Risk Everything (23 page)

All his trunks now bore locks. Irritated, she ground her teeth together. Sure that he had picked out what she was to wear, she placed his selection inside. Delving through the rest, she found a fawn smock. At the bottom of the clothing lay a tunic the color of rich earth after a summer’s downpour.

She dressed and left the room. Jamie awaited several paces down the landing. His curious gaze swept her from head to toe. Meeting her eyes, he had the grace to blush. She nodded and started to go below. By the looks of the sky as she passed the arrow slits, she had best go to the cookhouse to break her fast. It was long past the sun’s rise.

She did not hear Jamie’s steps follow her. Had Rolf posted him there to see she didna wear breeches? She huffed.

At the cookhouse, she ate sharp cheese and hot bread. She glanced back at the main castle building. Theirs was an unusual handfast. Surely Rolf wouldna follow custom too closely. If she spied the bloodied sheet displayed atop the ramparts, she would tear it to shreds.

Just see if she did not.

Thankfully, no such sight greeted her, and she sighed with

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relief. People hurried about their duties, some smiled at her, others appeared sheepish and turned away.

No one was about but the usual servants when she went to the great hall. Hanging on the far wall near the fireplace was the bagpipe left by the clan piper. She shook her head. A pity no one had taken over the job after his passing.

She missed her own pipes, for ’twas her custom to join the Morgan piper atop the battlements to play. She enjoyed the musical salutes, gatherings, and laments as well as the merry tunes of welcome that burst through the air as visitors approached the barbican.

She inspected the pipes and found them in good order. She inflated the bag, and soon emotions flowed from her body to the pipes as she played. The room vibrated with wild and abandoned music, the music she preferred.

Far at the end of the castle grounds, paired men spaced wide apart honed their skills in the practice field. The deafening clang of metal to metal, metal to shields drowned out speech.

The tumult failed to erase Rolf ’s memories of Meghan in his arms. Her eyes had looked up at him with trust when he broke through her barrier. Never had he felt such triumph.

Nor such shame. Afterward, intense pleasure, more than any before, flooded him as he brought her over the brink to ec-stacy. His own release had been unsurpassed. It shook him to the core of his heart.

All night he had held her.

Triumph. Regret. Victory. Each had flooded him in turn.

Leaving her bed before dawn was not what he had wished.

Had things been different, he would have spent the day—nay, days—abed with her.

Cautious not to wake her, he had moved from her soft warmth. Before throwing on his clothing, he grabbed the hateful stand bearing Connor’s armor and thrust it out the door. His cruelty on using it in such a way sickened him.

God’s grace, Meghan was beautiful. Her slim, golden back

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was bare down to the slope of her rounded hips. Dark hair spread across the pillows, and a long wavy hank streamed down her supple spine. He had hardened and became heavy with need. He forced his eyes from her.

Her clothing lay where he had stripped her of them. Leaning down, he picked up the sheer smock and the dark green overdress and breathed deep of her scent. He set things to right in the room, then turned to look at her once more; sorrow at what might have been near bent him double. He opened the door and left.

The clang of a claymore against his shield jolted him. He felt, rather than saw, that someone awaited his attention.

“Hold, Dougald.” His man lowered his claymore, and Rolf turned to see Alpin stood there.

His friend’s fist beat a slow, steady rhythm on the wooden beams of the fence separating the practice areas. His body was taut, his jaw thrust forward, hostile. Ah, he must needs get over his anger at the handfast. His friendship didna give him the right to dictate Rolf ’s plans.

Jamie stood beside Alpin and looked embarrassed with his duty. He held an armload of rumpled bed linen. “Do you want me to display proof the lass was pure when she came to your bed?”

“Nay.”

“You would brand her impure?” Jamie looked displeased with the thought.

Rolf glanced at the sheet with distaste and frowned. “ ’Tis not for Rimsdale that I had you retrieve it.”

Alpin’s eyes lost some of their glare. “For Blackthorn,” he said with certainty and nodded his head.

“Aye. For Blackthorn.”

Dougald came closer. “Do ye want me to send the
gift
with the next patrol? I can have my best man place it close within the Morgan borders. Their men will spy it soon enough.”

