Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (16 page)

She hesitated. “They are bringing up your tub.”

“Aye, they are, but they are not here yet. Moreover, you would be wise not to defy any more of my commands tonight.”

She went to him then, feeling wary, especially when he put both hands on her shoulders. But when she looked up, he kissed her lightly on the lips.

“There is still much to be done,” she said. “And I do not know how much longer your mother can spare her people.”

“We’ll hire our own people,” he said. “My men can help, and you may hire as many lasses as you need to come by day. They must sleep at home, because the tower is too small to house them all. I hope you will not object, though, if any of my lads who want to continue sleeping on the hall floor does so. I can order them all to bed down on the top floor, of course, or they can sleep in the yard if they—”

“That is for you to say, sir,” she said quickly. “I moved their things only so we could clear the hall to clean it. I’d prefer that they keep their gear elsewhere, or in kists along one wall, but if they have nowhere else . . .”

“We’ll sort all that out later,” he said. “Now that you have made such a good start, I can think of any number of other things we should do. We’ll make a list and get as much done as we can before Douglas sends for me. He is holding a wardens’ meeting at Hermitage next week that I shall have to attend. But nowt of consequence is likely to occur before then.”

“But you are not a Border warden, are you?”

“Nay, but we have other matters to discuss, not least of which is the English threat. Richard of England has been moving north as he raises a royal army. Meantime, Hotspur and his longtime ally the Bishop of Durham are raising their own armies to join with the King’s. Because the threat to Scotland is so rapidly increasing, even the Earl of Fife means to attend this meeting, although the accommodations at Hermitage certainly will not suit his notion of what is due to his consequence.”

“Then mayhap it would be wiser to hold the meeting elsewhere.”

“It is Douglas’s meeting as Chief Warden of the Marches and thus his decision where they will meet. But as you doubtless know, his countess is Fife’s next-to-youngest sister. She offered to put the place in better order for him, but Douglas rejected her offer out of hand.”

“Mayhap he should accept it,” Meg said with a smile. “He may learn that she can be useful.”

“See that you do not suggest such a thing where she may hear of it,” he ordered sternly. “The countess is a good, obedient wife and should remain so.”

She sobered but said, “What if Fife’s wife wants to come?”

“He rarely even sees her, for she has never been anything to him save his means to acquire the Menteith earldom. The only reason he is coming is to annoy Jamie. Fife dislikes him as much as he disliked the first Earl of Douglas.”

“I warrant it is not the Douglas he dislikes as much as the Douglas power,” Meg said thoughtfully.

“Now, how would a lass like you know aught of Fife?” he said.

“My brother Simon has served him for several years,” she explained. “Simon rarely visits us. But each time he has, he has mentioned that Fife believes Douglas wields much more than his rightful share of power. Simon agrees with him.”

“Everyone knows that Fife wants to undermine Douglas’s power, but I fear that your brother and I disagree as to its rightfulness,” he said. “For the past fifty years and more, the Douglas power here in the Borders is all that has kept the English from taking over Scotland. Every time they have tried, it has been the Douglas and his allies who have stopped them. Certainly, the Stewarts have done naught to prevent it. Nor did David Bruce when he was King, come to that.”

“I know. David was willing to turn us all over to England’s third Edward. I expect you know that many folks believe it was a mistake to prevent that.”

“And what of you, madam? What do you believe?”

She nibbled her lower lip, thinking how best to express her thoughts to him, as complex as they were.

Footsteps sounded on the stairway.

Without haste, deciding the wisest thing was to tell the simple truth, she said, “I am your wife, sir. It is my duty and my intent to support you in all you do.”

He looked long at her, ignoring the rap on the door. Then his eyes began to twinkle, and he said, “That is an admirable response, lass, and quite true about your duty. But I trust you will forgive me if I am a trifle suspicious of such a response in view of your recent decision to flout my commands the minute I turned my back.”

She moved to protest, but he turned and called, “Enter,” so she kept silent.

