Winning Her Highland Warrior, page 17
He had seen their faces and would be reminding them of their loyalties before they set out tomorrow. “They willna betray ye,” he promised, knowing that’s what she feared.
“I need people to think I’m just an average, ordinary person like anyone else.” She sounded so despondent, his heart ached for her. “I’m not the only one at risk here. They could come after ye for marrying me. Sheltering a witch and all that? Ye know how barmy people get about things they dinna understand.”
“When England steps down, and they make a truce, we will build a home off to ourselves. We will be safe. I promise.” He had already planned a fine dwelling. All the outbuildings. A sturdy, stable large enough to shelter horses, cows, goats, and sheep through the winter. Roosts for chickens. And two gardens. One just outside the kitchen door for herbs and vegetables and one with fine soft grass. The perfect place for their precious wee ones to play.
She blew out a heavy sigh. “If I remember correctly, the truce isna agreed upon until 1323. That’s nine years from now. And the Bruce willna be satisfied with just winning Scotland’s independence. He continues poking at the Brits for years by raiding Northern England. In fact, he almost captures York.” She clutched his arm. “He will want ye at his side through all of that.”
His mother’s wisdom came to him, and once again, he was thankful that she had nattered her sayings at him endlessly throughout his childhood. “If we worry about what ill tidings might befall us, we lose sight of all the joyfulness of the present. We willna even realize all the good things we already have.” He lifted his head and pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, inhaling deeply as he did so. “Ye smell of fried bread and a warm fire.”
“Where will we stay in Edinburgh?” She ignored what he’d meant as a compliment, obviously trapped in her worries.
“At the Bruce’s post.”
“The castle?”
“Nay, love. Too much destruction there. The Earl of Moray, along with the help of a man named William Francis, excelled in their efforts to please their king. The Bruce inspected it. Said they had done well.” Her soft warmth and enticing scent turned his mind to other things. “Ye seem almost as hearty and hale as when we first met.” He stretched over her, nuzzling through her curls and nibbling at her ear. “We’ve nay consummated our vows yet,” he reminded as he slid his hand lower and squeezed her thigh.
She gently pushed him away. “And we are not going to consummate them here.” The stern scolding of her whisper made him pause. “I willna put on a show for the others.”
“They’re asleep.”
“As we should be, too. I said no.” In a more sympathetic tone, she added, “I want ye just as bad as ye want me, but I canna enjoy it with everyone else so close.” She wiggled around, turning to face him. Her velvety mouth tenderly rained kisses along his throat as she tickled her fingers through the untied neck of his léine. “I promise to make it worth the wait. Ye willna regret it.”
He allowed himself a long low groan, caught hold of her fine wee arse in both hands, and ground her curves against him. “Ye’ve given me fierce risin’, lass, but for ye, I will wait.”
“Ye willna regret it,” she said, nestling her head against his chest.
“Aye, I will. But I shall do my best to bear it.”
Chapter Twelve
“Do ye think they’ll know what we were doing?” She turned away from him and pointed at her back. “Laces, please.”
“I am quite certain they ken exactly what we were doing.” Kane brushed her hair aside and trailed kisses along her bare neck and shoulders before tugging the dress closed and attending her ties. He nibbled at the ticklish spot behind her ear, his mouth trembling against her skin with a self-satisfied chuckle. “How could they not? The bed collapsed.”
“Aye, well, there was that.” The memory of what led up to that crash made her want him all over again, but they needed to get downstairs and do whatever it was that Scots planning an independent Scotland did. While she didn’t look forward to the chore, she found herself a great deal more relaxed about it now that she’d kept her promise and properly consummated their vows. Several times, in fact. Belatedly, she wondered if anyone in Edinburgh sold those wild carrot seeds Anne recommended. It was most definitely too late for the bit of wool soaked in tansy oil.
His hands smooth from her back to her front, cupping her breasts with a gentle, suggestive squeeze. “I could send down word that ye’re still feeling poorly, and I must stay with ye to ensure ye’re resting properly.”