“After the night deepens, hang it from the tallest tree,”

Alpin suggested. “They canna let the insult ride for long.”

“Nay,” Rolf said. “It goes to Laird Damron, along with my

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missive that Meghan and I have handfast. They will not dare attack to gain her back. She is as a wife to me.”

The thought of using Meghan’s virgin blood in such a way made his stomach lurch. But it could not be helped.

“You canna,” Alpin’s shout caused nearby warriors to pause in their practice and stare at them.

Dougald frowned and motioned them back to what they were doing.

“Ne’er dare say what I can and canna do.” Rolf ’s voice was so soft, so lethal, that Alpin’s eyes widened. “I wouldna have them the wiser until Meghan takes with my seed.” He motioned them away and resumed practice with fervor. After a while, Dougald laughed and begged respite. Rolf lowered Beast and leaned on the long shaft. He stared about him.

Something was amiss.

What had seeped into his awareness?

“Cease.” Rolf ’s bellow sounded above the clamor of weapons. The warriors stilled. Moments later, sound drifted on the wind.

Soft. Plaintive. A lament.

Someone played the pipes. Nay, not someone. Meghan.

None but she could call forth such pain. Nor such joy. A new tune started low, with each note rising higher, faster, until it became a lure that caused every footstep to hurry toward it. From the empty looks of the bailey, she had played for some time.

Did she wear the rose tunic he set out for her? He lengthened his stride, kicking up whirls of dirt in his hurry. Close to the castle, wild abandoned sound greeted him. His blood raced as if forced by the music.

Meghan played, her eyes closed, and she let the music carry her atop the Blackthorn battlements where she saw the lands of her home sprawled far below her. How long she swirled the music through the air, she didna know. Tired now, she allowed the last note to fade and squeezed the bag free of air. Relaxed, she pulled off the mouthpiece to clean it.

“Rolf told me you used to sneak the Blackthorn piper’s own

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instrument until your grandda gave ye your own,” Garith’s voice said behind her. “Was he not angry?”

Meghan startled, not realizing until now that she was no longer alone. People had been drawn to the sound of the pipes. From the looks of the crowd, they neglected their work.

“Angry?” She looked at his earnest face. “Who? Angus or Grandda?”

“I guess ’tis about Angus I wondered.”

“At first, aye,” she answered and grinned. “The poor man went to play a greetin’ for the laird of the MacLaren. The pipes were not where he stored them. I had taken them deep in the storage rooms of Blackthorn so none would hear my sorry attempts.” She shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes at him. “Angus found me, but ’twas too late. The MacLarens were already within the castle drinking ale with Grandda.”

“From Damron’s tale, you didna sit for your meal that eve,”

Rolf ’s voice came from behind her.

She stiffened. “Nay, I didna.”

“Angus beat you?” Alpin stood beside Garith. He sounded shocked that the man would dare.

“Not Angus. Grandda. A fortnight later he called me to his room. I kenned he knew about something else I had done, so I padded my bums.” She grinned at Garith when he chuckled.

“You had to do that often, I ken.” Alpin’s eyes lost some of their hardness, and his tall, lean body visibly relaxed.

“More oft than I care to recall.“ She shrugged and made a face. “Grandda didna summon me for a thrashing but to give me my own set of pipes. He had Angus trade three fat sheep for the pipes to a man some leagues away. My lessons on the proper method of piping began that very noon. Those pipes, my sword, and my dirk are my only treasures.”

“Have you no jewels, no baubles?” Alpin looked surprised.

“Ailsa forever bemoans the fact I do not supply her with enough trinkets. Had she her way, she would wear a ring on each finger.”

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“Your wife?” Meghan was surprised a man would tell of such greed from his mate.

“I have no wife.”

“On her last visit, she wore so many gewgaws I thought mayhap she adorned her toes,” Garith piped up.

Alpin glared him to silence.

Wanting to distract attention from the young man, Meghan spoke again. “I found adorning my hair and fingers sometimes caused an injury.” She glanced at a scar on the middle finger of her right hand. “The bowstring caught atop an or-nate ring. When it tore the decoration off, it ripped my finger from knuckle to knuckle. I willna wear rings to this day.”

