Starcatcher, page 20
His mouth covered one of her breasts, his tongue flicking and circling the nipple. Her body straightened, tensed, and a small cry escaped her lips. His hands moved farther down, to the triangle of hair, and then below. Her body strained, trembling, as his fingers invaded the most private part of her. He heard her whisper his name, and he felt the moisture he sought.
When her body was writhing and he knew she was ready—and knew that he could wait no longer—he moved, positioning his body above hers. He held himself in check, allowing his manhood to caress and probe until she arched to meet him, asking for more. He heard her cry his name again, and slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself into her.…
Marsali thought she could bear the exquisite pain no longer. Patrick had built this need inside her, until it seemed her body would explode. Then she felt him probing. He was so large, and for a moment she was stunned by the feel of him. Then pain flared inside her, and she could not hold back a small scream.
He stopped moving, and his mouth covered hers briefly, kissing her. Then, tenderly, he whispered, “’Twill pass in a moment, lass. I should ha’ warned you.” He started to withdraw.
But already the pain was fading, and she shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “Donna go away.”
He waited a moment, then moved again, and she felt ripples of pleasure, replaced by that aching need again as he moved deeper and deeper into her, filling her, becoming one with her. He moved slowly, allowing her to become accustomed to the feel of him, in what seemed like a deliberate, sensuous dance.
Billows of delicious sensation surged through her. Her arms wrapped tighter around him. She knew, somehow, that as fine as this was, there was more.
And there was.
His thrusting became rhythmic strokes, building the tension inside her. Her body quivered in response to his every movement, clasping him tightly and reaching for something she could not even understand. And then in one brilliant explosion she did.
Pleasure washed over her in waves, and her body trembled with the exquisite release flooding through her. At the same time, she heard him growl, felt his body straining, thrusting deep inside of her. And for the space of several heartbeats, she felt them enter another world, a place of pure sensation, a place of light and joy, a place where they were truly one: one heartbeat, one mind, one soul.
Chapter 17
The cattle were getting thinner.
Patrick sat on his horse and studied them. Blasted animals had been driven back and forth between Abernie and Brinaire so many times it was a bloody miracle they had any flesh left to hang on their bones.
“They look a wee bit disgruntled,” Hiram noted judiciously.
Patrick felt disgruntled himself. He would have much preferred to be in bed with Marsali. But his father had insisted on seeing the bloody cattle with his own two eyes. Thus, he had to collect the hairy beasts from Abernie land and drive them to the keep’s gates for inspection. Tomorrow, he would drive them to pasture, where Gavin could find them and take them to Abernie. The whole thing was a blasted nuisance, and why he had ever thought it a decent plan escaped him when he thought of Marsali, waiting for him at Brinaire. In bed. Alone.
Alex rode up next to him, his face creased in worry. “I see no guards.”
Of course not. Gavin had seen to that. A few flagons of wine on a cold, blustery night and the herders, all on foot, were sound asleep. Gavin would wake them in the morning, berate them for dereliction of duty, and suggest they tell no one, especially not the earl. He would get the cattle back, he would say. Pitiably grateful for his mercy, the herders would thank him.
He himself had found a different method of assuring that the cattle were unguarded when they were in his possession. He simply sent his herders away, saying others would replace them. Pleased to return to the great hall’s fire and hot food, they asked no questions, nor did they care who took their place. They did not want to be noticed and sent out again.
The earl of Abernie thought his herd was growing, compliments of the marquis of Brinaire, and he was well pleased with his son’s craftiness. The marquis of Brinaire believed himself a richer man by stealing from his enemy; he would have liked to see some bloodletting, but all in all, Patrick thought, his father seemed satisfied with his son’s reiving skills.
’Twas only the cattle who were dissatisfied.
Alex was still muttering about the absence of guards. “Perhaps it is a trap,” he ventured.
