Chieftain By Command Page 20

  When she awoke in the morning Gavyn’s arms were still around her. He had loved her well, and she no longer felt abandoned, as she had the night after she returned from the lochan without him. It was no longer just enough for him to sleep in the same bed, he had to sleep with his arms holding her close after loving her, as if morning couldn’t arrive unless they were physically bound together.

  With a sigh of contentment, she settled into his warmth. The heat of his body always exceeded hers, not just, as he liked to tell her, because he burned for her.

  Their chamber had settled into darkness with only one candle left guttering low, flickering weird shadows in on the ceiling—shadows that if she’d been alone might have set her mind a-wandering along unpleasant paths. Then she noticed a cobweb swinging in a corner. Having come detached frae the ceiling, it had curled into a clump that clung frae a thin thread, slowly swinging back and forth on it, and her stomach churned.

  She hadn’t seen Finlay’s body. Gavyn had made sure that his wife wouldn’t be troubled by the sight of the man hanging frae a tree. A protective sentiment, yet naught could shield her frae the tortuous images her imagination conjured to play on her fears.

  Who was this man out to rob the Dun Bhuird clansfolk of their rest? Kathryn was adamant that, like most of them, she would rather face the rogue straight on and spit in his face, than live in uncertainty. The gathering shadows of the unknown haunted the hall and had set men and maids alike throwing quick glances over their shoulders to see who was there.

  Her husband snored gently in her ear and she smiled. Gavyn wasn’t the kind to overindulge—at least in drink. Her body was a different matter entirely. She could swear without contradiction that he knew her shape better than she did herself. The way a certain touch could send her into raptures of delight, the spot behind her ear that made her tremble when he licked it…

  He still wasn’t aware of the bairn lying in the womb he made clench with unbearable pleasure as she climaxed with his shaft deep inside her.

  How long would it take him to forgive her for keeping such a momentous event secret? The thought made her insides churn and stirred an urgent need to find the basin Lhilidh had concealed under the bed, in case the sickness of the morning arrived afore the lass did.

  Kathryn scrabbled out of Gavyn’s arms, desperation driving her to act the way she had sworn to herself would never happen again. Yet, even in that limbo between sleep and awareness, he clung to her, determined to hold her in place until she was forced to yell, “No let me go … let me go…” Her shouted protests segued into sobs as bile rose in her throat, choking her.

  “What?” she heard his demand behind her, no longer asleep as she literally rolled off the edge of the bed and reached for the basin, more saviour than convenience.

  The scent of herbs rose from frae among the dry rushes whose spiky stalks might have felt like midge bites on her bare skin if she wasn’t overtaken by retching into the basin she clung to like a lifesaver.

  “Mother of God.” The worst blasphemy he ever used broke over her as he looked down on her from the edge o the bed. “What’s wrong lass. Have ye been poisoned? Help me, Kathryn, do you have some potion to counter such terrible an affliction?”

  Within moments Gavyn was kneeling beside her on the floor, holding the basin while smoothing her hair back frae her face, both of them as naked as they had been during the night hours as they shared a passion she was now certain would never die.

  But how did he feel about deception? Did one fault counter a thousand pleasures? Or mayhap the tortures their babe was putting her insides through would be payment enough for what now felt like a minor indiscretion by comparison.

  Her torture was almost at an end when Lhilidh arrived. Unruffled by the sight of a naked Gavyn, she put her duty first and handed him a damp cloth. “It will help to wipe her face with this. The retching makes her face hot, and while you tend to that, I’ll fetch her a cup of water to wash her mouth out. She cannae stand the taste of ale on top of being sick, it just starts her off again.”

  As her shudders eased, Gavyn pushed the basin aside, but not so far that it couldn’t be recovered quickly. Taking her in his arms, he pulled her onto his lap without rising frae the discomfort of the floor and, easing her hair back from her burning cheeks began smoothing the cool cloth over her face. “Frae Lhilidh’s reaction, I would say this illness is a regular occurrence. Why is this the first of me being aware of it?”