“Dinna tempt me.” She would much rather stay up in their room rather than go downstairs.
He stepped closer and ground his hard length against her bum. “Do ye find that tempting, m’love?”
She reached back, slid her hand down into his trews, and stroked. “Ye know I do, but we did just finally get our clothes on with all the endless ties and buttons. ’Tis a feckin’ chore getting in and out of these things. They really need to get on with inventing zippers.”
“If that’s all that’s holding ye back…” He spun her around and went up against the wall with her. He shoved her skirts up out of the way and drove inside her with such force, she hoped the wall didn’t collapse like the bed and send them into the street below.
His powerful hands clutched her arse. With her fingers digging into his shoulders and him pounding with a delicious rhythm, she decided vertical held some lovely benefits. Then a knock sounded at the door.
“Ignore them,” she rasped. Eyes closed, she reveled in every sensation. So close. So very close to pure bliss.
“Aye,” was all he managed to groan, hammering harder and giving a determined growl that vibrated through her.
The knocking at the door grew louder.
“Go away!” she bellowed, teetering on the cusp of what promised to be another brilliant orgasm.
“Aye!” Kane joined in. “Afore I kill ye!”
Blessed silence followed, and the knocking stopped.
And then she teetered no more. Every nerve ending exploded with such powerful deliciousness, the rest of the world fell away. “Yes!” she shouted at the top of her lungs as wave after wave crashed across her.
Kane shoved in hard and stayed, then roared something in either Latin or Gaelic. She didn’t know which and definitely didn’t care. All that mattered was that once again, they’d melded into one. She cradled him in her arms as he pinned her to the wall and rested his head on her shoulder, tenderly kissing her throat between gasping breaths. “I love ye, my own,” he whispered so many times she lost count.
“I love ye more,” she said, meaning it more than he would ever know. She had never loved anyone. Not ever. Not like this. But this man, the way he cared, protected, and bared his soul, demanded she love him back. It would be the biggest mistake of her life to refuse.
She smoothed her hands across his broad shoulders. “I guess we should behave now and go downstairs. I’m sure the king is waiting for ye.”
With a reluctant huff, he stepped back and eased her down to her feet. “I’m sure ye’re right, but that doesna mean I like it.”
“Yer liege is waiting for ye,” King Robert called out, his voice muffled through the door. “And if ye’ve finished resting, I would appreciate a word with the both of ye.”
“He is going to order us beheaded.” She shook down her skirts, then made a futile attempt at taming her hair. “Or do they hang in this century instead of beheading?” She couldn’t remember.
Kane didn’t answer, but his jaw hardened to a displeased line as he fastened his trews, strode across the room, and yanked open the door. “My liege,” he said, the respectfulness in his tone sounding more than a little strained.
The Bruce strode in, his face dark as a thundercloud. “I ken how it is with a new wife, but we’ve duties to attend to. Some of which ye might not be aware of since ye were so long absent from my side.”
“That was my fault,” Satia said, stepping forward. This legendary man didn’t come across as a lofty, untouchable royal. He was just a man struggling to help his country. “If ye wish to be ratty with anyone, be ratty with me. Not Kane.”
“Ratty?” Robert repeated, his thick brows knotting tighter as an expression of befuddlement overpowered his scowl.
“Hard to get along with.” She shrugged. “Impossible to please.” She folded her arms across her chest as she added. “Ye know ye’re acting like a spoilt English king, right?”
“Satia!” Kane stepped between them. “Forgive her, my liege, she isna privy to all our ways.”
“I thought ye were a Scot,” Robert replied, stepping around Kane and peering at her as if she was a lab experiment in a Petri dish.
“I am. By blood.” What would be the safest and simplest way to explain? “As a child, they took me from the woman who bore me. Some of my youth was in Scotland, but I spent a good part of it living on the streets of London until I made it back here.”
“Why did they take ye from yer mother?” The Bruce’s tone had leveled out, and so had the reddish flare across his cheeks.