Patrick looked across to Hiram, who shrugged. They had already discussed including Alex in the scheme, and Hiram had expressed reservations. But Patrick felt instinctively he could trust Alex. He had made a mistake in not trusting Marsali, and it had almost cost him her love. Mayhap it was time he started to trust more often. And there was a more pragmatic reason: Alex might express his puzzlement about the unguarded cattle to his father.
“Nay, lad,” he said. “I think there are no guards for a reason.”
Now Alex looked positively bewildered. They had waited until dark, which made it the wee hours of the morning, and the only light came from a thin slice of moon. But Patrick’s eyes had become well accustomed to the dim light, and he could see his brother’s confused expression. He also saw his fear; Alex would never feel the excitement that came from danger, the exhilaration before a battle that he himself had felt once, as a young man. And he prayed that his brother would never know the cost of those few illusory moments of thrill.
With a nod, Patrick told his brother to follow him, then guided his horse a short distance away from the five other Sutherland clansmen who were with them. Once out of earshot, he halted his horse and waited until Alex had ridden up beside him.
“There are no guards,” he said, “because Gavin and I planned that there would be none.”
Comprehension came quickly. Patrick watched it dawn on his brother’s face, his eyes widening and a slow grin spreading across his mouth. The lad was bright.
“You and Gavin Gunn have arranged this raid?”
“Aye.”
“And the one on our cattle last week? Was that arranged, too?”
“Aye.”
“And neither of you minds giving up the cattle to the other, because …”
“Because we know we will soon be getting them back.”
Alex studied the herd briefly, his eyes narrowing. “You mean we are stealing the same animals over and over again?”
“Reiving, brother,” Patrick said indignantly. “A traditional Highland practice. And, aye, they are the same cattle.”
Alex gave a soft laugh. “Father thinks we have taken the entire Gunn herd.”
“I am sure Abernie believes he has the entire Sutherland herd,” Patrick chuckled.
“The poor beasts.” Alex enjoyed another moment of amusement, then he frowned. “But why are you doing this?”
Patrick sighed. “To gain time. I am sure Sinclair was behind the raid on Gunn land, but there is no proof. I think if he becomes impatient enough, he might try it again. Hopefully, we can catch Sinclairs in Sutherland plaids.”
“And thus put an end to Abernie’s grudge against Father,” Alex concluded. “But there is still Lady Margaret.”
“Aye,” Patrick agreed. “And I canna help but believe the Sinclair had something to do with that, too. If we can catch him in the one mischief, we might find proof of the other.”
After a moment, Alex said, “And the men with us know nothing about the cattle?”
“Nay, and I hope that they merely feel fortunate that the herders are neglecting their duties and they willna have to fight their neighbors.”
Patrick watched his brother’s back straighten, saw his chin come up; suddenly, there was pride, not fear or worry, on his brother’s face. All for having been shown a wee bit of faith.
Patrick thought it would not hurt to emphasize the point. “Alex, the only ones who know of the plan are Hiram, Rufus, two of Gavin’s men, Marsali—and now, you. I am certain others will know before much longer, but we must be careful.”
Alex’s back became even straighter, and Patrick knew he had been right in telling him, despite Hiram’s doubts. He had seen how their father had systematically stripped his brother’s self-respect because Alex had not been born in Gregor Sutherland’s image. It was time to give Alex back some of what had been taken from him.
“Thank you,” Alex said gratefully. “I will do anything I can to help.”
“I am counting on it,” Patrick said gently. “I will need your help. And so will Marsali.”
“You need not ask me,” Alex said. “I would do anything for the lady.”
Not surprised that Marsali had won Alex’s allegiance, Patrick smiled. His bride, after all, was no ordinary woman, and he suspected he was in for a lifetime of watching her unwittingly win other men’s hearts.
Patrick held out his hand, and Alex grasped it.
“I am glad you are back, brother,” Alex said. “Brinaire has been a sad place.”
“We will try to change that,” Patrick said. “You and I together. And now we best get the cattle to Brinaire before a Gunn wanders by.”