  “Because, you are usually gone from our chamber before I rise frae bed,” she grumbled. A conversation about her wrongs were the farthest thing frae her mind while he held her close, sharing his burning heat as she began to shiver. However, her thoughts were mother to memories of many similar mornings, and she contradicted him. “And it’s not an illness; it’s a perfectly natural occurrence when a woman is with child.”

  She felt his body tense, as if translating his every thought, his surprise, his delight as he tilted her face toward him and with his hands trembling against her cheeks, he kissed her without waiting for her to drink the water that Lhilidh had promised to bring. To Kathryn it spoke of how desperate he was for a son.

  “Mayhap, we should go swimming in the lochan more often if this is the result. What say you, Kathryn?”

  She gasped, her lips forming a circle, “Oh, don’t be a fool. It takes longer than that to make a bairn, a son. “She punched at his shoulder, making a slapping sound with her knuckles against his bare skin. “Get up now and cover yourself before Lhilidh returns, what will she think?”

  “She’ll think you are covering me quite adequately, but you need to get up off the floor.” Somehow Gavyn managed to stand up without dropping her. When he placed her on the bed, he did so gently, as if she had become a precious vessel, which to him she was, the one carrying his son.

  He had his back to Lhilidh, dressing as she returned carrying a flask of water and a small loaf of bread.

  “Rinse out you mouth with the water then eat a mouthful of the bread. It will settle yer innards. I’ll get rid of the basin.”

  “I can do that,” said Gavyn, sufficiently respectable to turn around.

  Hand on hip Lhilidh looked him up and down as if he were trying to take over her position with his wife. “And what would ye be doing with it?”

  With a lift of a brow, Gavyn said, “I thought the privy.”

  “Aye well, that will dae fine,” she told him.

  Watching him leave, Kathryn sipped her water and nibbled on the bread, and when she heard the door close, she glanced over at Lhilidh, her arms filled with clean tunic and kirtle. “You shouldn’t speak like to Gavyn. He’s your Laird.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, he’s the man whau made ye sick,” she grinned at Kathryn, enjoying herself, “and I’m the one who has cleaned up after ye every morning. This morning it’s the laird’s turn.”

  Slipping out from under the covers, she warned, “Well don’t indulge yourself too often. He’s in a good mood because of the bairn, but remember he’s a warrior. Not the kind you want to annoy.”

  The words echoed inside her skull, a lesson she, too, should keep to mind.

  If Lhilidh could clean up after Kathryn, it was a certainty Gavyn wasn’t likely to admit he couldn’t. That might be because he felt slightly stunned—whatever. It was going take another murder to wipe the smile off his face. A son, she had said, and sounded confident, yet he wasn’t quite so light-headed as to believe Kathryn could tell the bairn’s gender. Aye, she was saying that to appease him.

  He was on his way to dispose of the basin’s contents when he was interrupted by a maid, “Laird, the constable was just asking after ye…”

  After handing off the basin to the maid, he turned in the direction of the high board where Magnus was breaking his fast with a bowl of porridge. Gavyn had hardly taken his seat when one was set in front of him. “Get that down ye,” Magnus slurred. “It’ll tamp down the effects of the uisge beatha.”

  “What effects? I�
�m right as rain.” He gave Magnus a wide grin. The constable’s eyes widened but Gavyn couldn’t hold his joy in; it kept bubbling up inside him.

  “Either that or still drunk.” Magnus swung around and asked, “Or is it that ye have a guid notion who the murderer is?”

  Gavyn’s face froze. God’s blood, he had pushed all that out of his mind with the news of the bairn. “I wish I had. Something else pushed it out of my mind for a wee while.” He couldn’t hold back for more than a second. “Kathryn’s with child.”

  The constable’s jaw dropped and he shoved his stool back frae the board. “By all that’s Holy, ye dinnae waste any time. … Seize yer hand, man,” he rumbled holding out his to grasp Gavyn’s. “An heir. Have ye any notion what this will mean to the clan?”

  Gavyn knew what it meant to him. The clan hadn’t entered his calculations, but it did now. “It might not be a lad, ye know.”

