Rowan's Lady (49 page)

She rested her head against Rowan’s chest and
wrapped her arms around his waist. How wonderful it would be to fall asleep
like this each night, and wake to him each morn. She could barely wait to
return home, to marry him, to start a new life and, hopefully, to bear him a few
dozen children.

Much time passed before Rowan spoke. “So when we
return to our keep, do ye wish to sleep?”

Arline nuzzled her cheek sleepily against his
chest. “Nay, I do no’ want to sleep. I want to find the priest, say our I do’s,
and begin our weddin’ night. Or weddin’ day, dependin’ on how fast ye can get
us home.”

“Good, good,” Rowan said. “And yer fully prepared
to do yer wifely duty?” he asked playfully.

Arline sighed contentedly. “Well, here’s the thing
about that, Rowan. I’ve been talking to Ora, and a few of the women folk, ye
ken. I’m told that I canna get with child if I just
do me duty.
Ye have
to pleasure me in all sorts of ways, and many, many times. So if it’s children
ye be wantin’, it seems
ye
have a husbandly duty to perform.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “A husbandly
duty, ye say?”

“Aye,” she said with a yawn. “And ’tis a duty, I’m
told, that ye must perform several times a day. Do ye think yer up fer that?”

Rowan kissed the top of her head and gave her a
hug. “Aye, I suppose, if I’m to be a good husband to ye, I’m willin’ to make
such a sacrifice.”

Arline giggled at his jest.

“Well, ’twould be the
right thing to do.
”

It had not been the wedding they had planned for
the past three weeks. The pews were not filled to bursting with friends and
family, the sun was not shining brightly, and Thomas did not walk her down the
aisle. Most of
Áit na Síochána
was fast asleep at this late hour.

They didn’t take the time to wash away the mud and
muck or even change their clothes. Arline did wear her goldenrod yellow dress
even though it was tattered, torn, and otherwise ruined.

Findley sought out the priest, rousted him from a
deep sleep and brought him to the gathering room.

“’Twas a verra fine weddin’ feast we had, Rowan,”
the priest informed him. “’Twould have been better were the bride and groom
able to join us.”

Rowan and Arline were glad to learn that a good
time was had by so many and that they had been missed. It would have been a
shame to have all the food Mrs. Fitz had prepared go to waste.

Findley and Duncan stood up with Rowan, while the
rest of the men acted as witnesses. Arline refused to wake her sisters. She
would fill them in on all the details later.

 Opting for a much shorter ceremony that what had
been planned, it took very little time for them to become formally man and
wife. When the priest finally gave permission for Rowan to kiss his bride, he
scooped her into his arms and rushed her up to his room. He had husbandly
duties to perform.

They discovered Lily, fast asleep in the middle of
his bed when they stepped into his chamber. A candle burned on the table in the
corner. Arline smiled down at the little one, her eyes alight with relief.

After making certain Lily was well and safe -- and
Arline had draped an extra blanket over her stepdaughter -- she and Rowan
slipped through the door to Arline’s chamber.

On all those cold, lonely nights when Rowan
imagined how it would be with Arline when they were finally able to consummate
their marriage, he had envisioned taking his sweet time, savoring every moment,
delighting her with long, languishing kisses and warm, soft caresses. He had
planned this moment as they had planned their wedding. Carefully. Meticulously.
With great thought and care.

His bride apparently had other ideas. As soon as
he closed the door behind them, Arline leapt at him like a cat-o-mountain. All
thoughts of slow, artfully crafted and strategically placed kisses were rapidly
tossed to the side. Along with his dirty tunic, trews, and mud covered boots.

No fire had been set in the fireplace. He found
they didn’t need it. Arline’s smoldering desire was enough to keep him warm for
hours.

Arline had stripped him to complete nakedness in a
matter of moments, much like an experienced mum preparing to toss her
mud-covered wee one into a tub. But she didn’t toss Rowan into a tub. Instead,
she pushed flat on his back, sideways on her bed. His calves dangled over the
edge, his arms spread over his head.

“Lass, do ye no’ want to slow down a bit and enjoy
the moment?” he asked as she smothered his faces with hungry kisses.

She made no effort to stop the kisses or to slow
her pace. “I
be’
enjoyin’ meself!” she told him excitedly.