Alex grinned. “And when will they be taken again?”
“Two nights, I would say,” Patrick replied. “By then I hope to hear something from Sinclair. This reiving is hard on a mon.”
“Especially when that mon would prefer to be with a certain lady,” Alex retorted.
Patrick’s brow shot upward. “You just wait, little brother, until love strikes you.”
Alex snorted. “I doubt any lady will want me. I am neither brave nor gallant nor handsome.” With a grimace, he muttered, “Father says I am a weakling and a coward.”
“Father is wrong,” Patrick said. “Bravery has naught to do with the use of arms. ’Tis often the opposite. Only a fool doesna care about life, Alex. Real courage is being true to yourself and what you believe is right—right for you, not for someone who finds glory in the death of others.”
“But you …” Alex began.
“Aye, I went to war,” Patrick said, hearing the bitterness in his own voice. “And at first I was eager for it. I killed men for no other reason than that other men told me to do so. But I soon became sick of killing. And I was given no option but to continue.” Quietly, he added, “Many of those faces still haunt me, and probably always will. ’Tis not something I would wish for you, Alex.”
Without waiting for a reply, Patrick urged his horse toward the waiting men and gave the signal to start the cattle moving toward Sutherland pastures.
During the course of the drive, Patrick kept his eye on Alex. He was surprised to note his brother’s skill in steering the herd south. Alex was, he realized, a bloody fine horseman.
When Hiram rode up beside him, Patrick said, “It seems my brother has learned something besides what he has read in his books.”
“Aye,” Hiram agreed. “He can ride. And he is a good lad. But I wonder whether it was wise to tell him your plans.”
“If I canna trust him, then I might as well take Marsali, ride out, and never return.”
“Still, he is only a lad.”
“He is seventeen,” Patrick said sharply. “I went to war at sixteen. And if anything happens to me, he is heir to Brinaire. He must learn responsibility.”
Hiram nodded. “’Tis plain he grew a foot or two tonight.”
“You saw it, too.”
“Aye. He will never be a warrior, but he has a brain if he will but learn tae trust it.”
Patrick shot his friend a grin. “Mayhap you can teach him that lesson. I seem to recall that it took you some time to learn that your head could be as effective a weapon as your fists.”
“Hmph,” Hiram grunted. “I think I best give ’em a hand so ye can return to yer lassie.”
“Now you are really using your head,” Patrick said, spurring his horse into a gallop.
Marsali entered the kitchen with Elizabeth beside her. She would have much preferred to be in her chamber, dreaming about making love with Patrick.
Her body felt different after his loving invasion: full and warm and alive, as if her senses, like harp strings, had been tuned to a new, heightened pitch. When she thought about the night they had spent together, which was nearly all she could think about, her insides seemed to melt and tremble. Her disappointment had been acute when he had said he could not come to her the previous night, that he had to go reiving. At least she could be certain that Gavin had prepared the way, and, thus, she did not have to be concerned for her husband’s safety. She had reminded herself of that often as she lay awake, aching for him.
That morning, she had risen determined not to spend another useless hour. And it seemed to her that the first thing she must do was make a place for herself in Patrick’s family.
She had joined the family at their meal the prior evening, sitting with Elizabeth. While the clansmen had minded their manners, the marquis had ignored her; indeed, he had been in an unusually ebullient mood, which she attributed to his belief that he would be acquiring more Gunn cattle that night. His good moods usually meant ill for someone else.
But she resolutely ignored him and resolved at that meal to do something about the food. She might earn the undying gratitude of the clan if she made any progress toward improving the kitchen offerings.
First, she had enlisted Elizabeth’s help. Since Marsali could not leave the castle, she gave Elizabeth a list of herbs she needed. Salt was at the top of the list.
Elizabeth, at fifteen, was eager to learn. She had been thirteen when Margaret disappeared, the age when girls begin learning to manage a household. But the household servants had all been discharged then, accused of aiding Margaret in her unfaithfulness.