  “An then it might, but that’s no’ the point.” Magus took a grip of Gavyn’s shoulder and tightened. “If ye can plant one bairn in her, ye can dae it again. That’s all that counts. Yon damn murders have everyone jittery and looking over their shoulders, but bugger it, a bairn in the womb calls for a celebration, and that’s what we’ll have. I’ll speak to Abelard about organising it. Give him something to dae while we root out that bad bastard. I’m going to discover who that knife belongs tae if it’s the last thing I dae.”

  Chapter 21

  At Harald’s insistence, Brodwyn met him at the burial ground in the late afternoon. It felt strange to see him in full daylight. Strange and scary. There was a sharpness, a wariness about him, as though he walked a narrow edge. His gaze didn’t focus, shifted continuously as he looked her over, eyelids narrowed as if it hurt to be in the sun. She hadn’t noticed the dark smudges under them before, and that worried her. Aye, that, and his recent perverse indulgences.

  As he came towards her, she worried that all her plans might come to naught. That everything she had put up with had been for naught. Gritting her teeth, she grated out her question, “What is so important that ye needs must meet me here where any soul can see us? Not even for you will I lift my skirts in broad daylight.”

  The slow lift of his brows dragged with it a guid deal of intended offense and made the short hairs on the back of her neck rise. “Mayhap we will have to proceed quicker than we thought.”

  “Why?” she snapped, in nae mood to appease him.

  “I’m thinking there is too much in the wind at the moment, what with Magnus and Farquhar sniffing around about yon murders—”

  “Oh, ye didnae… Tell me that ye didnae.”

  “How could I? Ye ken I was away,” he said with a sneer, as if she were naught but a foolish lassie when it was she who had pulled the strings to get him allowed back into Dun Bhuird—she who made all the plans to ascertain that they could come into their own at last.

  He spread his palms and held them out as if to prove he wasn’t up to anything she wouldn’t approve of. “I was merely thinking that while everybody is slightly rattled, this would be a good time to put our plans in motion.”

  “So ye mean to kill Farquhar at last. It’s to be hoped ye dae a better job of it than ye did last time with McArthur afore you went scuttling off to our cousins in Caithness.” She didn’t usually chastise him, but since being with Jamie, she had come to wonder if Harald was worth all the effort he put her through.

  “Nae, not yet. I have another plan in mind. Let me tell ye about it.” He put an arm around her shoulder and guided her to the far end of the burial ground. “Here’s what I have in mind. I’ve been told that they are planning some sort of celebration for tomorrow…”

  Gavyn caught up with Kathryn in the great hall where she waited for Lhilidh to fetch a fresh oatcake from the kitchens. She had found that keeping a little something to eat hard by her in a pocket, helped stave off the worst of the nausea. “Why are you on your own?” He wanted to know.

  Kathryn shrugged it off, “Lhilidh’s in the kitchen and will be by in a moment.”

  She didn’t want to remind him of the horrible moments of sickness that troubled her, so instead she changed the subject, “Don’t you think a huge celebration is getting slightly previous? I’ve yet to feel the bairn kick.”

  Kathryn’s protest fell on deaf ears. She was happy Gavyn was pleased, but slightly embarrassed that she had no bump to confirm what she knew to be true.

  “Look at it this way, the whole of the Dun’s population are nervy what with these murders. They need something, an event to take their mind off the perceived dangers.” Gavyn finished with a nod of his head and folded his arms across his chest—a sign that he wanted no more arguments.

  “So when will the event take place?” she asked giving into the inevitable. Both Gavyn and Lhilidh were bound to keep attempting to wear her down. “I seem to be the only one who thinks it’s tempting fate to pre-empt a celebration of the birth by almost six months.”

  However, Kathryn’s biggest worry leaned towards feeling doubtful everything could be put in place for at least another senight.

  “You have naught to worry your head about, sweeting. Magnus and Abelard have the arrangements well in hand. If the weather holds, and it seems likely, the gathering will take place tomorrow in the Bailey. A bonfire is being piled up in the centre, and there will be mutton and venison cooked on the spit, mayhap even one of the big hairy Highland cows, if somebody won’t mind providing us with a sizable beast. Abelard assures me the flames in the kitchens will burn hot and bright cooking all sorts of delicacies.” He grinned full at her and looked younger despite the puckering scar slashing through his eyebrow and cheek.

