Maiden of Inverness (26 page)

“Now who's sorry, Revas?”

How did she manage to know him so well? How could he tell her the truth without spoiling the moment?
Oh Scotland,
he thought,
you ask too much of an ordinary man.

He scooted to the head of the bed and pulled her with him. When he'd tucked her to his side, he said, “My only regret is that I did not prevent you from drinking from that poisoned cup so many years ago. Had I stayed your hand, we could have been together all this time.”

With the flat of her bandaged hand, she drew lazy circles on his chest. “What of the sword of Chapling?”

According to tradition, she could not seek it now; her father would keep the symbols of power. But Revas possessed the grand princess of the Highland folk. If he was fortunate, the Macgillivrays would follow the old ways and abandon Cutberth in favor of the Maiden, even if she did not demand the sword.

It had happened before, but the circumstances and clans had been different. Centuries ago, the father of the unwed Maiden had stayed too long on Crusade. In defiance of her greedy uncles, she had chosen her husband and together they had ruled the Highlands in relative peace. Precedents aside, Meridene Macgillivray did not think of herself as the Maiden, did not possess the devotion of her predecessors.

Would she ever? Perhaps seeing William again would rouse her loyalty. Revas would send a message to him, asking him to visit. Would her brother come? Yes, and by that time, Revas prayed she would accept her circumstances and claim her birthright.

In contradiction to his thoughts, he said, “You mustn't think of the sword now. If I'm to reign, the sword of Chapling and the crown will find their way to me. And if you keep fondling me, you'll find yourself calling up Saint Mary again.”

Her hand stilled, and she slid him a curious glance. “There's no blood on the linens . . . or on you.”

Her candor charmed him. He also felt pride at the care he'd taken with her. “You looked closely at me?”

“I—You're just there—and I couldn't help—seeing—you.”

She flustered beautifully, which brought him quickly to life again. “You were innocent. The lack of virgin's blood means nothing. By my oath, I swear you were pure of body.”

Vindicated, she grew brave. “You've had many virgins, I suppose.”

In the absence of an acceptable reply, he kept silent and prayed for a miracle.

“Have you nothing to say?”

“I was praying for divine intervention.” He took her hand and moved it to his desire. “ 'Twould appear I've been blessed.”

Engagingly curious, she caressed him. “That wasn't what you were thinking, but for the moment, I'm too bewitched to quarrel with you.”

It was a far cry from
I love you
, but she was his now. “You'll be sore if I make love to you again.”

Pinning him with a direct gaze, she said, “Will your regret double?”

Only a fearless woman would pose such a direct question; only a fool would answer it, but risks came easy to Revas, especially where she was concerned. “You are my wife, Meridene. I have a duty to you.”

“Did you learn that verbal trickery in the Scottish Church?”

She had an odd way of mastering bewitchment. “Tossing a man's words of devotion in his face must surely be a sin.”

On a particularly sensitive stroke of her hand, she said, “What of lusting after worldly pleasure?”

“Enough teasing.” He drew her beneath him and settled himself between her legs. “I'd rather lust after you.”

She was a woman apart from the one he'd imagined. He hadn't expected spontaneity and daring, and as he touched his lips to hers and pressed against her yielding form, he thought himself the most fortunate of men. When she wiggled her hips until their bodies were perfectly joined again, he couldn't think at all.

A knock sounded on the door. “Lady Meridene?”

She gasped. “Oh, goodness. I've let you— Oh, my. It's Serena. I told her—I didn't tell her— Gibby's waiting for us. Oh, wretched misfortune.”

Gibby would live in his home. Meridene would guide her. No misfortune there. Over his shoulder, he said. “Not now, Serena. I'm having a word with my wife.”

Giggling, Meridene undulated beneath him. “A word?” she whispered. “If she opens that door, she'll get a very mortifying view of your fall from grace.”

“Serena,” he called out. “Ask Sim to tap a fresh keg. Meridene and I are not to be disturbed. We'll be along when we've had our discussion.”

“Aye, Revas,” the girl answered.

