The Striker (47 page)

Margaret didn't know what to think. She'd expected politeness from Eoin's proud mother, but this seemed to be something more. Was she perhaps not the only one trying to put the past in the past?

It seemed so. Before they retired to their chamber, Lady Rignach pulled Margaret aside.

“I owe you an apology,” the older woman said. Though over six years had passed since Margaret had seen her, Lady Rignach had not changed much. She was still an attractive woman, though she must be a few years past fifty.

Margaret was too taken aback to respond.

“You were my son's wife, and I should have made you feel welcome. I should have made you feel as if you could come to me with whatever problems you were having with Finlaeie.” Her face hardened with distaste. “I
knew
something was wrong. I should have never let Marjory marry him, but she was so sure he loved her.” She gave a shake as if she'd said too much and met Margaret's gaze again. “My deepest regret is that you felt your only choice was to leave. I . . .” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I was a fool and listened to gossip. You were right, I should have trusted my son's judgment.” Her gaze drifted over to where Eachann stood with Eoin and the longing there was almost palpable. “It nearly cost me my son and my grandson.”

Apparently Eoin had held his mother partially responsible for Margaret's leaving.

Seeing the proud lady humbled might have once been satisfying, but Eoin's mother wasn't the only one haunted by regret. Margaret, too, had made her share of mistakes. She hadn't known how to relate to the great lady any better than Lady Rignach had known how to relate to the wild, backward girl she'd been. Margaret had stormed in here paying no heed to rules or customs. She'd done what she wanted without any thought for how that would reflect on her husband or his family.

She doubted they could ever be friends, but perhaps they could learn to accept one another. Besides, they had two important people in common: Eoin and Eachann.

“That was a long time ago,” Margaret said. “We both did things we regret, but as we cannot change them, perhaps we could try to start anew?”

“I should like that,” Lady Rignach said solemnly.

“Mother,” Eoin said with an unmistakable note of warning in his voice. “Is there a problem?”

Margaret hadn't realized he'd come up behind her. For such a large man, he moved like a cat. It was a little disconcerting.

Before Lady Rignach could reply, Margaret put her hand on his arm reassuringly. “Everything is fine.” She did not need him to rescue her, although she appreciated the effort. “I was just going to ask your mother if she would like to go with me and Eachann to Oban on Monday. I should like him to meet the nuns at the convent.”

“I could take you,” Eoin said, perhaps anticipating his mother's objection.

But Lady Rignach was not about to object; she jumped at the opportunity to be with her grandson. “I should be honored to accompany you.”

Margaret nodded. They had a long way to go, but it was a start.

She turned to her husband and felt her heart squeeze with longing. A start. Right now that was all she could ask for.

M
ARGARET MOANED,
twisting in her sleep. Her body felt so heavy, so languid. She gasped, arching, at a delicious flicker of sensation between her legs. The long slow circle, a gentle thrust, and stroking of a . . .

Her eyes popped open. A tongue!

Soft rays of sunlight spilled through the slits of the shudders, enabling her to just make out the dark-blond head of the man who'd roused her from her slumber.

Not that she was complaining, especially when he . . .

She moaned again as his tongue thrust deep inside her. So deep she could feel the intimate scrape of his jaw against her. And then he was licking her again, nuzzling tenderly—hungrily.

It felt so good . . .

Her body started to tremble. Her nipples strained taut beneath the sheets—he'd stripped her bare last night—as her back arched and her hips lifted shamelessly to his intimate kiss. Hot swirls of pleasure raced through her. She could feel the sensations building . . . intensifying.

“Oh God, I'm going to . . .”

She didn't realize she'd cried out until he lifted his head. “Privacy, remember?”

He wouldn't dare stop. “Eoin!” She looked down at him with murder in her eyes. Although it was too dark for him to see her expression, he must have guessed from her tone and started to chuckle.

“We don't want to wake Eachann.”

“He will sleep through anything.”

“I hope you're right because I'm going to make you scream.”

He did. Cupping her bottom, he lifted her to his mouth and ravished her. Those long, wicked strokes . . .

He kissed her harder, sucking and licking until she thought she'd go mad with the pleasure.

And when he brought her to the very peak, he held her there, forcing the spasms deeper, slower, harder. She felt the release rock through her, and then explode in a shattering wave.

She put the pillow Eoin gave her to muffle her cries to good use. And when she was done, she handed it to him.

He was going to need it.

Eoin didn't realize what she was doing right away. It wasn't exactly what a man expected from his wife.

