctioned marriage into abduction.
He claimed the union, if performed, would be illegitimate, coercive, and hostile to Crown order.
Worse, the letter made no true judgment. It only presented pressure, a demand for explanation and a royal eye turned on MacAulay lands at precisely the moment Drummond began moving men toward them.
There it was, then: war, wearing law’s clothing.
Malcolm folded the letter once. The crackle of parchment sounded loud in the hall. His gaze moved, briefly, to Grizel.
She was standing very still, the red wedding cord half-tied at her wrist. She had understood enough from the seal, from his silence, perhaps from him. He looked away before that understanding could reach any soft place inside him.
“Tavish.”
“Aye.”
“Send riders tae the western road and the lower burn. Double the watch before noon. Nae cart enters unchecked. Nae man leaves without being seen.”
Tavish was already moving. “Aye.”
“Duncan,” Malcolm continued, turning to the men near the door. “Close the east gate. Quietly. I want nae panic in the village settlements, but every outpost is tae be warned. Signal the harbor. Nae red-sailed vessel departs without me word.”
“Aye, me laird.”
“Call the council. Full attendance. Armory opened, but weapons issued by list only. I’ll nae have fools sharpening fear intae accidents.”
The hall came alive at once. His men knew his voice in moments like this. Orders passed from one mouth to another. The wedding ribbons hung motionless, absurdly bright against the dark beams while the castle shifted beneath them from celebration to defense.
Malcolm turned to the messenger. “How many?”
The man lifted his head. “Reports say Drummond rides with at least forty by land. More expected. There is word of hired blades near the coast.”
“Ships?”
“Two seen north of Mull. Could be his. Could be waiting tae be paid.”
Malcolm nodded once, then pointed at the messenger. “Feed him. Then put him with me scouts. I’ll question him meself after council.”
The messenger bowed and withdrew. Only then did Malcolm allow himself to look at Grizel again.
She had not moved. Around her, preparations for the final rite remained half-finished, with cloth being folded over benches and silver cups waiting to be polished.
She was standing among the tokens of a marriage that had begun as strategy and was now drawing steel toward his door.
He had known this would come. He had told himself so from the beginning.
Yet seeing her there, marked in red, watching his men turn from ceremony to war because of a claim made upon her, Malcolm felt the old dark instinct rise again, not merely to defend, but to place himself between her and every hand reaching through law, pride, or violence.
He crushed it into command.
“Grizel,” he called out to her.
Her chin lifted. “I heard.”
“I ken.”
“This is nae longer only a challenge tae the marriage.”
“Nae.”
Her mouth tightened, but she did not look away. “He is coming.”
“Aye.”
The word passed through the hall like winter.
For one breath, Malcolm wanted to soften it, to say she would be safe and to make some promise broad enough to cover cannon, steel, kings, and the madness of men who mistook refusal for theft.
But he had learned the cruelty of promises made too easily.
So, he gave her the only truth he trusted.
“He willnae take ye.”
Grizel’s eyes focused on him intensely and she nodded once in acknowledgement and possibly relief. Then Malcolm turned from her before it could undo him and faced the hall, where wedding cloth stirred faintly in the draft and his men waited for war beneath it.
“Prepare the castle,” he ordered.
And this time, no one thought of marriage first.