The Scottish Selkie (12 page)

She arched her body into his, meeting each thrust. Bethoc felt lost in a haze of red, then black, next red, then black again as Malcolm drove higher and faster, churning her burning flesh into liquid heat. Her pussy clenched. Rippling waves washed over her until she was engulfed in a torrent of spasms. They erupted together. 

“I am forever yours,” Bethoc said in a breathy whisper. She grabbed his firm arms with each hand and pulled up to a sitting position. Her hair fell in front of her face, but with a flick of her neck the long mane rippled down her back, unveiling her eyes. 

His hot breath tickled her neck as he tilted his head to hers. Their lips met and melded together in a demanding kiss, which sent a dizzying current through her. Malcolm eased his mouth from hers, stepped out of his braies and kicked them aside. 

He lifted Bethoc off the table and laid her on the bed. She stretched out on her side, with her head and shoulders raised, like a reclining feline. Malcolm sat down on the bed, yanked off his boots and peeled off his tunic. Naked, Malcolm slid down beside her. 

With a tempting, teasing smile, Bethoc sat up. She pulled the ripped dress off and tossed it on the floor. 

Malcolm wrapped his fingers around her chin and brushed his lips across hers. He rolled his arms around her and she laid her head on his chest. They fell asleep in that embrace.

* * * *

Snuggling up against Malcolm's chest, Bethoc breathed in his musky scent of sex mingled with the smell of sweat and horse.

Abruptly, he jerked awake and let out a yell. 

“Bethoc.” Malcolm shook his head. “I was dreaming anew.” 

Bethoc saw deep anger and pain reflected in his eyes. “Malcolm, what is amiss?” 

“Naught but a bad dream. For now, let me hold you.” He crushed her body against his. “You feel so good in my arms.” Malcolm wound his hand in her hair.

“Then husband, I say we shall not rise from bed but snuggle like this all day.” The warmth of strong shoulders felt so male, so bracing. Whatever had upset him, he seemed all right now. 

Malcolm moved his hand under Bethoc's chin, turned her toward him, and kissed her forehead. “You must guard the Jewel of Destiny.” 

“The sandstone has a spirit in it.” After a long pause she added, “It is a holy relic to be sure.”

“In truth.” Malcolm grinned. “You are pleased to be going to Scone, are you not?”

 “Yes and I am more pleased to be returning to Scone with you.” Bethoc gave him a quick peck on his soft, salty lips. 

I have grown used to you, I have.” In the light of day she could not yet say the words that ran through her head.
I care for you ... need you ... love you.

“I am fond of you, Bethoc,” Malcolm whispered, his breath hot against her ear. 

Bethoc cuddled close to him and sighed, lost in her musings. Today she would be going home to Scone with a Scot. Malcolm. Whenever Bethoc was near him, she had to look at him. Once she was away from him, she saw his face in her head as clear as if he was with her. How had she come to care for him so? And what would her friends in Scone say when they learned she had married a Scot. They would tell her to leave him in a year and a day. And she'd tell them no. 

Bethoc had made peace with the past. There was no ruthless massacre. Tempers and egos were to blame for the death of her father, not mac Alpin's treason. Bethoc knew that now, hard as it was to admit it. Just as she knew she had fallen in love with her Scot husband. 

Malcolm interrupted her thoughts. “You will soon be a free woman.” 

Bethoc cupped his chin and rubbed her fingers against the scratchy new growth of hair. “I am not held captive now.” 

“No, but you are harnessed to me in marriage.” 

“What say you?” She peered into his eyes, probing is soul. “Do you not know how I feel about you, after last eve?” 

“There is much about me you cannot fathom.” Malcolm tilted his head closer to hers and claimed her lips. As he rubbed his lips against hers wave after wave of liquid fire rolled over her. As he raised his mouth from hers, he peered into her eyes. “I have many regrets, one is that I must now arise.”

He climbed out of bed and walked over to where his britches lay on the floor. “Another regret is I need to go somewhere.” 

“Today?” 

“No, after we reach Scone.” Malcolm pulled his braies on. “I will have to leave.” 

“Leave? What do you mean? Kenneth is staying in Scone and your duty is to serve him.” 

He stared off in the distance, he wouldn’t look at her. “Kenneth knows I will be leaving.”

 “No.” Bethoc sat up in bed. “I gave myself to you last night. You cannot leave me.” 

“I need to go back from whence I came.” 

“You come from here, Dalriada.” 

“Bethoc, I do not mean to leave you forever. I only need to go away for a little while.” 

Bethoc's gaze fell on a lone clay beaker, discarded on the cupboard. She'd found a hole in the bottom. A cup forever empty. Unfulfilled. For it could no longer hold any drink. “There is another woman, is there not?” 

“No, the place I go to has no women.” Malcolm walked over to the bed and picked up his tunic. “Do not ask me to explain. You would never deem it to be true. Trust me, it is best I return to my kind.” Malcolm slipped his tunic on. 

“What say you, Malcolm? Your kind, long ago the Scots came here from Erin. Is that where you are going? Why?” 

“No, not Erin.” He sat down on the bed beside Bethoc and caressed her cheek. “It is better left unsaid my long haired woman.” 

Bethoc schooled her emotions, she could not let him see her weep. “You mean you will not say.”

“Bethoc, you are going back to Scone. If I leave and do not return, what is unjust in that? At last you have all you wanted for you can have a husband of your own choosing. A real man, a Pict.”

“You are the man I want.” She grabbed his hands by the wrist and held on to him. 