At the mention of a bowstring, Alpin frowned. Too full of his own maleness, she decided. The Blackthorn warriors did not resent her skills. They sought her out for practice or asked her aid in teaching a squire the proper way to throw a knife.

She turned to Garith. “Where is Ugsome? I havna seen his comely face this last day.”

The boy chuckled. “ ’Tis the first time anyone has called the hound comely,” Garith said. “Not even his mother kept him close for long.”

“Even as a pup?” Meghan asked. He shook his head. “The poor thing. Did no one think him worthy to cuddle, to give him love?”

“Oh, aye. Rolf made a pallet from an old tunic. He brought it to my room, and we took turns feeding the pup milk and porridge. Later, we chewed meat for him until his teeth were strong enough. ’Twas a long and tiresome task.”

On hearing the hardened warrior had taken such pains over the dog, Meghan felt a pang of longing for the man Rolf used to be. “Ye ne’er said where he is,” she reminded Garith.

“Hunting. Now and again he goes off on his own. More often than not, he returns bearing new scars,” Rolf spoke up.

She couldna look at him. Thankfully, he smelled of weapons and sweat, not the heady stuff that was his usual scent. Even so, every inch of her was aware of him. His hands drew her eyes. She blinked and willed herself not to look at

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them. ’Twas futile. Her breasts tingled, remembering how those calloused thumbs had rubbed over her nipples.

A sound, animal-like, rumbled from Rolf ’s chest. Startled, she peered up at him. And wished she had not. A rush of heat rose to her face, for he stared at her nipples pushing against the soft material. His gaze did not stray. Her breasts swelled and grew heavy. She crossed her arms.

“Now that we are handfast, do I have freedom to roam the grounds, Rolf? I would see Simple and Storm this day.”

“I have not the time to escort you.”

“Escort? I am no weakling that must needs have a warrior to show her the grounds.”

“I would have someone with you.” He frowned at her.

“If that be so, I am prisoner still, not a helpmate as was sworn last eve.” She stiffened her back.

“I will accompany her, Rolf,” Garith spoke up.

Rolf nodded and turned to Meghan. “You will not stray outside the gatehouse or to the weapons’ room. You may exercise Simple. The wee birdie hasna the sense to aid you.”

“My steed also needs exercise. If kept confined, he will kick down the stall door and take out on his own.”

“I ride him twice daily.”

“Ye have not the right! Storm is mine own.”

Rolf ’s brows shot up in surprise. “Not the right? You forget, Meghan mine, we are as man and wife. What was yours is now mine. You will ride when I say you may.” He stared down into her eyes.

“Lucifer’s bloody toes.” How dare he take her horse from her? “If, as ye say, we are as man and wife, why then may I not come and go at will?” she shouted.

“Because I dinna trust you.”

Meghan fisted her hands and clamped her lips together, fighting her anger. She lost. He knew it. She opened her mouth to shout further at him, but his arms closed around her, and he kissed her until the reason for her anger flew from her mind. His arms slowly released her. She wobbled like a newborn colt. Rolf ’s eyes gleamed with triumph, and a slow smile

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spread across his face. Long strides carried him from the room afore she was again steady on her feet.

Drat the man!

Day passed quickly from bright sunlight to the dim rays of early evening. Garith’s was a bright and sunny disposition, so unlike the darkness lurking in his brother’s soul. She laughed at his quick wit and enjoyed exploring his clever mind.

Through the evening meal, Rolf plied her with the finest offerings, from juicy bits of lamb to a steaming apple pastry with melted cheese atop it.

Finished with their dining, warriors gathered in groups to swill ale or play rowdy games. Their blaring voices echoed off the stone walls, making conversation nigh impossible.

Several times, Alpin opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Finally, he leaned close. “While the knotty-pated fools rattle their brains, would you play the pipes for us, Meghan?”

She frowned at the unruly warriors across the room. “ ’Tis sorry I am, Alpin, but I dinna feel the urge to make music.”

“Perchance ’tis another type of music that calls to you?”

Rolf whispered in her ear. Puzzled, she peered up at him. He added, “Do you not know your cries of pleasure are the sweet-est music to mine ears? Do you wish to sing such a heady tune? Hmm?” His lust-filled eyes gazed down at her as he grasped her wrists and hurried her from the great room.