Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) (53 page)

A Song Well Sung

“
I like this place,

And willingly could waste my time in it.”

As You Like It (Act II, scene iv)

“
All's well that ends well, still the fine’s the
Crowne;

What ere the course, the end is the renowne.”

All’s Well That Ends Well (Act IV, scene iv)

A
N HOUR LATER, with Morgana resting on the bed inside the cot,
and with the contingent of soldiers, the King, and the cart that
held his wife’s uncle gone back down the path, his father-in-law
turned to Robert and said, “I crave to hold my wee lass in my arms
again, to speak with her, but ‘tis not the time. I shall wait until
she is back at the abbey, when both I and her mother can meet her
together.”

“ ‘Tis a good plan.”

“You will tell her all then, in the next
hours?”

“Aye.”

“Are you sure you will not make camp with us
this night? If there are any of Donnach’s minions still about, they
might strike once we are gone.”

“Fret not. We vanquished them all, I am
certain.”

“But, if they were not, I—”

“I will guard your daughter well.”

Morgunn’s brow lifted and his gaze
sharpened. “As you did five days past?”

Robert swung ‘round and stalked several
paces away, then turned back to his father-in-law with the letter
she’d written him gripped in his fist. He moved back to stand near
Morgunn and, so that the soldier guarding the cot would not hear,
said in a gruff whisper, “She bolted. If she’d not done so, by my
vow, she’d ne’er have been captured.”

After a brief pause, his father-in-law gave
a nod, saying, “Aye. Aye. I have no worry on that score.”

“And this night, I will learn why, and turn
what e’er is causing her desire to forsake me into naught.”

Morgunn clamped his hand on Robert’s
shoulder, saying, “I wish I could advise you on this, but I fear I
ken as little of the workings of a woman’s mind as do you. All I
will say is, have a care, and I wish you well.”

* * *

When Robert entered the cabin a time later,
he found Morgana deep in slumber, lying on her side facing him,
with her palm under her cheek. A sharp pang of tenderness pierced
his heart, stopped his breath. In repose, in the firelight, with
locks the color of starlight still damp and curling about her
gentle countenance, and the bit of skin not covered by the linen
sheet pink from the warmth of the bath (or fire, he knew not
which), she looked as innocent as she had been the first time e’er
he’d seen her. Her lithe, woman’s form moving in unison with her
cousin’s as they’d entered the great hall of the abbey her first
night at court.

With effort he turned his
gaze from her, allowed it to scan the chamber, allowed his mind to
turn to the scent of rabbit stew in the pot o’er the hearthfire, to
the sound of its bubbling juices, to the gnawing hunger in his
belly, and took a step toward it, but stopped short when he
realized she’d left the bath as well, along with a kettle of hot
water to heat it up again. Aye. Aye. A bath, then a meal,
then...
bed.
A
hunger of a different sort set his groin to throbbing and he closed
his eyes, closed his fists against it.
Nay.
Not yet. Not until he’d got his
answers, got her oath that she’d not leave him.
Then.
Then. Aye, then.

* * *

Robert stood naked in the small wooden tub,
his back to the bed. He would not test his mettle by giving his
eyes easy access to Morgana’s form, not without at least one of
them full-clothed. He scrubbed away the grime, scrubbed away the
dried blood, scrubbed away the ache in his muscles from long hours
of worry and riding, scrubbed away the feral desire for her until
his skin was so fiery red it stung.

A hand landed as light as a dove’s feather
on his back, and a lightning bolt charge thrilled through his
being, making him start. The touch—the connection—broke away, and
he said hoarsely, “Nay!” as he turned and captured her arms, pulled
her a step closer again. He reached over and lifted another washing
cloth from the table, ne’er taking his gaze from hers, and handed
it to her. “My back,” he said, tho’ it seemed as far off as the
sea, with the sound of his blood pumping, his accelerated
breathing, filling his ears instead. “Do you mind? I can’t
reach.”

Her cheeks flamed, and he could not ken why,
but her soft lips tipped up in a gentle smile and she took the
cloth from him, dipped it in the warm water in the basin on the
table, lathered it with soap, while he turned so that she could do
as he’d asked.

