The Raven's Moon (36 page)

"Several couples were wed, all at once," Mairi said.

"And so were we," Rowan added.

Silence fell over the room. Rowan glanced from one face to the other. Anna look stunned, then smiled; Sandie frowned and then broke into a raw grin. Jock's expression was sober, but his blue eyes were bright.

"Wed? You're wed?" Anna asked.

"Aye," Mairi said. "'Twas sudden," she added, as Anna rushed forward to fold her arms around Mairi, then Rowan. Jock clasped Rowan's hand without a word, smiling. Jock turned to Mairi, taking her hands in his and murmuring to her.

Sandie congratulated them and went to the table to pour sherry into three additional cups, sharing them with Jock and Anna, and cradling one in his own hand. "A toast! To all the blessings o' life—" He raised his cup.

Rowan drank with the others, feeling the natural heat of the sherry warm him. He looked at Mairi, thinking how bonny she was with the firelight shining in her eyes, and her cheeks glowing like summer roses from the drink and the moment.

Sandie grinned. "I guess you needna argue about who has the first bath. You'll have it together, hey?"

"Alexander!" Anna said, her eyes widening.

"You auld scoundrel," Jock said, huffing a laugh.

Rowan suppressed a smile and saw Mairi's cheeks deepen in color as she tucked her head down to sip the drink.

"'Tis no proper wedding feast," Anna said, "but I'll fetch that hot chicken broth now, some for all of us, with good bread."

"It is a fine wedding feast," Mairi said softly. "Thank you."

"We'll sup on broth and barley, and keep reiver's hours on the morrow." Sandie chuckled. "Meaning we'll sleep through till gloamin' if we like, hey." He wiggled his eyebrows.

While Anna admonished Sandie for his boldness, Rowan smiled and turned back to the fire. That heat could not warm his heart as well as this welcome had done.

But beneath it all, like dark clouds sailing toward the sun, he could not shake a sense of impending danger.

* * *

Reclining in Rowan's bed against feather-stuffed pillows, Mairi stretched her feet between soft linen sheets. Dark red damask curtains surrounded the bed, enclosing all sides but one, creating a nest of feather mattresses and woolen blankets. She yawned, sliding deeper in the bed, savoring the comfort.

A candle flickered on a wooden chest beside the bed. Peat crackled and glowed in the hearth. The wooden tub, where she had soaked in hot water and fragrant herbs, was still warm near the hearth. She sat waiting for Rowan.

When she had gone up to bathe, he had sat in earnest conversation with Jock and Sandie. She had heard him explain something about truce day and the curious black stone, too, but she had been almost too tired to care what was said.

She closed her eyes—and when she woke, startled, to the sounds of splashing, she realized that she had fallen asleep for a while. Near the hearth, silhouetted in the scant light, Rowan stood in the tub and stepped out, water sloshing quietly.

His back was to her, and his hair, black as a raven's wing, swept between his wide shoulders. Candelight flowed over the sculpted hardness of his body, the powerful contours of his wide shoulders and muscled back, tapering to narrow hips and strong legs. He was potent strength and supple grace in perfect balance.

Fascinated, she rested her head on the pillow and watched as he dried himself with a linen towel. She wanted so much to feel that hard, warm, solid body against hers—wanted him to surround her with his strength.

As Rowan turned, the low light revealing the tight modeling of his torso beneath a dusting of black hair, thick at chest and groin, and with a quick, easy motion, he sat on the bed beside her as he pulled the red damask curtain closed, leaving a small opening that let the candlelight spill inside, so that the interior was the color of dark rubies.

The mattress sank beneath him as he leaned toward her. Mairi inhaled the clean, herbal scent of him and saw him move his fingers through his wet, tousled, curling haiar that suddenly reminded her of Jamie's glossy, curly head of hair.

"I thought you were asleep," he murmured.

"I was, for a while," she answered.

He nodded and shifted to face her, half leaned beside her, drawing the covers up to drape over his legs, his bare chest wide and powerful.