“I am not all man.” 

“Why do you speak in riddles?” 

“Why do you query me when you know I can tell you naught.” 

She flung his arms away from her then dropped hold of his wrist. “You want this? To leave me in Scone?”

He rose from the bed and stood before her. “It is where you belong. As for me, another life, another world beckons.” 

“Another world?” Bethoc climbed off the bed. “Why do you tell me now?” 

“For this is the day we leave for Scone. And once Kenneth is crowned there, I will return to whence I came.” 

“How can another world await you? Dalriada is the only land you have ever known and you say it is not Ireland you speak of.” 

He moved closer to her. “Bethoc, you are returning to Scone and soon you will be rid of your Scot husband.” Malcolm gently brushed a wayward strand of hair off her face. “You should be merry with our parting.” 

“Well you are. You cannot wait to leave your Pict wife. Why do you not leave forthwith? Why wait until Kenneth is crowned?” 

“I have a duty to him and to you.” 

“Me?”

“I thought all night of the footprint. Someone spied on you at the creek and it does not bode well.” 

“I can take care of myself.” 

“We speak too much.” Malcolm absently waved his hand in the air. “Bethoc, get dressed.” 

“Yes, we must go. But, we shall talk of this later.” Bethoc bent down to the chest and pulled out a soft, woolen garment. She threw the tunic-dress on, then ran a comb down her hair. 

It felt like tiny bubbles were popping inside her chest. What a dark secret it must be. His words were all a riddle. A place with no women? Another world? She slammed her foot and threw the comb down. “Tell me, Malcolm.” 

“Later, Kenneth awaits.” 

Bethoc slipped on her boots as Malcolm did the same. As they exited the rath and silently walked down the dirt path to the inner yard of the Dalriada Castle, she wondered if the mystery had something to do with the nightmare Malcolm had. He wouldn't talk about that either. He woke up, yelling in his sleep. Yet, he had said it was naught. Something was going on. Malcolm would soon find he could not keep secrets from her.

Chapter Ten

There was a chill in the air, though the sun shone bright on the crowd of wives, soldiers, and squirming children preparing to move to the capital of Caledonia. Scone would have a king again. Kenneth the son of Alpin. Son of the Scot king whose head once hung from a pike on the gate of the city. 

Kenneth would soon enter that same gate and lay claim to his right to rule both the Picts and the Scots. So much had changed. The Scots would now be in Scone, but whether Bethoc lived with Scots or Picts no longer mattered. She just wanted to live with Malcolm, anywhere with him, but his secret stood in their way.

Bethoc vowed to make Malcolm forget about this other world, but to do that she had to find out what it was. Uncovering his secret was her only chance.

Bethoc ran her hand over the hard hilt of her sword and gazed at Malcolm as he and Donald harnessed the wagon. 

“I see the guardian of the stone is prepared.” Malcolm left Donald to his work and walked over to Bethoc. “You look fair today m'lady.” 

“My thanks.” Bethoc looked Malcolm in the eye.
It will take more than that to make me to forget about your secrets. And your plan to leave me in Scone.
 

Their gaze was broken by the jingling of the silver harness Donald fastened on a stout horse. Bethoc felt someone looking at her and turned around. 

Father Degnan nodded to them as he approached. “Good day.” 

“Greetings Father.” Malcolm pointed his head to the doorway of the palace where Kenneth stood. As he held his gaze on the king, Malcolm mumbled to Bethoc, “He beckons.”

“When the king calls, you must go.” Bethoc reached out and clasped Malcolm's forearm then let go. “I will be waiting.”
Do not think I have forgiven and forgotten your words last eve.

* * * *

As Malcolm walked up, Kenneth stood under the oaken lintel of the entrance to the castle, gazing around as if to memorize each detail.

“Saying farewell to the stronghold?”

The king turned and smiled at Malcolm. “The long road has come to an end. I will enter the gate where my sire's severed head hung. And there I will be crowned king of all Alba.” Kenneth's tone lowered as he said, “This world we live in is strange and wonderful.” 

“You live a life of magic and legends. Kenneth mac Alpin, king of all Scots and Picts.” 

“It is you who is of a legend.” 

“Not without my pelt.” 

“As soon as I am crowned, you will have what is yours.” 

“I wonder sometimes which world is mine, the land or the sea?” Malcolm glanced toward Bethoc saddling the white stallion as she talked to Father Degnan. So different than any woman he’d ever known, what he had with her was more than a tryst. Curse the sea, bound to the land now, he needed what the land offered. Malcolm needed this wild Pict princess. 

“You are not ready to leave her, are you?” Kenneth nodded his head toward Bethoc. “Have you told her?”

 “It is not yet time.” How will he ever tell her? She clearly thought Scots were as low as animals. What would happen when she found out he actually was an animal? He had to wait until he had his skin, then he would tell her. That way, he would only face her wrath for a little while. After that, he could simply run away and live evermore with his own kind. 

“I never knew it would come to love,” Kenneth smirked. Cousin Kenneth was far too clever. First he stole Malcolm's pelt. Now, he’d managed to uncover Malcolm's feelings about Bethoc. 

“You are daft, she has but charmed me. Is it not said that Pict women are hot blooded and know how to enchant a man?” 

Malcolm had to keep his true feelings hidden from Bethoc. He couldn't saddle her to a life with a beast for a husband. 

“The Pict princess has served me well and will forever be under my protection,” Kenneth vowed with full sincerity as he peered directly at Malcolm.