Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) (11 page)

Thanks be to heaven, ‘twould clearly not be
the case. Did she want him as badly as he wanted her? ‘Twas a
thought to which he’d ne’er truly given time before, if a lady
might actually feel real desire for
him
. Not just for the
fucking, but for the man doing the fucking. ‘Twas rather a novel
concept, but now the thought had taken hold, and ‘twould not let
him go. He had to know if what she was feeling now was the common
desire to mate that most had after getting a taste of the mad,
orgasmic rhythm, or if ‘twas specifically
him
that she
wanted inside her.

After all, she had run off with
Guy de
Burgh
, he’d found out from one of his comrades. Which had sent
a hot, violent jealous rage coursing through him. Another thing
that he’d ne’er experienced before. There were many firsts for him
where Morgana was concerned. Some pleasant, and some—like the
jealousy—not so pleasant. “Did you fuck de Burgh?”

Morgana stood naked now and shivering a bit,
as the fire needed tending. Her brow furrowed and she shook her
head.

“So I’m still the only man you’ve allowed
between those creamy thighs?” Robert’s eyes dipped to the apex of
the appendages in question and then back up to his bride’s visage.
Her eyes were wide now as she nodded her head. A lovely blush
pinkened her cheeks.

Robert grinned. He’d gotten the truth from
her, ‘twas evident in her aspect, as well as her bearing, and he
liked the answer well. He kicked off his shoes.

With a short nod, he strode toward her,
hauling off his tunic and shirt as he went. When he was no more
than two feet away from her, he unlaced his braes and shoved them
down, stepping out of them and kicking them aside in the next
second. “Turn around and draw your hair o’er your shoulder.”

Morgana did as she was bade. What was his
game? Her heart pounded in her chest. Not with fear, but with
anticipation. She’d been aware of him for hours, his heat, the
abrasive touch of his large and calloused hand o’er hers, the
muscular arm that brushed against her breast as he reached for this
tidbit or that. Aye, she had spent long minutes imagining those
same hands on her body, those same arms wrapped around her, as they
had been those nights they’d been together at the hunter’s cot.

“Bend over and grasp your ankles.”

Morgana’s heart leapt into her throat. A
convulsive swallow worked in her throat as she whipped her head
around. Those were the same words her uncle had given her before
he’d begun to
mortify her flesh
. And all knew, a husband had
the right to beat his wife. Had she wed a brute, then, without
knowing it?

“I want to see what damage your uncle caused
you.”

Relief flooded her as her heart settled back
into a less rapid meter. She nodded and bent low at the waist,
taking hold of her ankles.

She jerked when the rough pad of a thick
finger trailed o’er the outer flesh of her sex.

Robert bit back a growl. She was bruised and
abraded there as well. Her back, buttocks and thighs had raised
welts on them; some, where the skin had been broken and the healing
had begun.

Morgana felt her canal grow heavy and damp
with each stroke of her husband’s finger. The flesh ached a bit
when he pressed on it, but she truly cared not. The pleasure he
would give her, she had learned well, would soon override any
discomfort she now felt.

“ ‘Twill be a chaste marriage bed this
night,” Robert said under his breath.

Morgana straightened and turned. She took
hold of his forearms and, shaking her head, wrapped them around
her. Then, rising up on her toes, she kissed him full on the mouth
as she settled her own arms around his neck at the same time.

Robert’s manhood jerked against her belly
and her mons. She felt it grow larger still. His arms remained
lightly around her, barely touching her skin. She crowded closer
against him and rubbed her nipples into the wiry hair on his chest,
her pelvis against his erection.

Robert’s will snapped. “Bend o’er the bed.
Put a pillow under your belly.”

It took a moment or two, but after she was
finally positioned the way he wanted her—he’d spread her legs a bit
wider and lifted her arms o’er her head—Morgana at last began to be
taken by her husband.

The first thing she felt was that same rough
pad of his finger trailing lightly o’er the outer flesh of her sex
before making a shallow dip inside her canal. He traced the dew he
brought forth down to the sensitive peak and began a slow
manipulation of it, sending hot and cold thrills coursing through
her.

