Knight in Highland Armor (34 page)

Taking a deep breath, she pushed through the door. He’d moved to the chair and had his back to her. If possible, his shoulders had grown even broader in his absence. Perhaps fighting nonstop did that to a man. His dun locks had been trimmed to his nape, and they glistened blond in the firelight. The man’s stature was so magnificent, Margaret would wager he could turn lead to gold.

When the door closed, he turned and smiled.

Colin’s smile
.

Her knees wobbled like boneless limbs.

“I was afraid you might be feeling too tired,” he said.

“How could I be tired on an eve like this?” She crossed the floor and slipped her arm out of its sling.

He tapped the splint ever so lightly. “You mustn’t jostle it.”

“’Tis splinted, and I only need to use my fingers. I’ll do most of the work with my right.”

“Are you sure you’ll not do further damage?”

“Aye. A fortnight and Alana says it’ll be as good as new.” She held up the shears. “Are you ready?”

His eyes sparkled with a wee bit of humor. “I have only one request.”

“Aye?”

“Remove that ridiculous headpiece.”

She laughed, reaching back to pull the pin securing her constricting veil in place. “The new styles are rather garish.” In one tug, the conical contraption fell to the floor. “Oh my. I am clumsy with one hand.”

He pulled the snood from her head and her hair cascaded to her waist in a messy heap. He fingered a lock. “One-handed you are far more graceful than any swan.”

“You embellish the truth, and I thank you.” Again she held up her shears.

He raised his chin and gazed into her eyes. “Trim me close, my love.”

Colin need say not another word. Her heart melted. His deep voice still vibrated within her breast.
My love. Can he truly forgive me?

Margaret forced herself to steady her hands. As she stepped in, the alluring fragrance of musk and spice enveloped her. With each snip, Colin transformed until she trimmed the hair from his left cheek.

She gasped and lowered her hands. A deep, jagged scar had been hidden by his whiskers. “My word. What happened?”

“Bloody hell.” He brushed his fingers across the mottled pink skin. “It has been concealed for so long, I’d nearly forgotten. This was caused by a splinter from my own ship—right before it sank.”

“With each word, your crusade gets worse.” Margaret knitted her brows and examined the deep scar. To think he’d been so close to death.

“Pardon my vulgar tongue. I’ve been too long away from the finer sex.”

“’Tis not that.” She trimmed the last bit of scraggly beard and smoothed her hands over the closely cropped beard that remained. “I…I never want to be separated from you again.”

Colin grasped her waist with a firm hand. Margaret’s blood rushed hot through her veins. She’d scarcely felt a thing when Ewen touched her, but all her husband had to do was focus his gaze upon her and she was enslaved.

His fingers clamped into her flesh. “I want to hold you in my arms forever.”

She grasped his wrists and dropped to her knees. “Can you forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive.” He tugged her up and gently set her on his lap. “I don’t want to cause your arm pain.”

“My body is tingling so, I doubt I could feel pain this night.”

He placed a finger on her lips and slowly trailed it to her chin. When he reached her neck, gooseflesh coursed across her skin. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze dipping to her breasts. “During all my time away, I lived as a monk.” He closed his eyes. “I feel as trepid as a virgin.”

She shuddered. “As do I.”

“You didn’t?”

“Nay. Not once.”

“God, I love you.”

“Kiss me, Colin.”

Dark, soulful eyes met hers, wounded with atrocities she could only imagine. The longing in them was physical, profound. He lowered his gaze to her lips and dipped his head. Margaret’s womb inflamed with longing. His lips brushed hers lightly. His tongue slipped out, and she opened her mouth to receive him.

Tasting of whisky and male, his mouth crushed over hers. With a rumbling groan, his fingers sank into her back and kneaded. Margaret clamped her good hand around his neck, holding on for her life. His ardent kiss ignited a bone-melting fire that raged through her blood.

Against her buttock, he lengthened. Her body responded with desire. Her breasts ached for his touch. She ground her hips into him. Oh God, she could feel passion again.

Another deep rumble filled her mouth.

Utterly possessed by him, Margaret whispered, “Make love to me.”

***

When her sultry voice expressed the words he’d dreamed of hearing, Colin forced himself not to rip the gown from Margaret’s body and take her like a barbarian. He’d abstained for so long, he clenched his stomach muscles to restrain his base desires and mount her like a stallion rides a mare. Besides, he could cause no further injury to her arm.

“I want to do this right,” he forced out.

She nodded and stood. Turning her back, she pulled her thick tresses around her shoulder in an unspoken request to unlace her gown. He rose. Thank heavens she had her back turned and couldn’t see his trembling fingers fumble with the ribbon. Colin needed to cool his blood, act like a man of four and thirty.