“She treated me poorly.” She would say no more, remembering her promise to herself to tell no one any details. To speak the memories resurrected the pain. She would never utter the dark words. Not ever. “I know I’m not like ye’re other subjects, but ye can trust my loyalty even though I nearly fall on my arse every time I try to curtsy for ye.”
Thankfully, the man smiled. “Perhaps I should give ye a special dispensation from curtsying as payment for that fine meal ye fed me last night.”
“That would be most generous and very much appreciated.” She hoped he was serious.
“So be it, then. Now come. The both of ye.” He turned without another word and headed out the door.
“He was serious, right?” she whispered, hurrying to keep up with Kane.
“Aye.” Kane slowed a bit. “Ye will find the Bruce rarely jests about a dispensation.”
He seemed distracted. Worried. She pondered asking him what was wrong, but instinct stopped her. Kane and the Bruce were on shaky terms right now because Kane had placed his own wants and needs over those of his liege. Repeatedly. Politically, that might be lethal. She granted him silence and the privacy of his thoughts. His life could depend on whatever was on his mind.
The long narrow hallways, dimly lit by flickering lanterns, seemed menacing and endless. And it was daytime. Satia couldn’t imagine walking here at night without a weapon. While she prided herself on not being the skittish sort, that didn’t mean she wasn’t alert to possible dangers. The stairs were worse since only a single lantern hung between the landings. Although the Bruce and Kane lauded the inn as one of the finest in Edinburgh, it still felt…questionable, for lack of a better term. Like a member’s only den where outcast members ended up murdered. At least it was clean and, near as she could tell, the only people allowed inside were those granted admission by the Bruce himself.
When they reached the low-ceilinged common area that served as dining area, pub, and room check-in, the Bruce strode across the space, ignoring the expectant looks from those sitting at a few of the tables. He headed straight for an open door behind the counter where a pair of barmaids kept the ale flowing.
Satia caught hold of Kane’s arm and tucked in close. An eeriness prickled across her like an ominous premonition about to make itself known. As they followed the Bruce into the private room, she immediately understood why. Intuition never failed her.
A tall man wearing the drab robes of a monk stood with his back to them in front of a makeshift altar bearing a crude wooden crucifix flanked by candles heavy with dripping wax. He didn’t turn upon their entry, just kept puttering through books and parchments spread in front of him, muttering under his breath as his quill twitched with harried scratchings.
“Friar Law,” King Robert said. “I have brought her to ye.”
Satia had never studied the Spanish Inquisition but knew enough about it to start backing toward the door to escape any chance of a Scottish version. Then the friar turned and faced her. All thoughts and instincts collided, sputtering to a screeching halt. She knew this man. From the twenty-first century. Her will to survive kicked in before she blurted it out. He recognized her. It flashed in his watery blue eyes.
The friar recovered quickly, making the sign of the cross in midair, as if calling on every saint in Christendom to bless her. “Welcome, m’lady. His Majesty has told me much about ye.”
“Has he?” Satia doubted the king could tell her favorite professor from the University of Edinburgh anything that he didn’t already know. Professor Lawrence Carruthers had mentored her through some of her most challenging studies. The man was brilliant, devoted to helping his students, and had gone missing several years ago. The entire community had mourned his loss.
The professor smiled his trademark smile that all the students loved. His eyes crinkled until almost completely shut as both sides of his mouth curled high on either side of his bumpy beak of a nose. “Aye,” he said. “He has told me much, indeed. He relayed yer prophecy of Edinburgh Castle and also shared what ye said regarding Stirling and Bannockburn.”
“I wouldna call it prophecy exactly.” Leeriness filled her. She wished she knew Professor Carruther’s—or Friar Law’s agenda. She spotted Kane’s hand resting on the pommel of his dagger, and her heart swelled. He stood ready to defend her even in the presence of his king. “It was all more like a dream, really. I pray everything comes to pass as I dreamt it.”
