The Border Lord's Bride (27 page)

It wasn‘t loving, but he wanted her, and he wanted her now. The boots still on her feet, the breeches tangled atop them, made it difficult to spread her for his lustful purposes. Duncan pulled back momentarily, and then he quickly turned her over, delighted that she understood his intent, and pulled herself up onto her knees. He pushed his own breeches down, and, grasping Ellen‘s hips, he drove into her, almost weeping as he felt the hot walls of her sheath embracing and closing about his eager cock. He groaned, and she echoed the sound as he began to piston her.

Was it right to be so eager for your husband? Ellen wondered muzzily as his length filled her.

Then he began to move upon her, first with slow, deep, leisurely strokes, then with hard, quick thrusts that set her head spinning and her own lust skyrocketing. "Oh, God!" she cried softly.

"Yes! Yes!" She was trembling with her need for him. From the first their bed sport had been good. He had taught her how to please him, and together they had discovered what pleased her.

Tonight, however, their lust was high, and they found the heights together in a hot rush of mutual desire that had Duncan crying out as his cock burst forth with its juices, and Ellen almost screaming as pleasure overcame her, sending her into a half swoon.

When they came to themselves once again Duncan was still atop Ellen. He marshaled his

strength as best he could and rolled onto his back. They were both breathing heavily, and his long legs hung over their bed. Finally the laird sat up and pulled up his breeks. Ellen was still sprawled upon her face. He ran a big hand over her bottom, and she pleaded, "Oh, don‘t!"

"Why not?" he teased her. "You have a most fetching bottom, madam."

"I‘m overwhelmed with lust, my lord, and when you touch me I want more," she said bluntly.

She was so weak she could barely speak, let alone move. Their coming together had been incredible tonight. She sighed.

He chuckled. "How fortunate that I am also possessed with an overwhelming lust, my adorable wife. Shortly I will want more of you," he told her, and his hand patted the little bottom turned up to him. "But first I think we need to take off our boots and our garments, and crawl into the bed beneath the coverlet." He bent and pulled his boots off. Then, standing, he drew off Ellen‘s.

When he had relieved her of the footwear, she turned over, and looked up at him with half-closed eyes, watching as he took off the rest of his garments before her admiring gaze.

"Are men supposed to be beautiful?" she asked him as she sat up and kicked off her breeches, then pulled off her torn shirt and chemise.

"Women‘s bodies are more pleasing, I am inclined to think," he told her as he sat beside her and began to undo her thick braid. When it was undone he opened his fingers and combed her hair out so that it spread itself like a mantle about her white shoulders. "I love you, Ellen," he told her softly, his hand brushing a stray lock from her forehead.

"So you have said of late," she replied, smiling into his warm blue eyes.

"Nay, lass, what I said was that I thought I was coming to care for you, but now I realize that I do. I love you. You are not just beautiful; you are intelligent and you are brave. I watched you tonight in the hall with Lord Colby. You might have said much, but you did not. You were clever and discreet."

"You are the lord of Duffdour," Ellen answered him. "It was your place, your duty, to speak for us all, Duncan."

"Other women—my sister-in-law, Adair—would have put forth their own thoughts, but you did not," he replied.

"Perhaps I had no thoughts of my own," Ellen suggested.

Duncan laughed. "Nay, wife, there is much you might have said, but you did not. And now the Englishman will go away knowing that at Duffdour we are united in our loyalty to King James Stewart, the fourth of that name."

"My lord," Ellen said impatiently, "do you really wish to converse with me on our evening in the hall, or do you wish to continue our bout of lust in our bed?" Reaching down, she tweaked his manhood mischievously, giggling when it stirred strongly.

"You‘re a wise woman, Ellen, my wife," the laird of Duffdour said, and he yanked her into his arms, kissing her strongly.

"Aye, Duncan, my husband, I am that indeed," Ellen answered, kissing him back.

And outside of their bedchamber window the storm blew and raged the night away as they made passionate love with each other, finally falling into a restful sleep as the faint gray light of dawn began to slip through the drawn curtains of the room.

When Ellen went down into the hall the next morning she was surprised to find their unexpected guest and his men at arms gone.

"They left at first light, my lady," Sim told her. "There was still a bit of light snow, but most of the storm had gone. We did see that they were fed."

Ellen nodded. "‘Twas well done, then."

