Surrender (35 page)

The Great Room's rafters flew banners
honoring their guests. Whoever had a hand in hanging them had done
a fine job, for each one complemented the colors of the first and
so on throughout the room. Colorful tapestries were spaced apart on
the walls, some depicting events in the lives of Raptor Castle's
families; others were of the mountains and scenery around the
Castle.

An impressive array of weapons filled in
where tapestries wouldn't be appropriate. Chief Broccin's tunic,
cape, shield, helmet and sword from the Crusades were on a corner
stand, made specifically to display a warrior's armor.

On the opposite corner, Elyne was startled to
see Ranald's monk's clothing displayed the same way, though it
seemed strange to see a shiny Claymore strapped across the back.
She glanced at her brother and saw he stared at it. Did he ever
miss being a monk?

Certainly, life was more peaceful at Kelso,
except when raiders crossed the borders and tried to steal
everything of value. Once he became the Abbey's Protector, the
raids soon ended. When he left, he made sure another warrior monk,
as well-trained as he had been, took over.

The family banners hung above the fireplace.
Out of courtesy, Ranald had hung Magnus' banner next to his
brother's. The ferocious faces of the two wolves often drew her
eyes. They seemed to watch her, which made her more than
uneasy.

Large pottery vases painted with woodland
scenes and filled with all types and colors of flowers were on
pedestals throughout the room. At the high tables, etched pewter
plates, goblets and spoons sat near folded cloths to wipe the
juices off chins.

Graemme seated her at the center of the high
table then took the chair beside her. They were in the place of
honor with the Chief and Aunt Joneta beside them.

A rousing round of toasts started the
feasting. If it continued along these lines, they would soon all be
sliding off their benches and snoring beneath the tables.

"Ye dinna have to keep yer hands touching me
every minute, pest," Elyne whispered to Graemme as she tried to
pull her hand out from beneath his.

"Ah, but I find ye so soft and silky, my
sweet mannered wife," Graemme said and squeezed her hand.

"I dinna like to be handled like I am yer new
possession." She frowned at him to make her point.

Graemme must be keeping an ear on the toasts,
for he never missed raising the chalice high and then brought it to
her lips until she drank before taking a swallow himself. He leaned
toward her, put one hand on back of her head and pried her lips
apart with his own. She near coughed when a flood of wine filled
her mouth. He drew back and grinned at her when she could do naught
but swallow. He put his cheek to hers, causing the men to
applaud.

"But ye
are
a new possession, my
affectionate one," he whispered. "I want to touch ye all over.
Taste ye, too. It would please me if ye signaled yer women half-way
through the food courses."

"Why would I do so?"

Her words were louder than she'd meant, for
people looked to them awaiting his answer. They were disappointed
when they couldn't hear his reply.

"So ye could go above and prepare yerself for
me. 'Twould please me most to come into the room, throw back the
covers and find ye nekid and yearning for my tarse. Why, it near
takes my breath away just thinking on it."

"Ye may as well save yer breath, for it will
never happen, ye swell-headed lout!"

"My lovely, docile bride, we have never made
love with complete privacy and leisure. I can guarantee Magnus,
Brian or Colyne won't be listening for yer moans of pleasure."

She flapped her hand in exasperation and
ignored him.

As at many festive occasions, there were five
courses to the meal. The first was a salad of chopped greens, along
with shredded carrots dressed with oil and wine; fresh herbs and
cheddar cheese, poached beets dressed with vinegar; bread and
various butters; and to end it, a spiced honey and breadcrumb
confection. Elyne barely picked at the food on her side of the
silver wedding plate.

Ada had given her a review of the courses
while she'd washed Elyne's hair, so she would know when Cook would
serve her favorite foods.

While they awaited the next course, a tall,
skinny man amused them by skillfully juggling ripe fruit. At the
end of his act, he deliberately let each one land on his head,
splattering himself with their juice. Thanks to the heavens,
Graemme was amused enough to leave her alone.

Roasted pheasant was the main dish of the
second course, along with diced turnips cooked in apple cider and
butter, a variety of cooked greens, spiced pears in sweet wine
syrup and sugar-glazed currant cookies.