“I am sure it will,” Friar Law said with a quirky look they both understood. “God often speaks to us through our dreams, and what better way to help his chosen king and bless the beloved land of Scotland?” His sharp-eyed gaze took in Kane’s protective stance. “And this must be yer husband?”
“Aye,” she said, deciding to test him with a hint at how she had arrived in the fourteenth century. “He saved me from drowning at An Lochan Uaine, and we married days later.”
“An Lochan Uaine, ye say?” The friar’s expression turned thoughtful. “So, the fairy waters brought ye to him?”
“Ye might say that.” They needed to talk. Privately. He thought so, too. She sensed it.
“I thought ye might bless their union officially, good friar.” The Bruce’s smugness betrayed exactly how clever he thought himself to be at bringing them to this point without their knowledge. “God hasna heard their vows in His church, nor has a contract been signed or recorded.”
“I would be honored.” Friar Law turned, shuffled through his books, and retrieved a palm-sized tome with a tattered black cover. “But I fear I canna help with the contract.”
“Not to fear.” King Robert pulled a folded square of parchment from an inner pocket of his surcoat. “When my most trusted man’s irregular marriage first came known to me, I had this drawn up.” He beamed a grand smile at Kane. “I wish ye nothing but happiness, old friend, even though I might behave a bit…” He turned to Satia. “What did ye call it?”
“Ratty.”
“Aye. Ratty.” He unfolded the document and handed it to Kane. “Ye are a good man, Kane, and ye will find a deed included to a good bit of land there as thanks for yer loyalty.”
“I am honored, Yer Majesty.” Kane stared down at the parchment, barely shaking his head. “This is most generous.”
“Well, of course, it is. I’m nay a stingy bastard with my friends.” Robert clapped him on the shoulder. “Sign the papers, man. Ye and yer lady wife. Then the good friar will bless ye officially, ye ken?”
As Kane accepted the quill from Friar Law, it struck Satia that this time, she would marry him for real. Not pretend, as she had justified to herself before. She found that somewhat daunting. It was easy to pretend and then if anything went wrong, say it had never been real to begin with. But this—this locked it into reality in both eras because Friar Law had been an ordained minister and a professor in the twenty-first century.
Kane held out the quill. “My love?”
She accepted it, hoping her trembling wouldn’t snap the nib or make her drop the feather. She dipped it in the ink, then stared at the line beside Kane’s name. Without a doubt, she loved him, but the fear she would fail him made her hesitate to sign.
“Satia?” Kane’s gentle whisper and the tender weight of his hand on the small of her back steadied her.
“I’m sorry. Had a dizzy spell there for a minute.” With bold strokes, she scratched her name Satia Nicole Josephine St. Clair.
“Well done,” Friar Law announced, once again making the sign of the cross over both of them. “Since our Lord already heard ye speak yer vows one to the other previously, we willna bother Him with them again.” He winked. “After all, the Lord Almighty is verra busy.” But he flipped open his book, found the desired page, and tapped on it. “However, I feel it appropriate that I somewhat quote our Lord’s word, so ye both realize the importance of yer sacred oath.” He wet his lips, took a deep breath, and began, “Love is patient and kind. It doesna envy or boast. Nor is it arrogant or rude. It doesna insist on its own way like a greetin’ bairn. Nor does it act irritable or resentful. It abhors wrongdoing and rejoices in truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things. Love never ends.”
Somewhere off in the distance, a bell tolled just as he finished speaking. Satia swallowed hard, hoping that was a good omen.
“Ye may kiss yer lady love,” Friar Law instructed as he closed the book and hugged it to his chest.
Kane tipped up her chin, then paused and smiled down at her. So much love shone in his eyes, it made her tears well and overflow. She couldn’t help it.
His brows drew together as he caught her tears with a gentle swipe of a finger. “Weeping?”
“Good weeping,” she promised. “Now kiss me.”
“Gladly.” His mouth closed over hers, making her forget all else in the room. For better or worse, richer or poorer, she was now this Highland warrior’s wife—in any century.