  His hair fell forward, black like the raven whose shape flew on his shield. She wanted to push its clean silkiness back frae his brow and trace the scar that had taken everything from him—his life, his inheritance. If only she didn’t feel as if to do so would be a trespass that might take more courage than she owned to seize. The hawkish nose, dark brows and deep-set, storm-grey eyes above high, slanting cheekbones were enough to make her forget anything marred his handsome features, even on her wedding day while she strove to deny him. Aye, if they’d had anything in common when they married, it was Gavyn’s brother.

  A fact they both wisely chose to forget.

  “Very well.” She gave in and turned as if to walk with him. “What would you have me to do towards this celebration?”

  Before she could finish he had pulled her into his arms fitted his mouth over hers. It was moments like these when his lips, his tongue, tugged at her soul. She didn’t understand how it happened that the removal of his lips frae her mouth made her feel bereft, even though he pecked tiny kisses along her cheek and jaw line until he reached her ear, whispering, “You’ve already played your part, sweeting. Without you and the bairn …” His hand slipped down the front of her kirtle where her leather girdle rested below the waist. Gavyn smoothed his palm across her belly. “…none of this would be possible.”

  For an instance it was laughter that bubbled up inside her instead of the dreaded sickness. “I can assure you, it wasn’t an immaculate conception.”

  He beamed down at her—a smile that combined eyes and mouth and made her heart race. “No need for that. I didn’t want you immaculate. I wanted you hot and wet and waiting to pleasure me and you.”

  When Gavyn spoke like that her heart thundered in her ears and heat bloomed all over her skin, while moisture flowed from the deepest part of her womanhood and she wished they were anywhere but here. She wanted to be in that big bed, with him, alone with Gavyn.

  By the time Lhilidh came up behind them, Gavyn hands rested on his narrow hips, but the sweat from his pores that sprinkled his top lip told the truth of his feelings. Guid to know she wasn’t locked into this thrall on her own.

  “I’ve brought them.” Lhilidh looked at Gavyn, but her hands put the oatcakes in the pocket hanging frae her girdle. “Nhaimeth says we should gang out the Bailey if we want a lau
gh.”

  Kathryn looked up at Gavyn. “What’s happening?”

  Her husband smiled, something he had begun to do more often. “Why don’t the pair of you go down to the Bailey and find out for yourselves? It should be interesting.”

  Nhaimeth felt nae guilt over letting on to Lhilidh that Rob and Jamie would be in the Bailey practising for the celebration and that he would be acting as their tutor. Och, they had both watched and fooled around with the dance, but what they wanted to do was more than a fling. They’d both been there—youngsters still—watching Euan and Graeme dance a duel over crossed swords.

  Nae blood had been shed, yet it had made a huge impression on the lads—on everyone who had watched them leap o’er the swords, hands held high and triumphant shouts spilling frae their lips in time to the skirl of the pipes.

  He had nae true notion what was at the heart of the edginess that had crept into the lads’ friendship. Yet he had his suspicions that it was over Lhilidh.

  Rob was caught up in first love and expected Jamie to feel the same, but the competition that had sprung forth when they arrived at Dun Bhuird had faded away. Jamie’s attentions were to all intents and purpose focused on his horse, and Nhaimeth had a feeling Rob saw that as an insult to Lhilidh.

  Rob would eventually learn that first love was ephemeral and doesn’t require a rival to keep the fires lit. With his few extra years of observing human nature, Nhaimeth knew well it couldnae last—wouldnae be allowed, what with Rob being the heir to Cragenlaw and the future chieftain of the McArthurs and Lhilidh being Geala’s daughter and her father one of Geala’s lovers, a man who might have kicked Nhaimeth out of his way as he rolled frae Geala’s bed.

  If Nhaimeth had learned anything in his observations, it was that a chieftain’s life didnae belong to himself, it belonged to the clan.