They listened to a strolling minstrel singing
tales about the great loves who made men as strong as the monster
in Loch Ness when their lady loves were threatened.

Graemme snorted in disbelief. "They likely
ran in the opposite direction so they might take a second wife. Of
course, she'd be younger than the first." He looked sideways at
her. "How old did yer father say ye were?"

She picked up her eating knife and aimed it
at his hand. He was too quick for her and soon had the knife out of
her reach. Chief Broccin looked at her and scowled.

Even though Elyne took the smallest bites of
each course, she was soon full. Graemme's appetite seemed as hearty
as Ranald's and the rest of the men, for when the third course
arrived, they all cheered.

Her interest in the food picked up, for this
course was her favorite. Roasted pork in wine and coriander sauce,
mushrooms and green onions in creamed broth, broiled asparagus
topped with roasted seeds and baked rice with apples.

"Return my eating knife, spineless
husband."

"Nay, my evil-tempered wife."

Graemme selected the juiciest pieces with his
fingertips and held them up to her lips. When he refused to take
his hand away, she took a dainty bite, careful not to touch his
fingers with her lips. He rubbed the juices on his fingers over her
mouth, bent over and nibbled and licked her lips clean afore he
kissed her. Of course, his actions caused a loud banging of cups
and goblets on the tablets and cheers for 'More!'

When acrobats ran and tumbled into the room,
it distracted the guests. But not long after, when it looked like
the man atop nine others was about to fall into the hot fireplace,
she near screamed. It wouldn't have mattered, for other women
shrieked and covered their eyes. A heartbeat later, she realized it
had been part of their act.

Would the eating and toasting never end?
'Twas impolite not to respond to a toast, so Elyne wet her lips and
pretended to sip. Graemme was sparing on his own swallows, but when
there is one toast after another, more than one groom had found
himself not remembering fulfilling their wedding vows the next
morn.

"Watch what ye drink, wife," Graemme said
softly. "I dinna want to awaken a snoring wife so I may consummate
the marriage! I like my women screaming and urging me on with lusty
vigor!"

"Best ye watch yerself, husband." She snorted
in scorn. "The rate ye are swilling the stuff, ye will be sleeping
afore ye reach our bedchamber."

"Ach! Have ye not heard I have been known to
swive comely lasses in my sleep and not lose a stroke?" He waggled
his brows at her with a wicked look in his eyes.

Elyne snorted. Loud. And with scorn.

Domnall couldn't have done a better job.

Elyne felt a streak of jealousy when she
pictured Graemme, fast asleep and still swiving a woman. She
brightened when she thought of the likelihood he would pass out
from drink. She would keep to the edge of the bed or even sleep on
the floor.

If he was unable to perform this night, she
could have the marriage annulled the next morn stating he was not
the virile man he appeared.

She didn't consider it overlong when it
struck her mayhap she was already breeding. It had been two weeks
from her courses the night she unfortunately gave herself to
Graemme thinking to delay his capture of Muriele. Unfortunately,
her courses had never occurred on schedule. Aunt Joneta claimed it
was because she was overactive and worked as hard as many men
did.

She scowled, for her sacrifice had been a
total disaster…and unnecessary. In fact, all their bed sport had
ended in her embarrassment. Magnus thought it amusing when he had
come upon them in the stall. She was sure he thought her ready to
swive whenever the breezes blew up her skirts!

When a balladeer, older than most, took a
stool and began to strum a lute, her scowl turned to interest. He
sang of Chief Broccin and his battles with the Turks, was careful
in wording his sad lyrics about the twin who perished the day afore
his wedding and of the other twin who came from God to fill his
place.

The banners hanging above began gently
swaying as if the great wooden doors had been propped open. Ranald
had a tight reign on his feeling, but Elyne could see the strength
it took. His lips pressed near white in concentration to hold back
any reaction. When the man sang of the exploits of The Black
Raptor, he relaxed a bit, a wry smile on his lips. It amused him
when people imagined he could turn into a huge, black raptor when
his anger peaked.

