Song of the Highlands: The Cambels (The Medieval Highlanders) (56 page)

Aye, the key was to tell him their
relationship had changed, it had had to change, because of all that
had happened o’er the years. But that did not mean they could not
build a new, a different, mayhap not better, but certainly a
companionable, good relationship from the ashes of their past.
Could they not? And, aye, eventually, she
would
show him the
scars, and,
mayhap
, years from now, she might even find that
she could tell him of all that had happened to her. But not now.
She simply was not ready.

* * *

‘Twas wonderful and strange how much this
wedding night felt like the first, Morgunn thought. Gwynlyan was
just as skittish, just as shy. ‘Twas making him feel a bit of the
same. He’d attempted to amuse her a moment past, calm her a bit by
reminding her of the easy way they’d had between them years before
by giving her one of his lusty jests that would, in that time past,
have sent her into titters of guilty glee. When she’d not reacted
as he’d expected, he’d o’ercome his own embarassment with a laugh.
She no doubt thought him course.

He’d need to take things slower than he’d
afore expected. Be more the gentle knight, not the libidinous
warrior lover. The habit had grown rusty, as he’d only been with
whores these past years since his recovery from his head wound.
Women who served as mere vessels to receive his urges, his wasted
seed, then sent on their way with ne’er more than five words
exchanged between them in the short time they were together. Could
he remember how to woo a virgin? For, that was clearly, or at
least, nearly what she was for him at this point. He’d best, if he
wanted her ‘neath him this night.

Oh, aye, she’d given him her promise to do
just that, after their wedding ceremony. A ceremony insisted upon
by King William in order to strengthen the weakened, and now
questionable, vows of marriage they’d taken twenty years past, and
in so doing, make the transfer of, not only
Aerariae
secturae
, but the vaster holdings that had been Donnach’s as
the first son of Comgeall Mór, and as one of the King’s earls, less
dubious. And a renewal of wedding vows that left no weak link, no
question of lineage for future offspring, so that another might
more easily claim and win right to it. Aye, she’d delayed the
bedding. And he’d complied, knowing that she feared his seeing the
mars on her skin, left by that beast Alaric. For, she still had no
notion that he’d seen them on one of their meetings when he’d come
upon her at the burn while she still bathed, and he could not find
the courage within himself to tell what he’d done, what he’d seen.
It seemed as if it might make matters worse between them, rather
than better. It seemed as if it might be best for her to willingly
reveal them to him instead.

He had little doubt she would comply, would
fulfill her vow, to him as well. But would she do so grudgingly?
That would ne’er do. Not for him, not for Gwynlyan, and not for the
health of their union. “We’re here,” he said to her, opening the
door to their chamber wide and, with a bit of slight pressure to
the small of her back, invited her entrance first.

* * *

Gwynlyan’s heart was pounding so, she had
trouble getting enough air. ‘Twas making her lightheaded, and she
could not afford to swoon. The humiliation would simply be too
great. She must remain strong. She must remain fully present. She
must remain calm.

And give to him what he expected.

Quickly, she decided in that instant. Aye.
Get the thing o’er and done, and then she might finally find a bit
of rest, a bit of peace in her breast. And knowing she’d done her
duty to her husband, and had hopefully pleased him, would be all
the gratification she would need this night, or ever.

“The chamber’s still a bit chilled,” she
said to him. “I suppose the maids thought we’d stay at our wedding
feast a bit longer.”

Morgunn’s gaze settled on the hearthfire. He
walked toward it, saying, “All it needs is a bit more peat, I
think. I’ll take care of it. Do you need help with the gown?” He
said the last without looking in her direction, which she was more
than grateful for. “I can get a maid, if—”

”—Nay, I can manage. My thanks.”

Her fingers trembled so, she twisted the
laces in her hurry and fear. One of them got a knot in it and would
not come through the hole. A tight ball of anger at herself,
at...herself, and at the lace itself brought on a show of temper
and she began to tug and pull on it, determined to rip the thing
out of its place. ‘Twould not come, and as she continued to try to
force it, her vision began to swim. She blinked the tears away, but
still more came. Her throat throbbed with the unuttered shout she
craved to emit. Her nose began to drip, so she swung around,
allowing herself a barely audible sniffle before she took in a
deep, calming breath and wiped her eyes and flushed cheeks with the
hem of her gown.
You will not master me!
With one last,
vicious yank, she at last got it free. Then, more determined than
ever to get this thing, this duty, o’er with, she slid out of the
gown, tossed it o’er the trunk at the end of the bed, then
turned.