The new servants had little supervision, and Elizabeth, constantly belittled by her father, was afraid to take charge. And no one had taught her how in any case.
After Elizabeth returned with the herbs, Marsali convinced her to join her assault on the kitchen. Elizabeth agreed shyly, darting looks about her as if she were a fugitive rather than lady of the manor.
Now, taking a steadying breath, Marsali looked at the kitchen servants. She had already prepared what she would say, knowing from experience the first step was to make friends with the cook. From the woman’s frown, she deduced it might not be easy.
“I wanted to thank you for such lovely food,” she said, directing her words to the woman who appeared to be in charge. She hoped God would forgive her lie.
The woman, who was thin as a reed—probably due to her own cooking—regarded her suspiciously. Probably no one had ever thanked her before.
“I thought,” Marsali continued brightly, “that we might share some secrets. Someday I could take yours back to Abernie, and you can try mine here, at Brinaire.”
Some of the suspicion faded from the woman’s face. She lifted her chin, looking at the other servants as if to make sure they had all heard. Her recipes going to Abernie.
“Mayhap, milady,” she said cautiously, as if suspecting a trick, “but milord has no complaint wi’ what I gi’ him now.”
“Of course he does not,” Marsali said. “But it never hurts to have some new tricks up one’s sleeve, does it? And I am sure you must have many that I donna know.”
The idea of teaching a lady obviously appealed to the cook. Her dull eyes began to brighten, and her expression cleared. Marsali hoped she might relax, having been assured that she was not about to lose her position.
“I am Colly MacAlister,” she said. She named the others, and Marsali gave them each a smile as they bobbed a curtsy. “And this layabout is Angus Sutherland,” Colly added, nodding her head toward a boy slinking in the corner, “and as useless a kitchen helper as ever was.”
The boy flushed as he doffed his cap.
His face was dirty, his wiry body much too thin, and his clothes ragged. Marsali had a sudden urge to throw him in a tub of hot water, then feed him mounds of pastries. But she had to go slowly. She did not want Colly to complain to the marquis about her interference.
Tugging Elizabeth out from behind her, she said to Colly, “Lady Elizabeth would also like to learn from you.”
Colly MacAlister preened before the others. “You are welcome, Lady Elizabeth,” she said, though, according to Elizabeth’s reports, the girl’s previous appearances in the kitchen had been met with hostility.
Marsali caught the conspiratorial twinkle in Elizabeth’s eyes and elbowed her lightly in the ribs to be careful.
“Now, how long do you cook the pheasant?” she asked. “It has such an unusual taste.”
That night, Marsali lay in bed, worrying about Patrick. She could not help it. He had been gone all day, and he had not appeared at the evening meal. Nor had Alex, who she knew had gone with him. Where were they? Surely, Patrick had those poor cattle in hand by now. Surely, he should be home.
She had retired to her bedchamber directly after supper, grateful when Elizabeth said she had other chores and would have to forgo their planned romp with the ferrets. After undressing and brushing her hair, she had stood by the window for a very long while, watching the hills. It was a bleak, cold night. Rain was falling, and occasional streaks of lightning pierced the billowing clouds that rushed across the dark blue heavens.
Finally, Marsali had given up her vigil, quenched the candle, and gone to bed. She had been lying there for hours, unable to sleep, when a light knock at the door brought her bolt upright.
She sprang from the bed as Patrick entered, candle in hand.
“I feared you would be asleep,” he said quietly, catching her in one arm as she flung herself upon him.
“Asleep!” she exclaimed, planting a kiss on his cheek. “How can I sleep when my husband is out reiving in the pouring rain?”
His deep chuckle was lost as their lips met in a brief but sweet greeting. Though his eyes looked weary, he had taken the time to wash, she noticed, for he smelled of soap and leather. And he had brought some wine with him. As he poured each of them a cup, he told her about the raid and, in particular, how pleased he was with the way Alex had carried himself. Sitting cross-legged on the feather bed, she listened happily.