When she'd handed him the pillow and taken him in her hand, he'd been amused. Their games in the forest after they were married were a long time ago. A hand—even her hand—bringing him pleasure wasn't going to make him lose control enough to shout.

But his smile fell as the lips peppering kisses over his mouth and jaw started to trail down his chest and stomach.

They didn't stop.

What was she doing?

He stiffened, feeling something almost like alarm. The hand that was gripping him had stopped pumping and his cock was pounding.

She stopped when her mouth was inches from the throbbing tip and looked up. There was just enough light peeking through the shadows for him to make out her naughty, catlike smile.

He knew
exactly
what she was doing—and so did she.

He was holding himself so tightly he didn't realize his hands were gripping the sheets until she laughed. “I think you might need that pillow after all.”

He couldn't talk. Her mouth was too close and he was so damned taut with anticipation he didn't know how much more teasing he could take before he started to beg. Before he gripped the back of her head and moved her mouth over him.

Suck me
 . . .

Just the thought of her warm mouth closing over him made his cock jerk in her hand and a bead of pleasure seep from the tip.

She licked it. With one slow flick of the tongue she licked and swirled the plump, sensitive hood as if he were a juicy plum.

Pleasure shot through him like an arrow. He nearly came off the damned bed. But it was nothing compared to the incredible sensation when her mouth finally wrapped around him, those sensuous crimson lips stretching to take him in. Lower. Deeper.

Oh God
. How many times had he imagined this? But he'd never come close to the reality. He wanted to thrust. He needed to thrust. His body shook as sensation coiled at the base of his spine.

When he couldn't take the torture anymore of her innocent kisses, he told her what to do. He told her how to milk him with her tongue and hand, and how to suck him deep and hard.

She didn't need much instruction. It didn't take her long to bring him to the edge. He would have pulled out, but she wouldn't let him. She took him deep in her throat, coaxing the thick vein with her tongue, and he couldn't hold back. He started to come in hot, fierce, pulsing waves that tore from him in a roar of pleasure so intense, he probably could have used two pillows.

How had she known . . . ?

Eoin didn't let himself finish the question that he had no right to ask. He'd let her think he was dead. He had no right to expect fidelity from her. She'd been betrothed to another man, for Christ's sake.

No good would come from knowing or wondering. It would be better for them both if they erased those six years from memory and never spoke of it.

But it wasn't going to be easy. The jealousy and irrationality that had always been his weakness where his wife was concerned did not listen to reason.

Margaret should have no complaints. The first few days at Gylen were much better than she could have expected. Eachann's natural cautiousness had eased a bit, and he seemed to be coming around to the idea of new grandparents—especially a grandmother who had made no secret that she intended to indulge him beyond all good measure.

Seeing Lady Rignach with Eachann showed Margaret a different side of Eoin's formidable mother. It gave Margaret an idea of what she must have been like with her own children. She must have loved them fiercely, protecting them like a lioness did her cubs. Margaret coming out of nowhere, throwing her son's life in a tumult, would have been perceived as a threat. It did not excuse all of her coldness, perhaps, but it explained some of it.

With Eoin, Eachann was still reserved—if not so wary—but that lessened considerably after Eoin showed him his personal library and promised to arrange for a tutor to instruct him until he was ready for schooling. The lad's excitement knew no bounds. He'd even relaxed enough to join some of the other young boys in the yard for training one day.

The wall of animosity and suspicion that had faced Margaret at Gylen the first time did not seem so thick, although vestiges of it remained. Some of the clansmen still whispered and stared, and there were subtle reminders of her status as the daughter of one of Bruce's greatest enemies. A plaid that she'd left behind woven of wool from Galloway somehow found its way to the top of her trunk; one of the laird's “
luchd-taighe
” guardsmen looked at her whenever the word “traitor” was spoken; and another stared at her whenever John of Lorn and his rebellious cohorts were mentioned. Apparently the exiled MacDougall chief had been put in charge of the English fleet and was making it difficult for Bruce to get supplies from Ireland and France.

Her short trip to Oban with Lady Rignach and Eachann had gone about as well as could be expected. After Margaret's departure, Eoin's mother had learned the truth of what she'd been doing there and had made a substantial gift to the convent that—fittingly—had been used to set up a school for the children in the village. As apologies went, it was a satisfying one.

The most difficult moment thus far had been when Margaret had been forced to confront Fin at the feast. As he was Marjory's husband, he could hardly be avoided. But after an awkward greeting, both Eoin's sister and her husband had kept their distance. Margaret knew she had Eoin to thank for that.

Eoin's knee had improved enough for him to walk around without the brace Magnus had made for him, and he'd promised to take her riding around the isle soon.