"Mistress," Sim began, "we could not prevent them from gaining the hall once they passed through the gates. I hope the laird understands."

"I think you will find the laird in a better mood this morning, and especially as he does not have to ride out in this cold," Ellen told her majordomo with a small smile.

Sim bowed, relieved. He was not responsible for the incursion at the gates. That was a terrible error that could cost Artair his position as captain of Duffdour‘s men at arms. But perhaps the laird would be merciful, for there had been no real harm done.

When Duncan Armstrong came into the hall a few minutes later he learned his uninvited guests had gone. "Good riddance!" he muttered. Then he called for Sim, telling him, "Send someone for Artair and his son. What is the lad‘s name?"

"Mathe, my lord," Sim replied. "Artair may not be well enough to come into the hall, for he has been ill, which is why Mathe had the gate," the majordomo reminded his master. "I will go myself to see before I send for his son."

The laird nodded. "Aye, he‘s always been a good man. Go." He took his place at the high board and began to eat the food that had been laid out for him.

"I think," Ellen said, "that Artair may have put his son in charge because he has hopes of the lad taking his place one day. I have been speaking with some of the maidservants. They all like Mathe, but say his interest in the lasses is great. And he fancies himself perhaps a bit too much.

He‘s good-hearted and good-natured, they tell me, but not the cleverest lad at Duffdour."

Duncan nodded. "I believe I know him. He has not the qualities to follow his father one day, but Artair‘s younger son, Evan, does."

"It won‘t be easy for Artair to pass over his eldest," Ellen said.

Duncan scraped the last of his porridge from the bread trencher. "Nay, it won‘t," he agreed, "but I am laird here at Duffdour, not Artair."

"Yes, my lord," Ellen said mischievously.

He grinned at her. "You‘re a saucy bit, wife," he told her.

Ellen smiled at him, and then she surprised him by asking, "Have you really come to love me, Duncan Armstrong? Or did you speak in the throes of passion?"

"I love you," he told her without hesitation. "I always said I would not be like Conal, who avoided love until Adair made him realize that without love he would not have her. My father loved my mother. My stepfather loved her too. I saw that love was a good thing. I swore I would not wed unless I loved the woman who was to be my bride. But then the king made a match of us, more for his convenience than for ours, of course. I was your husband, and while we knew each other after a fashion, we were more strangers." Reaching out he took her hand in his and, turning it, kissed first her palm and then her wrist. "But as I have come to know you, Ellen, I have realized that fate did us a good turn. I could not have found a better wife myself, and I have come to love you for your sweetness, your intelligence, and the passion you give me."

She felt tears pricking at her eyelids. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Do you think that one day you can love me?" he asked her gently.

"Aye, I do," Ellen told him. She did care for him already, but she wondered if what she felt was the kind of love that he felt for her. Would she ever feel that way? She smiled into his face. "You are the best husband any lass could have, Duncan Armstrong," she said, and, pulling his head to her, Ellen kissed him a soft, sweet kiss.

The sound of someone entering the hall brought an end to the embrace. They turned to find Sim and Artair approaching. Duncan Armstrong waved the two men forward, but raised a questioning eyebrow. Sim nodded and, turning away, left Duffdour‘s captain of the guard to his master.

Artair bowed, and then waited for the rebuke he knew was about to come.

"I know he‘s your eldest," the laird began, "but Mathe is not the man you are. Why the hell did you give him charge over the gate?"

"My lord, I was ill with a flux—" Artair began.

"I know you were ill," the laird said. "And I know if you lay abed that you were truly ill, for you are not a man to slack his duties. But you know Mathe is a buffoon, and not at all suited to being a man at arms. He left the gates wide-open, and then he spent his time preening and prancing before the lasses. And while he did, the most dangerous man on the English side of the borders rode into Duffdour with six armed men. You‘re damned lucky he didn‘t ride in with a full troop and slay you all." Duncan Armstrong‘s voice was rising with his growing anger.

"My lord, I beg you to forgive my son. Mathe is young, and filled with the juices of life. He did not mean to allow Lord Colby and his men entry," Artair pleaded.

"Now that we have walls about the house, and a moat, the standing order is that the gates be closed at all times. Your son was more interested in the lasses than he was in obeying my orders.

His disobedience could have cost innocent lives. He is not fit to stand watch. Does he have another talent we might put to good use?"