In fact, he was right. Her words did not match her recent behavior.

As two menservants carried in the tub and the first pails of hot water, she decided she had not been honest even with herself in what she had said to him.

More lads entered, carrying more hot water, and she noted that Sym had taken command, curtly telling a gillie four or five years older than himself to have a care lest he splash more water on the floor than he poured into the tub.

She glanced at her husband and saw that his amusement matched hers. But she knew that Sym had better watch his step, and that she should do the same.

What
did
she think about England’s desire to rule Scotland? No one had asked for her opinion before. But she knew that, having asked, he would ask again, and that she had better have a more considered answer for him, and for herself.

When the lads had filled his tub, Wat dismissed them and bathed quickly but with pleasure. Like most Scots, he preferred cleanliness to living under layers of dirt and had never understood the English habit of bathing just two or three times a year.

He had certainly not expected Margaret to order a tub for him, because although her father was Scottish, everyone agreed that her English-born mother ruled at Elishaw. He had seen as much for himself. Had she not taken a greater part in his misfortunes there than any ordinary wife would?

These thoughts, coupled with Margaret’s recent defiance, made him fear that she might try to rule at Raven’s Law in the same way. He was a tolerant man, but he would not stomach usurpation of his role as master of his household.

As he bathed, she moved about quietly, picking up the clothing he had cast aside in his disrobing. So far, she had shown an inclination to take the bit between her teeth only the one time. But he wanted to see no more of it. It occurred to him then that he still believed Jenny had been the driving force in that incident.

It was true that Meg had broached the subject of moving to him earlier—twice, in fact. But he was as certain as he could be that without both Jenny’s urging and his parents’ acquiescence, Meg would not have disobeyed him.

His father had not known that he had forbidden her to move to the tower.

But Jenny just as certainly had known. Wat could not imagine Meg being so deceitful as to accept Jenny’s urging without admitting that Wat had told her to stay at the Hall. Jenny, however, was perfectly capable of offering unsolicited advice.

“Who first brought up the notion of your moving here?” he asked abruptly.

She straightened and turned, her brow creased. “Jenny had met Sym and wondered why he seemed so devoted to me. I explained that you had told him to look after me, and she asked why, if you cared enough to provide me with a bodyguard, you’d left me at the Hall rather than bringing me here to Raven’s Law.”

“Sym is hardly my idea of a bodyguard; nor did I set him to any such task.”

“I know that, and you know that. I wager Jenny knows it, too. But you neglected to tell Sym, and he follows me like a shadow.”

“Good,” he said, reaching for one of the remaining pails of warm water and sluicing it over his head and upper body to rinse away the soap suds. “That should keep you both out of trouble. What does he carry in that new pouch of his?”

“A kitten called Pawky that he rescued from drowning.”

He chuckled. “So what reason did you give Jenny for staying at the Hall?”

“That you had said it was too dangerous for me here until you could lay those raiders by the heels and make it safe again.”

“But she still urged you to move.”

“She said it was ‘blethers,’” she said with a reminiscent smile.

He nearly smiled himself at hearing the word on her lips. But by reaching for a second pail and standing to rinse off, he manage to retain his sober expression.

When she handed him a towel and bent to move the two empty pails out of his way, he said, “I hope you did not encourage such disrespect.”

Setting the pails down against the wall, she straightened and eyed him appraisingly before she said, “She said it was blethers, because this tower is nearly impregnable. She said the steep walls of the cleuch and the ease with which your people can guard its entrance make it so. It is also much nearer the Hall than I knew, so help is always near at hand if we need it.”

“In other words,” he said, no longer having any difficulty letting his irritation show, “she pressed you hard to disobey me.”

Again she seemed to measure him. Then, mildly, she said, “I told her you would not thank her for saying the things she did, but she said you’d thank her in time. She said Scott men do not like meek women.”

“She said that, did she?”

The woman he had expected to give him little trouble met what ought to have been a fiercely frowning gaze with unnatural ease and said, “Aye, she did.”