Cursing himself for not locking the door, he moved to draw the curtains into place around the bed. Meridene looked mysterious in the shadowy light. His wife. The future spread out before him, prosperous and satisfying.

“What if someone else comes?”

He kissed her nose, her cheeks, and her brow. Meridene Macgillivray, the wife he had waited over half of his life for, was now in his arms. “You forget that I'm laird here.”

“You're very good at giving orders.”

Tunneling his arms beneath her shoulders, he braced himself on his elbows and wedged his loins into the nest of her womanhood. “ 'Tis my second best quality.”

She languished, smiling. “And your first?”

“Lightsome questions are disallowed.”

“You're a devil, Revas Macduff,” she scoffed, and turned her head away.

He chuckled and took her to the edge of release.

When next she said his name, a pillow muffled the joyous sound.

An hour later, after they'd both dressed, Meridene brushed her hair and watched Revas gather seashells from the floor. She couldn't stop picturing him naked or cease feeling him inside her still, pleasuring her out of her mind. Beneath his dark green trunk hose and leather tunic was a body she knew intimately. Her limbs relaxed at the thought.

“What shall I do with these trinkets from your gown?”

“Give them to me.” The woollen surcoat could be mended and the ornaments reattached. She folded the garment and held out her hand for the shells he'd gathered. “I'll put it all in the clothes chest until I can mend the gown.”

He lifted the lid of the trunk. The Covenant of the Maiden rested atop her heavy cloak, and he picked up the book.

He was so close, she could see shards of golden light in his brown eyes. She hadn't noticed the color before.

“I never meant to tear your clothing.” He rubbed his nose against hers. “But I was beset with a craving for you.”

He'd paid a high price, too, and his honesty tugged at her conscience. But she refused to feel guilty for what had just happened. She'd freed herself of the duty of demanding the sword of Chapling. In the scheme of things, he'd been the true loser; yet no sense of accomplishment swept over her. Rather a deep abiding peace thrummed in her breast. “I understand, Revas.”

“Much has changed now.”

“Yes, and I'll wager the treasury of flower pennies that you never even meant to kiss me.”

“Then you'll lose, Meridene.”

As if to prove it, he kissed her, and her fingers curled until the edges of the shells bit into her palm. Knowing she'd yield again, she said, “I should hide these.”

“You don't want your handmaidens to know?”

The need for privacy came naturally to one raised in a convent. She shouldn't feel sad for wanting to keep secret their intimacy, but she did. “Do you?”

He shrugged. “When you conceive, they will know.”

When,
not if. Too stunned to answer, she ducked her head and busied her hands with putting away the gown. He had beguiled her, for she'd forgotten the one tie that would irrevocably bind her to him: a child.

Logic urged her not to worry, but a greater danger dawned. Their marriage was sealed. No annulment would be forthcoming. Her plan to have them caught in a compromising position had gone awry; she'd lost more than he. “We consummated our vows.”

He grinned. “Aye, and quite satisfactorily. Your namesake would have been pleased.”

Blaming him was unfair, but she couldn't help doing it. “You took advantage of me.”

He gave her a dubious frown. “ 'Tis dishonorable of you to cry foul now, Meridene. You fairly begged me to love you.”

Anger ripped through her at his notion of honor and love. That her scheme of seduction had gone awry only added to her ire.

She slammed the lid of the trunk. “I never begged.” But she had, shamelessly, wantonly.

“I suppose 'tis better said that you made a convincing request, and I hadn't the will to resist.”

Both of them had paid a high price: he a sword, she a safe future devoid of Scottish intrigues. Why did he have to be so understanding and engaging? “You have an obliging conscience.”

He tucked the Covenant under his arm. “And a ravenous appetite. Shall we fill our bellies, then later indulge ourselves again? What say you to breaching passion's gate a third time?”

And run the risk of conceiving a child? No. She'd achieved her goal, though she hadn't fully counted the consequences. Now she must sort through her options. Denying the desire that lingered even now promised a new dilemma. “I'm rather tired.”