"He will do better, my lord. I swear it!" Artair pleaded.

"Nay, this is no small infraction, Artair, and you know it," the laird said. "And it is not the first time Mathe has failed in his duties. The lad is as big as a bear, but his wits are small. I will not have him among the men at arms any longer. Now, your younger son, Evan—he has all the

makings of a good soldier. Train him, and perhaps he will eventually take your place one day."

"I‘ve risen from my sickbed to beat Mathe," Artair said. "He has been punished."

"The lad is no bairn," Duncan Armstrong said.

Mathe now slunk into the hall, escorted by Sim. He was a big lad with a too-handsome face that did not belong with the rest of him. Both of his eyes had been blackened, and there was a large purple bruise visible on his chin. He stood, head bowed, before the laird.

"Well," Duncan said, "the lasses won‘t be finding you as pretty for a while, Mathe, will they?"

"Nay, m‘lord," Mathe muttered.

"You‘re no soldier," his master continued.

"I try," Mathe replied, but he did not sound very convincing.

Ellen leaned over and whispered something to her husband.

He nodded, and then said, "If you were not a soldier, Mathe, what would you like to do? Besides chase the lasses, I mean."

The big man did not hesitate in his reply. "Horses, m‘lord! I like working with the horses, and I‘m good with them. It‘s almost as if I understand what they are thinking."

"‘Tis true, my lord," Sim said. "Mathe is excellent with the animals."

"Then why the hell isn‘t he working in the stables, instead of being allowed to let the enemy pass through my gates unchallenged?" Duncan demanded. "Artair, your oldest son is good with the beasts. From now on he will work in the stables. You‘ll learn from old Tam, lad, and if he approves you can have his position one day, as he has no son to follow him. And as for you, Artair, go back to your bed. I‘ll manage the men until you are well again. And train Evan, for he is the soldier."

"Thank you, m‘lord, thank you!" father and son said in unison, and then they left the hall in Sim‘s company.

The laird turned to his wife. "‘Twas a good suggestion," he said.

"Well, the lad had to be useful in some manner," Ellen replied.

"We‘ll see what Tam says after a month or two," Duncan replied. Then he said, "I‘ll want to send word to Conal about Lord Colby. I‘ll have him alert the Hepburn. Let the great lords decide what to do. My task is to keep faith with the king, and to keep my own Duffdour folk safe."

"We‘ll keep Duffdour safe together," Ellen said, slipping her small hand into his big hand. "For now we have a winter to get through, and the raiding will be kept to a minimum with the weather being what it is. But come the spring, my husband, we will truly have to be on the alert. Colby may attempt to make an example of you to intimidate some of the other lairds into aligning themselves with the English, but why they would seek to solicit the smaller families I do not know."

"With allies on this side of the border," Duncan explained, "they would have a place in Scotland from which to attack the rest of us. And they could raid deeper into the land if they didn‘t have to hurry back over the border into England. And who would at first suspect that the king‘s own subjects were betraying him? And when it was public knowledge it would harm the king‘s authority and prestige not only in Scotland, but abroad as well. That cannot be allowed to happen."

"How wickedly clever," Ellen said slowly. "But if other families are cajoled by Lord Colby, how can we stop it?"

"I will send to Conal, and he will send to the Hepburn. As I have said, let the mighty handle it.

But I will keep an ear to the ground," Duncan told his wife.

January passed. The weather was cold and gray with occasional storms of snow. By the end of the month, and into February as the ewes lambed, they noted that the days were growing longer again. By March the snows began to slowly melt away; the sun felt warmer on faces and

shoulders. The winds had a faint warmth to them on certain afternoons, and the precipitation turned from snow to icy rain to rain.

Duncan grew more concerned as the winter eased toward spring. He prepared for the coming full moon, knowing that if the weather were clear then the raiders would be out. He had sent a message to Cleit advising his brother to inform the Hepburn, now the Earl of Bothwell, of Lord Colby‘s visit. He had heard nothing since. Whatever the king and his advisers wanted to do, they would do. The laird of Duffdour‘s concerns had to be for his own clanspeople. He had trained his men at arms hard over the winter, bringing in a dozen or so more men. The gates were kept closed and barred at all times. The new walls were patrolled the day and night long. The Duffdour folk knew they could seek shelter with their laird when the raiders came.