With every tug of the laces, a little more of her scent ensnared him. She’d been bound so tight, he wondered how she could breathe. When at last he pulled the ribbon free, she inhaled deeply. Warmth from her body caressed his face. He ran his hands over her shoulders, her long neck prone to him. He inhaled her intoxicating scent and fluttered kisses along her nape.

Her billowing skirts brushed the tip of his cock. His eyes rolled back, but it wasn’t enough. Colin pushed the gown from her shoulders, sending it to the floor with a whoosh.

He hesitated, but she uttered not a complaint. The gown’s wide sleeves did not constrict her wounded limb.

He slid his hands down her narrow waist and pulled her hips against his. A luscious, soft woman’s bottom teased him through her thin linen shift. He need only lift it up to slide into her from behind. He licked his lips and pressed harder.

Margaret seductively moved her hips. If she did that again, he’d spill in his braies. He eased away, and she turned, her green eyes dark, her lips red. Her mouth parted. She unlaced the front tie of her shift and slipped it from her shoulders.

He was afraid to move. Her beauty had Colin so entranced, if his cock met the slightest friction, it would erupt. Her breasts had enlarged since he’d left, her tummy more rounded from birthing John, no doubt. But the added curves made her even more alluring.

She looked wantonly, facing him wearing only her hose and slippers. Swallowing hard, Colin knelt to untie her garters. Holy Mary Mother of God. The floral bouquet of her sex hit him between the eyes. His cock strained, demanding to be set free. He worked quickly to untie the ribbons, remove her shoes and tug down her hose. Mouth completely dry, he regarded the triangle of chestnut locks that hid her treasure.

As if she could hear his thoughts, she opened for him. The air flooded with her scent. His tongue darted out and lapped her. Moaning, Margaret thrust her hips forward, opening her sex to him. He spread her wider with his fingers and swirled his tongue around her sensitive button. She rocked against him, and ran her fingers through his hair.

He slid a finger inside her slick, wet core. She mewled, her thighs quivering around his face.

“Don’t stop.” Her voice hoarse, incredibly erotic.

Colin took her cue. He slid his finger faster while his tongue relentlessly licked.

Margaret’s breathing sped until she gasped. Her body stiffened, then her thighs convulsed with earth-shattering quivers. Crying out, she came undone in his mouth.

Clenching his gut against his urge to release his seed, he continued to lick until her breathing ebbed.

She tugged at his shirt. “Now you.”

Chuckling, Colin stood. “I’ll not have you using that arm.”

“But…”

He scooped her up and carried her to the bed. Gently he rested her atop the pillows.

“I want to undress you,” Margaret persisted. “Here I’m completely bare, whilst you remain clothed.”

Colin tugged off his shirt. “I’ll remedy that fast enough.”

***

As she reclined on Colin’s bed, Margaret’s insides still pulsed. Her inhibitions and fears fled. She wanted Colin to see her naked, and more so, wanted to feast her eyes upon his flesh. When he discarded his shirt, she bolted upright. Another ugly pink scar slashed across his powerful frame.

“Goodness, what happened?”

“’Tis nothing.”

“Did your armor not protect you from such a blow?”

“I had no armor.”

Margaret traced her finger along the jagged wound—trailing from his right chest, it marred his well-toned flesh all the way to his left hip. “Why?”

“’Twas when I escaped from the filthy Turkish dungeon.”

With every word, the atrocities he’d experienced unfolded. How long had he been imprisoned? What was it like? How did he escape? Margaret pushed these questions from her mind and kissed the puckered flesh. She ran her lips down every painful inch, her insides tearing, her heart bleeding for him. Reaching his hip, she pressed her cheek against his warm skin. “What can I do to take your pain away?”

He smoothed his hand over her head and grasped a lock of hair. Raising it to his nose, he inhaled and closed his eyes. “To hold you in my arms again is all I need,
mo leannan
.”

She unbuckled his belt. He kicked off his shoes and removed his hose. Wearing nothing but his linen braies, Margaret stared at his manhood straining against the thin linen. She reached for them with her good arm and tugged, but she only managed to expose part of his hip.

Grinning, he helped her push the undergarment to the floor.

Margaret’s breath stuttered. “It has been so long.”

He crushed her in his arms and kissed like a man starved. His tongue danced with hers, his hard body plying her flesh. The thick column of his manhood jutted against her mons. The coil of hot desire filled her again. But this time she must have him inside her.

His kiss eased as he cradled her in his arm and pulled back the bedclothes. With one arm, he lifted her and set her atop the linens.

Colin crawled beside her, kneeling. Carefully, he placed her injured arm on a pillow. “Are you sure we should do this?”

“Aye.” She panted. “I need you to join with me and become one. I cannot wait much longer.”

He pushed between her legs and kissed her. Gradually, he lowered his body until his manhood caressed her hungry flesh. Sparks sizzled deep inside her womb.

“I’m dangerously close to spilling my seed.”