He continued in this vein for quite a while,
but each time her limbs would begin to quiver, each time the
muscles of her back and thighs tightened, he would withdraw a
bit.

Morgana could feel her heartbeat pounding
inside her sheath. She craved the release he was holding just out
of reach. She was hot. Burning up. Moisture gathered on her face
and neck.

Robert gently took hold of the outer lips of
Morgana’s lovely red scut and pulled them open. Then he bent his
head and ran his tongue along the scarlet inner lips, taking a
slight detour to send his tongue inside her several times. She was
saturated and the flavor was so sweet, so womanly, it made him
drunk with the need to find completion inside it.

But not yet. He didn’t want to hurt her. Not
after the beating she’d received. So he sent his tongue further
south, to the hard nubbin he’d been teasing these past minutes, and
flicked and softly sucked on it until he once again felt her
muscles gather for release. He sent two fingers inside her and
massaged the inner walls. In the next second, they were tightening
and convulsing around his digits.

Morgana caught her breath, her body strained
and worked as she spread her legs wider still and began to move
forward and back, clenching and releasing the blanket in the same
rhythm as her sex.

He sent her over the edge twice more before
he stood up and slid to the hilt into her.

On his third stroke, she was cresting again.
She arched her back and rose up on her elbows.

Robert leaned forward and kissed her
fevered, humid cheek and then took advantage of the position she
was in by molding her breasts in his hands. As he rocked into the
trembling, writhing fire of her, he tasted her, nibbling and
suckling her earlobe before moving on to the soft flesh of her
neck. He rolled her tight nipples between his thumbs and
forefingers. “Aaahhh!” he cried out as her snug passage clamped
around him even tighter. He tweaked and pulled at the taut peaks,
sliding almost completely out before ramming himself high into her.
He did this several times and, with each new thrust, he felt her
tense before a shudder ran through her.

She began to move against him wildly,
slamming her abraded, beautiful buttocks against his abdomen.

His own thighs and stomach began to quake in
reaction. “Morgana!” he yelled, and then, in more strangled tones,
“Blood of Christ!” as the first surge of ecstasy, the first,
second, third bursts of seed went deep into her undulating womb.
Finally, as the bliss he’d found inside her was ebbing, and just as
had happened the first night—and the next night as well—a second,
violent wave of rapture crashed through him. He jerked
uncontrollably, yelling so long and so loudly that his throat
burned from the strain.

A black mist invaded the edges of his
vision. Before he swooned, he managed to move aside and crash
face-first onto the bed beside her.

* * *

Morgana twisted her head and rested on her
other cheek. Robert was asleep. Again. Was this common? For, tho’
she felt rather drowsy, she in no way wanted to sleep right now.
Nay, she’d far prefer to spend a bit of time with her husband, now
that no others were about. Make that her
awake
husband.

After another moment, she lifted herself up
off the bed and went to the washstand in pursuit of a damp cloth
with which to cleanse herself.

After bathing, she opened her clothing
chest, which a servant had brought to Robert’s chamber sometime
during the day, and dressed in one of her linen chemises.
Afterward, she spent a bit of time folding and hanging up their
hastily discarded wedding attire before building the fire higher
and settling next to it with one of Robert’s shirts she’d found on
a peg. It had a small tear in the sleeve and the hem was coming
out. She’d mend it for him.

As she sewed, her thoughts remained on her
husband. She was still in a state of shock, really. All these
sennights, she’d pined for the man now sleeping peacefully on their
marriage bed, but with no hope of having him.

Yet, within a matter of days, she’d not only
become his lover, but become his
wife
as well! Morgana felt
a song rise up in her, so strong, that she thought she’d expire
from the need to release it into the air. She opened her lips and
mouthed the words, straining and struggling to emit even the
softest of sounds. But ‘twas no use. She rubbed the pads of her
fingers o’er her throat to ease the strained vocal chords as she
turned her eye to the man to whom she’d given her vows with only
the nod of her head earlier that day. ‘Twould not be long, she
knew, before he’d grow weary and angry with her for her lack of
speech. What man wouldn’t?

And then he would find another lover.