Her heart leapt into her throat. Morgunn was
not more than three paces from her now, and he simply stood there,
with a brooding, helpless look upon his countenance, his arms limp
at his sides, as if he knew not what to do with them where she was
concerned.

“I am ready for you now,” she said, and
climbed up on the mattress, scooted into place at the far side of
the bed, then patted the space next to her in, she hoped, a coy,
but clearly willing, invitation for him to join her there.

“I want you bared to me, Gwynlyan, as
before....”

She swallowed the terror that rose up in her
throat, but there was still a quaver in her voice when she said, “I
cannot.”

* * *

Morgunn bit back his first instinctive
response, which was to tell her aye, she could, and she would,
reminding himself instead of his vow to himself only a small time
past that he’d treat her with gentle care. So, instead he said,
“All right,” and he knew he’d said the exact right thing when he
saw her visibly relax, saw a small glimmer of a warm glow return to
her hazel eyes as she gazed upon him.

He’d not remain thus, however, and in
moments he was bereft of clothes, standing before her with not a
barrier, not a defense between them—except, of course, her own.

“My scars are many. More, and more terrible,
than last we shared our bodies,” he said, hoping that the sight of
the wide, raised white slash across his chest and abdomen, as well
as the newest, smaller, yet still blueish red in color, from the
stab wound he’d received at Alaric’s hand a few moons past, would
make her more easy in revealing to him her own.

But, he was mistaken, for all she said in
reply was, “So I see.”

Did she find them repulsive? He’d not spent
time worrying about what her reaction to them might be these past
moons, but now he had to wonder.

“I’ll wear my shirt, I think,” he said,
stepping o’er to where he’d laid it atop her gown on her clothing
chest.

“Nay!”

She startled him with the vehemence behind
the word and his movements halted.

“Stay as you are, if it please you.” Her
head dipped, but not before he saw a wash of color o’er her cheeks.
“I...I like you well that way,” she murmured.

She liked him well? His chest swelled with
both pride and relief, and he dared not utter more, instead going
with steady, quiet, purposeful steps toward the bed. His goal: her
body. His ultimate purpose: to get their lives, their marriage back
to that place it had been before the ambush. To forget the horrors
of their past and embrace only what had been beautiful.

He settled on his side on the mattress and
immediately pulled her toward him. She did not resist, but she did
not melt into him either. A worry, but he dismissed it, thinking
he’d soon have her trembling with need, all her fears forgotten for
the moment.

His own hand shook as he lifted it to comb
back the silken mass of amber hair that had fallen o’er her
shoulder and hid from him half of her lovely countenance. He dipped
his head and placed a gentle kiss on her soft mouth. His heart
raced when she returned it with some of the fire he was used to
receiving from her. After a moment, he broke away, his breath
coming in more rapid spurts than before, and said, “You are so
beautiful, my love. More so, even, I think, than you were when
first we wed.”

She stiffened in his embrace, and he could
see in her eye that she thought he lied to her, yet still she
remained rooted where she was, allowing him what e’er touch he
craved to give, what e’er brush of his lips he craved to
bestow.

In the next moment, she lifted her hand to
the back of his head and, as she brought his lips down to meet hers
again, said, “I am ready for you, Morgunn. Do not make me wait
more.”

His blood rushed and, as their lips met in a
fiery kiss, he hauled the hems of both their garments up to their
waists. Gratification doubled as she spread her thighs for him,
gripping his hips and helping him to unerringly find the center of
her.

She’d not lied. She was slick and warm and
he easily slid the full length inside her. A warning bell clanged
in the back of his brain, some odd, cold feeling threatened the
edges of his heart, but the need for her was too great, and those
things were quickly ignored as waves of ecstasy rolled o’er
him.

“ ‘Tis just like before, aye, my love?” he
said, less as a question for her than a statement of reassurance
for himself, yet she grew still beneath him, and after a blink of
time responded with: “Aye, just as before.”