“We have a lifetime ahead of us.” She grasped his shaft and guided it to her entrance. His groan thrummed through her fevered womanhood. “I want a daughter this time.”

He thrust deep and pulled back. His breathing sped with every plunge. He filled and stretched her, rubbing the spot that would send her to the stars. Margaret bucked against him, mewling uncontrollably. His scent enveloped her. His cock filled her. Every inch of skin craved more until she froze at the pinnacle of ecstasy. In one earth-shattering burst, she pulsed around him. “Colin, oh Colin. I will love you forever!”

With a roar, Colin thrust and exploded within her. His body shook with his violent release, his breath coming in staccato gusts.

After, Margaret rested in the crux of Colin’s arm. She floated like in a dream, tickling her fingers over his powerful chest. She grasped the charmstone and rubbed its polished surface. “It looks untarnished after all you’ve been through.”

He grasped it together with her fingers. “Aye, I daresay the legends are true. I could have died any number of times, but your charms remained with me.”

“Then it truly is a precious heirloom which must continue to protect our family throughout all generations.”

“We shall cherish it and see our kin does as well.” Colin sighed and wrapped Margaret in his arms. “At long last, I can sleep soundly with you nestled by my side.”

Tromlee Castle, 3
rd
August, 1462

Colin hated to leave Kilchurn the next day, but he could no longer allow his men to act in his stead. Argyll had come to fetch him, and together they rode onto the neighboring lands. Tromlee was but an hour’s ride—an ideal location from which to prey upon a grieving lady and her vast estate.

Colin had killed more men than he could count, but never did he have a yen for it. Today, however, he not only wanted Ewen MacCorkodale’s blood, he wanted complete ruination of the man and his clan.

The Black Knight’s men guarded the curtain wall and gates, weapons at the ready. No one said a word when he rode beneath the portcullis. Not a soul filled the cobbled courtyard. Even the blacksmith’s hammer had been silenced.

Dismounting, Colin faced Maxwell. “Where is he?”

“Bound and under guard in the solar on the second floor. His men are all contained in the pit.”

Colin nodded and marched into the dank, moss-covered keep, with Argyll on his heels. He clamped his hand around the hilt of his sword. One clean swing and he could behead the fobbing traitor.

He clenched his jaw so tight his molars ached. He’d force himself to adhere to Margaret’s wishes. She’d borne the worst of it.

Arriving at the solar door, he nodded at the sentry to open it.

Ewen MacCorkodale’s fear permeated the room like shite. Colin slowly slid his dirk from its scabbard and stepped up to the cur. He’d like to cut the bastard’s bindings and face him down right there, man to man…but that was not what Margaret wanted.

Instead, Colin stood beside him and watched the sweat trickle from his brow. “Uncomfortable, are you?”

Ewen stared ahead. The coward jolted when Colin used his dirk to cut the gag from his mouth. Then Ewen had the gall to smirk and stretch his jaw.

Colin smoothed his blade along the swine’s neck. “The pieces of the puzzle fall into place at last. You were the mind behind Walter’s treachery. You have always tried to swindle me and take what’s rightfully mine.” Colin pushed the blade hard enough to break the skin. “Why?”

Ewen leaned his head away from the weapon. “Ye are arrogant. I fought alongside you to rid Scotland of the Douglas threat, and to whom did the king award lands?”

Colin smirked. MacCorkodale had brought up the rear and cleaned up the carnage whilst Campbell men fought the battle.
And he reckons he’s entitled?
“Funny. I didn’t see you beside me when I stormed the keep.”

“You always were too proud to give a care for those who stood behind you.”

“I beg to differ,” Argyll said.

“’Tis the earl spewing off for you now, is it?”

Colin frowned at his nephew. He’d handle this. “You took advantage of a woman. Where are my letters?”

Ewen looked sideways. “Burned.” He chuckled. “Every one of them.”

Argyll stepped in. “What happened to the messengers?”

Ewen smirked. “I couldn’t allow them to walk away, now could I?”

Colin slammed the bastard’s face with the hilt of his dirk. “You murderous, milk-livered coward.”

Blood streamed from the corner of Ewen’s mouth. He lowered his gaze and licked.

Pacing the room, Colin worked to calm his boiling blood. When finally he’d regained his composure, he faced his quarry. “Lady Margaret requested leniency, though I cannot say I agree.” He sheathed his dirk. “Out of respect for her wishes, Argyll will fit you with irons and drag you to Edinburgh. If you survive the journey, you will stand trial in his majesty’s court.”

Ewen blanched. Fitted with irons, once found guilty, it would be easy for the king’s men to hang him from the battlements alive. It could take weeks for him to die while the crows pecked at his flesh. Colin could live with such a verdict.

Good
.

“I will petition for your lands to be stripped and passed to the Campbell clan.” Colin snatched his dirk and buried the blade into the table. “And then I shall think on you no more.”