All at once a new horrifying thought flashed
through her mind: What if he sent her away? Sent her back to the
nunnery to molder before she e’er had the chance to make a babe
with him?

Or worse: What if he sent her back
after
she gave him an heir? Her heart wrenched at that
thought.

“Morgana, come to bed.”

She jumped.

Robert’s voice was craggy with sleep and he
hadn’t even opened an eye as he’d made the demand, but the fact
that he wanted her near him forced her fears at bay and within
seconds she was beside their bed, discarding her chemise. She
shoved at him in a bid to get him positioned with his head and feet
facing the right direction.

Tho’ he ne’er opened an eye, ne’er said
another word to her, he must have understood what she wanted from
him, for he crawled and rolled until he was settled with his head
on the pillow at the other side of the bed. She gave a silent
giggle and got in beside him. It surprised her when he immediately
tucked her up against himself, his arm under her bosom and his lips
against her temple.

Within moments, she was fast asleep.

* * *

Morgana awoke to the scraping sound of the
hearthfire being tended. She opened her eyes and turned her head in
that direction. ‘Twas her husband doing the deed. Blinking and
rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she wondered, was it dawn already?
Her gaze tracked to the window. There was still no light coming
through the shutters’ slats.

Robert lifted his gaze to her. “Get up and
dress. We’re for my holding in a half-hour’s time.” He rose and
went to the washstand. After rinsing the remnants of their
lovemaking from his groin, he quickly dressed and walked toward the
door. When he was nearly through the opening, he turned and said,
“I’ll return in a bit. Be ready.” And then he was off, with not
even a smile to soften his words.

Morgana leapt to her feet and scurried to
the washstand herself. She was just finishing her ablutions when
the same lady’s maid, Modron, who’d aided her with her injuries
before, scratched on the door before entering. “Your husband sent
me up to put more of this salve on your flesh,” Modron said. She
moved with a rather agile gate for one so aged to stand at
Morgana’s back. Then, with efficiency, she proceeded to do just
that.

Morgana shrugged. ‘Twas clear the servant
was bound to do Robert’s bidding, whether ‘twas to Morgana’s liking
or nay. Fortunately, Morgana was rather pleased to have a bit more
salve on the tender marks the priest and her uncle had
administered.

“Your husband has arranged for me to travel
with you back to his holding, to continue as your lady’s maid,” the
older woman said. There was a pause before she continued, “Does
that please you, m’lady?”

Morgana looked back at the servant and
nodded, giving her a warm smile as well. ‘Twould be a comfort to
have another woman with whom she was familiar to travel with, to
aid her as she got settled in as mistress of the keep.
Mistress
of the keep!
Oh, dear Lord. How was she e’er to dispense such
duties when she had no voice with which to command? Morgana bit
down so hard on her lip, she tasted blood.

The maid’s gaze dropped to Morgana’s abused
mouth and she cleared her throat. “When I was young and before my
husband’s death, before I lost all to that greedy Norman King
Richard’s proxy, Guillaume le Maréchal, I was mistress of my own
holding in Cambria. If...if it please you, m’lady, I could dispense
your bidding to your staff each day?”

Morgana felt a wave of relief crash o’er
her. She gratefully nodded her head. Something about the older
woman’s voice brought a long-forgot warmth, a sense of safety and
comfort to her, calmed her.

Modron smiled. “Well then, ‘tis
settled.”

Morgana had only just completed dressing a
few minutes later when the door to the chamber was flung wide and
her husband strode in. “Good. You’re ready.” He stepped aside and
allowed several male servants to enter who quickly heaved the
chests filled with clothing and other personal belongings onto
their shoulders and walked back out.

“Your things have already been loaded on the
cart,” Robert said to Modron. “My lady and I will meet you down in
the courtyard in a short time.” With that, he swung the door open a
bit wider and watched as Modron dipped a courtesy and scurried out
of the chamber.

* * *

The alewife’s cot in the stews of Perth was
already teaming with men and women that morn. In a shadowed corner,
through the haze of hearthfire smoke, two men sat across from each
other at the end of a trestle table, both disguised in the rougher
apparel of the lower classes.