When the balladeer began a tale about Magnus
the Ruthless and his brother, Graemme the Relentless, Ranald leaned
back and grinned, relieved when the subject of the ballads had
changed. He teller of tales sang about the lonely youth Olaf
treated harshly until his squire, Sweyn, with hair as bright as
fire, taught him fighting skills even his foster-father couldna
equal. Only then did the harsh treatment stop. Elyne's ears picked
up every word, hoping to learn more about the family who now was
also hers.

She had not had enough time to talk to
Muriele to learn what all had happened to her before she showed up
at Raptor. So when he sang about how Muriele first was drug to the
Gunn stronghold by a rope around her neck, Elyne near jumped up
from her seat. Graemme's arm around her shoulder kept her from
erupting in fury.

She had been so engrossed in the ballad her
new husband had taken advantage of it to nibble on her neck. He
stopped long enough to whisper to her.

"Nay, wife. I will tell ye the whole story
when we are alone."

Gille, Graemme's new squire, was a gift from
Magnus. Elyne liked the young blond boy who was so intent on
pleasing Graemme. She would have to ask Graemme's brother about the
young man, for though Magnus said he'd come from a small village
near the Gunn's fortress, he looked to be some lord's bastard. No
serf could be so comely with silky hair, fine features and eyes the
color of the sky on a summer morn. The young man was diligent in
refilling the etched silver wedding goblet she shared with Graemme,
a gift from Ranald and Catalin.

Elyne stilled when Magnus' foster-brother,
Feradoch, came into the song. Described as a golden angel, it made
her itch to look at Gille. Had Magnus or Graemme ever thought
mayhap he was this Feradoch's bastard? Well, of course they had!
They were not fools, though sometimes she was quick to call Graemme
one.

Though Cook displayed each course in a way to
tempt even the daintiest appetites, she lost all interest in food.
Neither the figs with red grapes in a crust nor the stewed apples
with mint looked inviting to her.

The more Graemme drank, the more ardent he
became. Why, the lustful goat would be happy to push aside the
chairs and swive her on the floor!

"I grow impatient, wife, to feel ye hot and
weeping for me," Graemme whispered in her ear.

"Hold yer tongue! If I had my way, ye'd sleep
in the pasture with the sheep this night and not in the keep."

"Ah, do ye not remember screaming my name
when I pleasured ye with my tongue?"

"I ne'er screamed!" She glanced from the
corner of her eye and realized not even the table's cloth could
hide his growing erection.

"Aye. Ye did." He smiled with confidence.

"I would scream with pleasure should ye sleep
curled around a four-legged critter."

"Think of what ye would miss if my nekid body
wasna next to yers."

When he nipped her plump lobe and blew a
light breath into her ear, shivers coursed from where his tongue
had dampened her ear down to the center of her body. She squeezed
her legs together to ease the emptiness she longed to have
filled.

It didn't help.

Nor did it help when Graemme's hand beneath
the table's cloth kept inching up her skirts trying to bare her
thigh to his touch. She'd pinched his arm so many times he should
have bruises from his wrist to his elbow on the morrow. When he
started pinching her in return, she gave up.

At the close of the fifth course, the
feasting ended with creamy loaves of white bread, and sharp cheeses
with sugared walnuts.

After Elyne had responded to a multitude of
toasts, she began to daydream about the times she and Graemme had
made love. Nay, not 'made love' but swived. It made her hot and
needy, until she remembered each had ended in a fight. She scowled
down at the sugared walnut in her fingers then began to nibble
viciously at it until she near bit her own flesh.

Graemme leaned close, took her hand and
placed it on his lap, then pressed her fingers around his hard
shaft. When he released her hand, probably expecting her to be
overjoyed because his special treasure was so lengthy and eager,
she slid her hand up close to where his tarse nested. By his gasp,
he anticipated a continued caress. Instead, she felt around for a
few breaths gathering his tunic in her fist. Assured she also had
hold of the hair around his shaft, of a sudden, she pulled as hard
as she could.