* * *

What was it that you did—and did not—do
before?
‘Twas best to keep it simple, she decided. Let him
lead. But the feel of him moving inside her was near more than she
could bear. She wanted to move as well, rip at her clothes, force
his mouth to her breast. She wanted to cry out her delight, she
wanted to scrape her nails down his back, she wanted to push him
deeper inside her. She’d not expected to ever feel such thrills of
desire again, and certainly not to this degree. Not with the burden
of her guilt, not after the trove of men she’d been forced to
pleasure, whom she’d barely been able to stomach, yet who’d
sometimes still managed to bring her to completion. She simply
could not bear for him to know of it. So, she must somehow please
him in the way he expected. As a bride who’d e’er had but one
lover: him. But, God in Heaven, how was that? She could not
remember. So, she erred on the side of caution and remained pliant
(she hoped) beneath him, keeping her responses soft, and to the
minimum, and prayed he thought ‘twas her years of near chastity and
shyness that were the reasons for such a demeanor.

On the cusp of that thought, Morgunn rolled
his hips a certain way and began a swifter gliding motion that
stroked a place in her womb, making it throb, making her unable to
control her reaction, making her strain and buck beneath him,
making her cry out, “Aye, fuck me like that, just like that!”,
making her claw at his back, making it hard to take in a breath,
making her see black spots behind her eyes.

All at once, she was lighter. Her body was
bereft of his warm, straining weight, and in its place, cold air
wafted o’er her hot skin, making it tingle. She gave a shudder and
opened her eyes, searching for the lover that had only a second
before been working her and himself toward the ultimate bliss.
‘Twas not a long trek her gaze took to find him. He stood, lungs
heaving, beside the bed. For as long as she lived, and until she
took her very last breath, she would ne’er forget the look she
found upon his countenance. ‘Twas the exact look she’d hoped,
prayed ne’er to see. ‘Twas accusation. Pure, and simple, and brutal
in its scope.

“How many?”

She knew what he meant by the question and
struggled to swallow back the cry of crushing heartbreak it
engendered. Slowly, she raised herself up to a sitting position,
resting her back against the headboard, and pulling the linen sheet
up to her chin at the same time (although, why she felt it
necessary to do so, she did not know, as her chemise covered the
worst of her). ‘Twas an even graver betrayal that her sex still
throbbed with the need for completion, the need for the completion
only he could truly provide. But he didn’t know that.

“More, no doubt, than you,” she said. It
hadn’t been what she’d planned to say, but somehow, when she’d
opened her mouth to speak, the venom came forth instead.

* * *

Morgunn stormed over to his shirt, threw it
on, and then swung around and stormed as far away from her as he
could go in the chamber, which was not far enough. Only about
sixteen paces, only to the area beside the hearth. He stood in a
turmoil of anger, wrath, and intensely painful heartbreak. His arms
crossed over his chest, he fumed in silence. Tho’ his gaze was upon
the licking flames, his mind ran a riot of lewd, perverse images of
his wife across his imagination. A wife whom he’d first thought
dead, then hoped against hope lived, then prayed was safe in
Alaric’s tower dungeon, living as the man’s captive and, aye,
possibly concubine, he’d admit at least that, and then, once found,
believed had been maimed because of that man’s perverse urge toward
violence against women, which Morgunn had long heard of in the
years prior to the ambush.

Not once, however, had he e’er conceived
that she would have been giving her body to a host of men. Whether
of her own consent, or against it, at this very moment, in his
heart—in his soul—it mattered little the difference.

From what seemed a sea away, came the sweet
timbre of her voice, this time gentle, this time soothing. “I
thought you were dead, and inside myself, I felt the same. Aye, I
breathed—and God knows I tried hard not to do even that, but it
proved a greater force than I could win against. And so, I
breathed. And so, I took my mind somewhere else—back to the time
with you, the time with my daughter, the time when naught filled
our heads but our youth and what next bit of enjoyment, what next
journey, might fill our days. I did this and more, what e’er I
might, just...just gave up my body to what e’er Alaric wanted of
it, or who e’er Alaric wanted to give it.