Why did you leave
me?
His heart raced. “Wh—” He cleared his
throat, waiting until she’d taken the first stroke down his skin
before beginning again, “Wh—” He couldn’t. He just
couldn’t.

“Aye?”

“The—” He cleared his throat again. “The
song you sang in the carn. What was it?”

“ ‘Twas one my mother sang to me as a wee
lass. ‘Tis a song of the ancients—or so she told me. She learned it
from her mother, who learned it from her mother, who learned it
from her mother, and so on. And when ‘tis sung in that carn, I
discovered when I played there as a bairn, it works some magic on
others, and brings on the sleep of Morpheus.”

Robert swung around, eyes wide. “That expl—”
The cloth that had, only a moment before, been sliding across his
back, now stroked his stomach, just a hair’s breadth, or so it
seemed, from his groin. Blood filled him there, made him heavy,
made his need for her rage. “Morgana,” he murmured, his voice
rough. Without conscious thought, his desire became manifest when
his arms went around her, lifted her to him, brought his mouth down
upon her own, sent his tongue into the recesses there, to taste, to
be fulfilled.

* * *

Morgana returned the kiss, stroke for
stroke, pressure for pressure, rising up on her toes, sliding her
arms about his neck, drawing him closer into her, drawing into him
so tight that her breasts, her belly, her groin met answering
points upon his frame.

Desire, long smoldering, burst into flame.
Of its own accord, her body writhed against his, her mons taunted
and teased the underside of his raging manhood.

When he swung her up into
his arms without breaking the kiss, stepped from the tub, took a
long stride toward the bed, she dug her nails into his shoulders
and redoubled her kiss. Through her mind ran the words, o’er and
o’er again:
At last! At last!

* * *

When Robert reached the bedside, he turned
and fell on his back upon it, taking the weight of Morgana’s lush
form on him with unholy pleasure. Her long silken skeins of
moonspun hair caressed his arms, his chest, his cheeks, as each of
them continued to ravage the other’s mouth. Finally, his hands
trembling with need, he combed his fingers through the mass,
brought it away from her neck, and brushed his lips along the warm
column of her throat, whispering hoarsely, “ ‘Tis been too long.
Take me, for I fear I’ll maul and savage you otherwise.”

She shook her head and whispered in his
ear.

His heart tripped, then pounded. “Are you
sure?”

She grinned against his neck and nodded.

Drawing a stray strand of hair away from her
face again, yet keeping his palm, his fingertips lightly touching
her cheek and ear, he said against her mouth, “Next time. For now I
want no bedposts between us. ‘Tis been too long since I held you,
felt your body move against mine, enjoyed you.”

Morgana surprised him then. She captured his
mouth in a violent storm of a kiss, pushing her own hands through
his hair as she did so, and stroking her naked torso o’er his own.
His thighs went up in flames; his tarse lengthened, throbbed; his
ballocks drew up high into their sack; his heart raced; and his
urge to mate with her grew ten-fold. Still somehow, he managed not
to fling her to her back and impale her with force and roughness
his body screamed for him to do.

He wanted gentleness for
her, he wanted tenderness, he wanted to show her with his body how
deeply he loved her, craved her for wife, not just for spending his
passion upon. He’d nearly lost her, and meeting her, being wedded
to her, was the best thing—the absolute
best
thing—that had e’er happened to
him. Knowing that, realizing that, he would do aught he must to
keep her bound to him with the strong, eternal bonds that, not
merely desire, but love, could engender.

Finally, blessedly,
finally
, she lifted up,
encircled his tarse with her delicate hand and positioned the head
of it at her portal, then in a slow glide, took him inside
her.

The intensity of the pleasure near
eviscerated him. His body was in her full power, no longer his own.
It arched, he cried out, his hands gripped her lush bottom and he
erupted inside her on an extended, growling, body-bucking,
moan.

His head spun, but the pleasure continued to
expand as she started to move on him. The slick, hot, tight grip of
her kept him hard, kept him there with her. He raised his head, and
brought her breast down to his mouth with a hand on the back of her
neck and began to ravenously suckle, showing her with his mouth how
much he needed the sustenance only she could provide him.