"Since you're awake," he said, "we need to talk about something."

She sat up against the pillows, drawing the linen sheet over her chest, disconcerted. Nude, too, she shielded herself with the blankets. What did he mean to ask her? It could not be good, by his grim tone. "What is it?" she asked cautiously.

"First," he said, touching her shoulder, "I wondered if you were still in pain."

Something wild plummeted through her at the warm brush of his fingers. "It aches some," she admitted. "The bath helped."

Rowan stroked her aching muscles with his thumb and fingers. Above his shadowed jaw, his eyes reflected the candle flame with green clarity. "Tell me—why did you leave Jean Armstrong's house?"

"To follow you, to help," she said simply.

"You could have stayed there." His fingers circled and pressed, creating heat, releasing some of the ache. She moved her head languidly, lured into relaxation by his touch.

"I could not," she said quietly, shivering slightly as she felt an echo of the compelling need that had moved her to ride after him. "I had to go—had to help you."

"I thank you for it, but Christie should have gone."

"He was injured—you did not know, but he could not go. So I went."

He sighed, his fingers kneading her muscles. "When I saw you there—when I saw Heckie take you down..." He paused. "I could not bear for you to be hurt," he finished.

"I only meant to help you," she murmured.

"If you had jumped the cliff wi' me, we could have ridden off. Ah, Mairi, 'twas a lackwit thing to do and you frightened me near to death."

"And you did a muckle dangerous thing when you rode out from Jean's house," she said. "I did not reprimand you for it."

"I rode out and left you safe, or so I thought."

"You risked your life too," she said curtly, and folded her arms, glaring at the flickering shadows on the red curtain.

He watched her, then smiled. "If you had a riding name, 'twould be Firebrand," he murmured.

She slid him a petulant glance. "Or Lackwit? 'Rowan's Lackwit Mairi'?"

He laughed. "Firebrand Mairi. Your hair is dark, but you have the hot temperament of a redhead."

"My mother has coppery hair," she said.

"Ah, there 'tis, then." He paused. "I know you thought to help me. But seeing you in danger"—his voice caught.

"Worse than me seeing you risk your scoundrel neck?"

He laughed ruefully. "We are even, then, in this."

"I was afraid I would not see you again."

"That ride was nae threat to me," he said quietly. "I told you I would be back for you."

"Two years ago,"—she looked away from him, easing through the hurt of the words—"on a poor misty night, I watched my betrothed ride out after reivers. He laughed when I asked him not to go, and said he would be back soon." She paused. "He was killed that night. Iain and Simon brought his body back."

He was silent. She watched the flame while the old grief swelled and ebbed. She waited for Rowan to ask if she trusted him so little because of that night that she had to follow him out.

He nodded, taking her hand in his. "Sweetmilk Johnny."

She glanced at him. "You knew?"

"Simon mentioned it. I knew Johnny Kerr as a bonny lad, overbold and quick to act, but a charming, good rascal."

She nodded, relieved by his response, sensing no jealousy, only caring and concern.

"My kin killed him, I think," Rowan said.

She breathed the burden of resentment out, the sadness she had carried for a long while, almost without effort, as if it were a mist. "Aye," she said. "Scotts of Branxholm."

"I could not blame you if you hated me for their crime. Blood feuds run as strong in the Borders as in the Highlands."

She shook her head. "I could never hate you," she whispered. "I resented all Scotts, and you at first, but I could not hate you now for it. Johnny is gone. His own wild ways brought him to that night." She felt a few tears slip free, but she felt so calmed by Rowan's steady presence, as if she absorbed strength from him. "'Twas long ago. He's gone." She looked at him. "So we both have sadness in our past, you and I."

Rowan took her chin in his fingertips. "We can let that go."

She looked at him earnestly. "They're not ghosts to haunt us. They've left us memories, many good ones. We need not let them hurt us still." She had clung to her grief for a long time, but now sensed a new emptiness, almost a peacefulness. "I do not want that pain in my life any longer."