He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

Only if rapture could be considered an injury,
she wanted to say. Instead, she spoke a heartfelt truth. “No. You made a lie of the fearful tales of the marriage bed. For that I thank you.”

He took great pleasure in her answer, for his eyes shone with joy, and as he led her from the room, Meridene made a remarkable discovery. For the second time in her life, she felt completely at ease in the company of a Highlander. On the first occasion he'd been a boy anticipating his own demise at the hand of a foreign king. On the second, the Highlander was a man who'd given up achieving through ceremony the unity of Scotland to claim the hand of a desired wife. She'd spent years honing her hatred for Scotland and her people. In less than a fortnight, Revas Macduff had dulled the edge of her enmity.

She paused in the torchlit hallway. “Do I look different?”

With the same hand that had touched her so intimately, he caressed her cheek. “Only to me, Meridene.”

“How so?”

He kept his voice low. “You bear the glow of a woman well loved, but you are frightened of what you feel, and you hesitate to trust me.”

Honesty compelled her to say, “Scottish people have seldom concerned themselves with what is best for me.”

“Not the Scots you know today. Certainly not I. You are my foremost concern, and I swear on the soul of my father that we will thrive in peace here.”

*  *  *

All of that changed the next morning when he returned from confession. Standing in the common room with the steward, Meridene watched Revas barge into the castle and scale the stairs three at a time. No sooner had the doors closed than Sheriff Brodie burst inside and raced after him.

A quarrel ensued, but she could not make out Revas's angry words or Brodie's equally forceful replies. Amid a clamoring of shield, sword, and spurs, a mail-clad Revas barreled down the stairs. Ignoring her and Sim, he gave the doors a mighty kick, then stormed into the yard.

Meridene closed the ledger. “I would say he is vexed, Sim.”

The steward whistled. “Pity the man who gained his wrath.”

Brodie started down the stairs. “Then say a prayer for our cleric.”

Sim gasped. “Oh, no. They've never crossed swords in anger.”

Brodie made a fist. “ 'Twill be a fight for certain this time.”

“How Scottish of them,” Meridene mused. “Why do they quarrel?”

“I suspect the cleric took offense at Revas's confession.”

She studied their worried faces, but found no end to her puzzlement. “What black sin could Revas have committed, and when? The day is young, and he's just broken his fast.”

The sheriff stared at his boots. “I do not know the particulars.”

He lied; his withdrawal told her so. But she was more concerned with the danger to her husband. She snatched up her veil and headed for the door.

“You shouldn't watch, my lady. When bad humors are upon them, they are bloody wicked fighters.”

Meridene ignored Brodie; curiosity had her in its throes.

A crowd had begun to gather in the tiltyard. Flanked by Summerlad and Glennie Forbes, Revas stood near the quintain, his sword and shield at his feet. Rage hardened his features, and his arms were stiff with restrained fury. Small wonder he led so many Highland clans; battle-ready and determined, he looked as if he could conquer all of Christendom.

With renewed vigor, the agony of her dilemma returned. She couldn't live among these people, a crown of rowans on her head. They deserved a Maiden who believed in the Covenant, not some English-raised stranger whose dreams were plagued with Scottish monsters. Yet where else had she to go? How would she get there? Whom could she trust?

Having no answers, she pushed away the quandary and picked up her step. As she approached Revas, she called his name. He watched her, but his attention was inwardly focused.

“Excuse us,” she said to his young escorts.

When Summerlad and Glennie moved out of hearing distance, she put her hand on Revas's arm. The chain mail felt warm and imposing beneath her fingers. “Why have you and the cleric come to odds?”

His smile was forced. “No reason that you should concern yourself with.”

“Why not? Because it involves swords and words between men?”

“Meridene.” He rested his arm on the quintain post. “I know what you are thinking.”

In the span of a night, he'd changed from a devoted lover to a dangerous soldier bent on salving his bruised pride. He looked so imposing, so set in his ways, she dropped her hand and said, “Tell me what I am thinking.”

“You think us animals for settling our differences in the tiltyard.”