A stream of sweat bled from Ewen’s temple. “You cannot do this to me. No respectable chieftain should be disgraced by irons—”

Argyll and the guard muscled the traitor out of the room.

Colin balled his fists against his urge to murder MacCorkodale here and now. “Aye, no
respectable
chieftain should.”

Ewen’s bellows echoed down the passage. Colin sat in a chair and rested his head on his hand.

“What shall we do with the others?” Maxwell asked, stepping inside.

“They’re all murderers and backstabbers. Hang them.” Colin stood and opened the cupboard. Had a single letter survived?

“Pardon, m’lord.” A serving maid stepped in, holding a leather satchel. “Are ye looking for your missives?”

Colin snapped up his head. “You know about them?”

“Aye. I couldn’t save them all, but I hid those he didn’t burn straight away.”

Colin strode forward and took the satchel from her hands. “Why did you not spirit these to Lady Margaret?”

“I hoped I could one day.” She lowered her gaze. “He’s my laird. I didn’t know all he’d done until now.” She hid her eyes with her hand. “I cannot read. I’m ever so sorry.”

Colin placed a hand on her shoulder. “’Tis nay you who needs to be punished. It was brave to come to me. I thank you.”

***

Sitting on the floor in Colin’s chamber, Margaret held a kerchief to her face as she read Colin’s letters. She could not make it through a whole missive without shedding tears, each passage more impassioned than the next. If she had but received one of these, she never would have allowed Ewen MacCorkodale to become so close.

She steadied her breath and read aloud.
“…Every night when I return to my cot, I think of you. Memories of your winsome smile, your tenacious spirit and the way our love grew deep roots during our short time together gives me solace. Without you, I would not be able to withstand the misery that surrounds my every waking moment…
”

Taking a deep breath, she fanned herself with her hand. “I cannot believe not one messenger made it to Kilchurn.”

Colin sat beside her, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. “Ewen intended to claim our lands and sell you out. Duncan and John would have ended up with no inheritance. He’d already had the deeds drawn. He only needed to marry you.”

Margaret wanted to scream. “He promised he would recognize the boys’ birthright.” She wailed into her kerchief. “I cannot believe I was thus deceived.”

Colin rested his hand on her shoulder. “At last ’tis over, and our boys are well protected.”

With these missing letters combined with her horror of finding the annulment papers, Margaret could withhold her questions no longer. Through bleary eyes, she stared at the missive in her hand, the penmanship declaring undying love. “When I thought you dead, I unlocked your document box and found annulment papers.” She dared glance at his face, his eyes expressing shock and the horror similar to how she’d felt on that day.
He truly does love me
.

Shaking his head, Colin held up his palms. “I must explain—”

She placed her hand in his. “There is no need.”

“But you must know. I thought I’d destroyed those documents. I-I drew them up in haste shortly after we’d arrived in Dunstaffnage.” He pulled her onto his lap and smoothed his hand over her hair. “Oh, Margaret, my love, I was so confused. Once I’d learned what a loving soul you are, and the enormous talents you possess, you would have had to move heaven and hell to make me sign them.”

Margaret blinked, and a tear slid down her cheek. “After reading these letters you wrote, with all my heart I believe you.”

He nuzzled into her hair. “Ah, lass. You are so fine to me.”

She dabbed her eyes and reached for the next missive, filled with a tale of woeful pain and suffering. “Will the Turks never stop?”

“They are an evil force. The Arabs war with each other as much as they do with the Christians.” He shook his head. “Their beliefs are as strong as ours.”

“Will Christendom prevail?”

“The infidel may march into Jerusalem, and they may crush the Hospitallers, but no one can take down the power of Rome.”

She folded the vellum in her hands. “Are you certain?”

“All of Europe will be at war if they try.”

Margaret placed her hand on Colin’s arm. “Please promise you will never go back.”

“War is for a younger man.” He kissed her cheek ever so tenderly. “Besides, I could nay again leave your side.”

She returned his kiss. “Thank you.”

The door opened and she scooted aside, beckoning the lads. Giggling, Duncan ran to Colin and John to Margaret.

“’Tis time for the evening meal,” Duncan said.

John wiggled onto Margaret’s lap. “I’m famished.”

“What shall we eat?” Colin arched his brows with a devious glint in his eye. He pretended to bite Duncan’s foot. “Laddie toes?”

Duncan squealed. “No!”

Laughing, John darted toward them. “We’ll eat Da’s nose.”

“My nose?” Colin grasped both boys and wrestled them to the ground, gnashing his teeth with a huge grin. “I’d much prefer younger meat…bwahahahaha.”

Margaret laughed, watching Colin roll on the plaid rug with his sons.
This is how it should be.
Finally a family again, their boys would grow into great men in the shadow of the honorable and powerful Black Knight of Rome.

The End