Rowan was silent, then nodded. His gaze contained a depth, a spark, light through the green. "What do you want?"

"You," she whispered.

His thumb moved over her chin, his fingers cupped her cheek. "I did not say it well earlier—when I saw Heckie take you down—I've never been so frightened. I only wanted you safe," he said. "Naught else mattered but that."

Tears glimmered over her vision, and a deeper, quieter, more real joy than she had ever felt washed through. "If I had not come after you, we would not be together now, here."

"Ah. Now that is true." He smiled, a little wan lift of the corner of his mouth. "This talk of sorrow and feelings—" He hesitated, looked. "Just days ago, we were suspicious of one another, and angry, yet now—"

"'Tis fast, this," she agreed in a whisper.

"Aye, sudden. Strong." He paused. "'Tis not easy, for I am one to keep thoughts to myself. And I am no poet to talk of my heart. But—" He stopped again, as if searching for something.

She watched him, waiting.

"But my heart's full, lass," he whispered. "I do not know how, or why, or when, but 'tis muckle full for you."

"Rowan," she whispered, feeling her soul fill past its brim. She moved into his arms then, and he lowered his mouth over hers, and the touch surged like lightning through her as the kiss deepened. she splayed her hands on his chest and felt the soft, warmed cushion of hair there, sensed his deep pulse beneath the muscle. His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue touched hers gently, and she opened to him, asking, sharing, giving. His mouth tasted hot, sweeter than sherry, and she drank it in, that comfort, that love, so new, yet strong and solid.

The blankets slid away and she sighed as his hands slid around her, spreading on her back, his hands sliding to cup her hips, pressing her into the pillows as he shifted to his side.

Together they sank into the soft, giving mattress, surrounded by the crimson draperies as caught in the heart of a fire. Her body fit fully to his now, touching, grazing, penetrating warmth and exquisite caresses. She caught her breath when she sensed him, warm and bold, against her, and a subtle, exciting shiver swept through her.

His lips touched hers, his tongue insistent, exploring. The feeling plunged through her like flame. She melded to him, moving sensuously against his hard, warm, silky length.

"Rowan," she murmured against his mouth. His name on her breath held an elemental, mysterious magic, some protective charm, like the story he had told her about the rowan branch. The power of his name tapped some inner core of passion and yearning, and she spread open for him, asking, pleading.

He answered with his lips, tracing along her throat, his tongue and breath warming and delicate, sending surges of pleasure through her. She arched, gasped on an intake of joy as his lips slipped and traced over her, then closed over her ruched nipple, gasped again when the feeling spiraled through her and touched off a blissful spark inside of her.

His mouth lifted from her breast, his fingers taking the place, swirling over that bud and its twin. As Mairi cried out he silenced her with his mouth, and his lips traced the swirl of her ear, his breath swelling like the echo of the sea.

She wrapped her arms around him and kissed, caressed, explored him, and when he stretched on his back, she shifted over him, pressing close, sensing the steady thunder of his heart beneath her own. Leaning down, she let her hair brush over him like a curtain of silk. And she offered, eloquently, what she had, the air she breathed, her soul, if he wanted that—she sparked at his touch and flowed like flame, and as he lifted her, she settled over him, gently pushing down to sheathe him. His breath slipped into her mouth, sweet and hot, as he found and slid and thrust, and she felt her innermost core melt and run like poured honey. A shimmering power burst through her as her body merged with his. She felt rising and release, and gave up, in that moment, what she did not need—her loneliness—accepting what he gave, what they made, between them.

* * *

"I have never seen anything like it," Anna mused, turning the black stone in her hand. "This is what you were telling Jock and Sandie about last night?"

Rowan nodded. "The very thing."      

Mairi listened, standing by the window in the great hall, seeing a remnant of blue sky showing through the clouds. A cool breeze tickled her cheek and she shivered, wrapping a shawl closer around her; Anna had loaned her the shawl and Grace had lent the gown of blue serge.