He chuckled, then flinched when she pressed a kiss
on his sensitive skin, right below his belly button. “As ye wish, me lady,” he
said with a dutiful air as she worked her way back up to his face. He lay there
and took her kisses and ministrations like a man.

She plied him with frenzied, borderline desperate
kisses, explored his face, his neck, shoulders and chest with her hands and
lips. She worked her way up and down his body for a time as she straddled his
abdomen.

He could finally take no more. He pushed her up
gently and began to slowly lift her dress over her head. Apparently he hadn’t
moved fast enough, for she took over, removed dress and chemise in one fluid
motion and tossed them somewhere over her head.

“I love ye, Rowan Graham,” she whispered as she
pressed another kiss against his chest.

“I love
ye,
me lady wife.”

Arline had waited many years, through three
previous husbands, to finally have a wedding night. She wasn’t about to waste a
single moment of it to propriety or misinformed notions. Had things gone as
planned yesterday, she might have thought how to take her time and allow Rowan
the lead.

Waiting be damned. She was finally married to a
man who truly
wanted
to be married to her. She loved him, and he her.
They could take their time later. At the moment, she was a desperate woman,
sitting atop the most magnificent man she had ever had the pleasure of knowing,
and she happened to be married to him.

Later, much later, and by bright candlelight as
Ora had suggested, she would take her time to explore every square inch of his
gloriously perfect body.

Rowan wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled
her down against his chest. His skin was hot, the hair of his chest tickled
against her bare breasts. She took great delight in his heavy breathing and
found she had no need to ask if she were doing things properly. In one fluid motion,
without breaking their passionate kiss, Rowan rolled her over to her back.

The urgent need for
more
swelled and rose
in each touch, each kiss, each frantic breath they took. Minnie be damned! This
was sumptuous, heavenly, wondrous -- Och! It hurt like bloody hell!

She sucked in a deep breath and held it, closed
her eyes tightly, and prayed. Prayed for the pain to pass, prayed that Ora was
right and Minnie was wrong, that the pain would be brief and not as bad as some
made it out to be.

“Arline,” Rowan said, halting, lifting himself up
onto his forearms. “I be sorry.”

She could not move, did not wish to move, could
not speak. Slowly, the pain faded, and she let out the breath she had been
holding. Relief washed over her. It had hurt like the devil, but it had
subsided.

“We can stop,” Rowan began.

Arline stopped him from finishing his sentence.
“If ye stop now, I’ll kill ye.”

He chuckled and began again. Slowly this time,
methodically, with restrained passion and lustful purpose.

The wickedly pleasurable feelings Ora had told her
of soon made themselves known. Arline felt it grow, gradually at first. Like
filling a sack with grain until it reached the point of bursting. She matched
him thrust for thrust, breath for breath, kiss for kiss until the sensation
overpowered her ability to think, to do anything but feel.

And feel she did. Suspended on the precipice of
something unknown, as if she were about to embark on an adventure to find the
lost mines of King Solomon, the sack of grain burst and Solomon’s mines were
found.

Bright, crashing, explosive, wondrous, she found
what she had sought. Apparently, her husband had found it too, for he
shuddered, said her name repeatedly in a harried yet seductive tone, before he
collapsed against her.

For a moment, Rowan felt as thought his ballocks
had imploded. It was nearly impossible to get his breathing under control. And
his heart? It was currently making a grand attempt to pound its way out of his
chest.

He had never experienced a moment in time like the
one he’d just shared with Arline. It wasn’t so much the sweet joinin’ of a man
and woman. Nay, ’twas a frenzied, feverish, sweaty thing they’d done.

Dawn came and went as Arline slept in the crook of
Rowan’s arms. Their first moments together as husband and wife were quite
remarkable.

They slept for only a few hours before Rowan woke,
ready again to experience all that his wife had to offer. He took wicked
delight in pleasing his wife. Repeatedly, just as any good and dutiful husband
would do.

It was very late in the afternoon when they woke.
Rowan was fully prepared to do his husbandly duty again, when Thomas knocked on
the door. Rowan cursed and Arline wished the man to the devil.