As he stepped out of the tub, he said gently, “Do you enjoy fratching, lass?”

Giving him a wary look, she said, “I’d liefer have peace.”

“Then I’d advise you to learn swiftly to obey your husband.” He dried his feet and cast the towel to the floor by the washstand. “Come here.”

She bit her lip, but when he raised his eyebrows, she took a step toward him, her gaze lowering. He was still flaccid, but he felt his body stir when she looked, and he knew by her expression that she had seen its movement.

“Sym will be waiting outside the door,” she said, looking up again and stopping just out of reach. “I’ll send him to fetch men to take away the tub.”

“They can deal with it in the morning,” he said. “Now, come here.”

“But Sym—”

“Never mind Sym,” he said. “He can sleep outside the door for all I care.”

“But—”

“Margaret . . .”

She glanced at the door.

He waited, crossing his arms over his chest.

She licked her lips, making his body stir again. Then, at last, she moved to stand before him, her gaze pinned to his as if she resisted looking down again.

Reaching to touch her silken hair, he said, “Take off your robe.”

He saw her tremble and savored the reaction, knowing that she did not fear him, that it was only her body reacting to his.

Without a word, she untied the robe and let it slip from her shoulders, catching it in her hands, so that it did not fall to the floor.

Still looking into his eyes, she said, “I’ll just put this—”

“Drop it,” he said.

“I’d rather—”

“Drop it,” he said again, putting a finger to her lips and finding them soft.

She obeyed him, her gaze still locked with his.

“Now, suck my finger,” he murmured.

Her beautiful eyes widened, but she obeyed, her velvety hot tongue laving his finger and bringing his body wholly alive.

The feelings roaring through Meg were feelings she had never experienced before, ones she could never have imagined any man could make her feel simply by telling her what he wanted her to do. Her legs felt weak.

“Take off your shift,” he said.

She stopped sucking, because she usually took her shift off over her head.

“Don’t stop,” he said. “Just push it off your shoulders and let it fall. The opening looks wide enough.”

It was, of course, because even gathered, the neckline was wide enough to scoop deeply, but the material was thin and she feared to tear it. When she opened her mouth to tell him so, he raised his eyebrows warningly.

Trying to be gentle with the cambric and to remember to keep sucking his finger, she eased the shift off her left shoulder and then off her right.

“I’ll help,” he said as he slipped his free hand inside to cup her right breast.

When his thumb brushed across the nipple, she moaned. At the sound, he lifted that breast free of the cambric and reached for the other one.

A moment later, the shift slipped to the flare of her hips. When it paused there, he pushed it lower until it fell to encircle her feet.

He cupped the right cheek of her bottom and pulled her closer, letting her feel his readiness as he drew his finger from her mouth and kissed her lips hard.

His hands moved warmly over her naked body while his lips held hers captive and his tongue plunged deeply into her mouth to explore its interior.

Her body responded, and no sooner did she press harder against him than he scooped her up and carried her to the bed.

As he climbed in with her, she said, “My shift . . . my robe . . . my maid will . . .”

“Hush,” he said, positioning himself to couple with her and slipping a hand down between them to see if she was ready for him. “Do you think the servants do not know what we do?”

“But—”

“If it will discomfit you to have a maidservant find your clothes lying about in the morning, just think of it as more of what you deserve for needing lessons in obedience,” he said as he entered her.

Meg heard his words but paid small heed to them, because the sensations racing through her body had taken command. He continued to tease her with his hands, his lips, and his rhythmic plunging until she feared she might soon explode.

Every movement of his or her own increased her pleasure. She sensed pending culmination, as if she were reaching unknown heights. They were feelings she had experienced the night before he’d left to ride to Elishaw, glorious feelings.

Both of them were breathing hard, he nearly gasping as the pace of his movements increased. Then, with a moan of completion, he collapsed atop her and lay there, panting, replete. Her magnificent sensations collapsed with him.

She wanted to protest but was not sure that she should.