She cried out her passion as if ‘twould rend
her apart, moved upon him with e’er increasing strain and tempo,
until they both were soaked with the sweat of their exertions,
until at last her spine arched, her head went back, her cries
turned to long, lovely moans, and he felt the walls of her canal
undulate, gripping and releasing in rapid succession.

He held tight to her nipple, licking,
stroking, suckling, as she rose e’er higher on that crest, until
he, himself, once more, and just as nearly always was the case with
her, felt the high, chaotic waves of pleasure take him o’er again
as well. In the next instant, they both stiffened, both yelled out
the other’s name, both flew apart into millions of tiny bits of
starlight, then both collapsed where they were into a deep, restful
sleep.

When he awoke some small time later, he
looked at her, a mangle of emotion beating in his chest and placed
a soft kiss on her brow. As he stroked his hand through her hair,
he smiled. This time, they’d not only found heaven together, they’d
found oblivion together as well. Another first.

After a quiet, peaceful while, he finally
let her go, rolling her gently off him, then rising from the bed.
He went to the bucket, that now held tepid water and brought back a
damp cloth, then cleansed her love-swollen folds with it before
cleansing himself as well. Tossing the cloth toward the bucket, and
satisfied when it landed directly inside it, he turned his
attention once more to his wife’s comfort. He moved to the side of
the bed, lifted her up and scooted her closer to the wall. In her
sleep, she turned on her side and placed one hand under her
cheek.

He lay down on his back
beside her, a portion of his large frame hanging o’er the edge of
the narrow mattress, and tucked his arms under his head.
Had he planted another babe in her?
If he had…. No. Wife Deirdre had told him that
Morgana was fit, was ripe for bearing his son. That same image he’d
had, of her holding their babe in her arms, not long after their
first time together flitted across his memory and a funny little
soaring feeling entered his heart. Aye, ‘twas truth, he desperately
wanted another babe with her. More than one, in fact.

Morgana stirred beside him, then rolled over
to face him and he instinctively shifted into a more secure
position on the bed and brought her closer against his side. She
settled her hand on his chest and began to caress it, which made
him look down at her. Slumberous and satiated, her blue eyes met
his gaze.

“What has your brow so furrowed after such a
loving, I wonder? Surely, you were not left unsatisfied?” she
asked, tho’ there was more humor than worry in her tone.

With a growl he wrapped an arm around her
and rolled on top of her. “Nay, tho’ ‘twas not I who swooned,” he
lied, and for the life of him, he couldn’t say why. Unable to
resist, he pushed his fingers into her silky, silver-moon hair,
dragged her head back so that her neck was fully exposed, then
clamped his mouth o’er the tender, sweet-salty flesh and gave it a
long, sucking bite. He felt his tarse thicken, and evidently so did
she, for she moaned and rotated her pelvis so that it pressed into
his, teasing the proof of his desire for her with her dark
curls.

* * *

As Robert’s mouth toyed with her neck,
Morgana stroked her palm o’er his manhood and moaned deep in her
throat. ‘Twas not until she heard the rush of her own shortened
breaths that some semblance of reason returned, and she dragged her
hand from him, pushed against his shoulders, saying, “Nay, not
again. First you must restore your vigor with a bit of supper.”

He startled her with a short chuckle and a
grin. “What, pray, in this past hour, has given you the notion that
my vigor is waning?” He moved again to capture her neck with his
teeth, gripping her wrist and pulling it back toward his manhood,
but she rolled away, taking her hand with her.

“Nay. First food,” she said, “then loving,
for I want some answers now.”

Robert stiffened. His jaw went rigid, and so
did his gaze. “Aye,” he said and left the bed, “as do I.”

Morgana’s heart fluttered
with alarm. Aye, ‘twas time, as well, for her to give to him the
reasons she’d forsworn her vows to him. As they moved toward the
table where she’d left a trencher for him to fill with stew, she
opened her mouth and almost began to tell him all.
Nay.
She clamped her
lips together. First, he would give her the answers she needed.
She’d waited long enough, and asked, then begged, then demanded and
been denied far too often. He must prove to her his willingness to
respond with more than a brusque, “Later. After,” then she’d tell
him what he desired to know.