“Frederick and Daniel have returned, Rowan.”
Thomas spoke through the closed door.

Arline agreed that the interruption was an
important one. They dressed quickly with Rowan promising to return as soon as
he could. Arline smiled, kissed him sweetly and informed him she would check on
Lily.

Rowan met his men in his library. They not only
looked road weary but battle worn as well. He poured Frederick and Daniel each
a cup of whisky before sitting on the edge of his desk to listen to their tale.

“Garrick Blackthorn is dead,” Frederick said
before he downed the entire contents of his cup. He held the empty cup out and
Rowan refilled it.

“Our information was correct. There were three
hundred men waitin’ to attack. They were no’ as well trained as ours, but they
were ruthless bastards just the same. As we suspected, they were paid
mercenaries. It seemed Beatrice has an abundance of coin.”

“So it was Beatrice who hired them?” Rowan asked
with more than just a hint of surprise. After the fiasco of yesterday, when she
had sabotaged his wedding to Arline, nothing should surprise him.

Daniel nodded his head in agreement. “It did no’
take much convincin’ to get them to change their minds, just as we hoped. They
were verra tired of waitin’ fer orders.” He drank down his whisky in one big
gulp. Rowan refilled his cup, sat back and waited for them to go on.

“Och! They’d been caught in that horrible
snowstorm. They lost fifteen men before all was said and done,” Frederick took
a sip of his whisky and took a chair. He was worn out, tired, and bedraggled.
It had been a very long few weeks.

“They were frozen, near starved to death,” Daniel
said as he took his own seat. He looked just as worn out as Frederick.

“So convincin’ them
not
to attack
us
was
easy,” Frederick said. He let out a tired sigh. “So we offered what we could.
We stayed with them fer a few days, hunted and brought them fresh meat, fer
which they were verra grateful. They’re Lowlanders and no’ used to all this
snow, ye ken. They be tired of fightin’ the English and fightin’ with each
other.”

Rowan crossed his arms over his chest. The
Lowlands had been decimated by the Black Plague. They were in a constant state
of anarchy and chaos. He could well understand why their swords had been so
easily purchased.

“So after we got their bellies full and did a wee
bit o’ negotiatin’, we set off fer Blackthorn lands. It took us six days to
reach it, what with all the snow,” Frederick explained. He took another sip of
the warm whisky and began to finally relax. “It took us less than eight hours
to fell the Blackthorn keep. We killed every last one of the bastards. We didna
harm the women folk though.”

Daniel snorted and nodded his head. “Garrick
Blackthorn was a coward. He hid behind his woman’s skirts. Used her as a
shield. We didna mean for any harm to come to her, Rowan. But ’twas in the heat
of battle, ye ken.”

“Aye,” Frederick added. “Arrows were flyin’.
Daniel was hot on Garrick’s heals when his woman came runnin’ out of his keep,
wavin’ her arms, screamin’. Garrick grabbed her and held her in front of him,
like she was a target. It couldna be helped. The arrow pierced through her
heart and into his gut. It took a few hours, but he eventually died. Bled to
death. Slowly.”

They sat in contemplative silence for a long
moment. Rowan had always known Garrick to be a coward, but to use his own woman
as a shield? ’Twas unforgivable. Then he reminded himself that it was English
blood that ran through Garrick’s veins. Still, ’twas a piss poor excuse fer
such cowardly behavior.

“’Twas odd though, Rowan,” Frederick said. “Before
he grabbed his woman, he was screamin’ at the top of his lungs that he would
avenge his mother’s death. He was wavin’ his sword but no’ usin’ it. I dunnae
what that was about.”

Rowan grimaced. He knew all too well what Garrick
referred to. “Garrick Blackthorn blames me father fer his mother’s death.”

Daniel and Frederick looked up at Rowan with
knitted brows.

Rowan took a quick breath in and let it out before
explaining himself. “Ye see, his mum died in childbed, along with her bairn.”

Frederick quirked a curious brow. “And what
exactly did Andrew have to do with that?”

“Nothin’,” Rowan answered. “Garrick’s father was
tetched. A wretched man to begin with. He was neither kind nor loyal to her, ye
ken. He bed many a woman before and after he married. She caught him in bed
with one of his women one day. It broke her heart.”