Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (110 page)

“Aye, Sweet Jesu, Mairi, ye have no idea how good that feels.”

The pleasure within him steadily mounted, growing in power, and soon he wasn’t panting for air, he was gasping. He buried his hands in her hair as she steadily worked him into a frenzy. Sweat rolled down his body as he began to thrust his hips forward uncontrollably. If he coiled any tighter, he would snap. He was certain he would end it at any moment. When he thought he could stand it no longer, a new sensation rose within him, more intense than he had ever experienced. She not only pushed him to the edge, she drove him past it and into new experiences. He never imagined it could be like this or that he would savor it so powerfully. The energy within him jumped outward and he recoiled, but it wasn’t the end. Instead, the wave rippled then washed back, strengthened, and the sensation repeated. Now, he was the one gasping her name. His vision hazed, and he heard himself encouraging her one moment then pleading with her the next. The wave slammed into him again. He knew this was all he could—Mairi backed away, and the abrupt change sent his senses spiraling.

He pulled her into his arms, hauling her to his chest, but the air vibrated around him and he staggered slightly. He caught himself on something and realized it was the table. He had one arm wrapped around Mairi. The scent of her was more intoxicating than any whiskey. Without thinking, he turned her, bent her over the table and took her from behind.

He heard her gasp as he drove deeply inside of her. She felt so good, and he needed her so much. She had driven him to a place where he couldn’t think, he could only feel. He thrust harder, feeling her body respond. His vision cleared a little, and he could not tear his gaze from her, her legs spread wide. He placed his hands on the table and bent over her, driving hard, his breath rattling as her hips lifted to meet his every thrust, her words interspersed with her moans of pleasure encouraging him.

“More, Connell . . . please . . .” He backed away but only enough to hold her hips firmly in place. He pushed hard, grinding his hips against hers. She cried out, and he immediately retreated.

“Nay,” she said sharply. “That was perfect. Again, please.”

He couldn’t refuse her and pushed hard again. He felt her body clench around him. Her cry was evocative, primal, and provoked him on the deepest levels. But she didn’t stop there. He was so deep within her he could go no farther, but she squirmed, pushing herself back against him. Her body continued to clench and release around his cock as if she were trying to draw his seed into her. He continued to try to thrust deeper but could barely move as perfection overwhelmed him and his seed finally filled her. The waves increased, and he could only gasp her name, driving hard, driving his pleasure to greater heights.

He watched her once again become a slave to her own body, and she was more beautiful than before. He slumped forward, barely catching himself on the table. He shuddered, but not in pain. He had emptied himself, but it felt as if his body was still trying and that only heightened the wonderful sensations careening through him.

His senses slowly began to return as he fought to suck air into his lungs. “Mairi?” he murmured, suddenly worried.

“Do no’ dare move,” she said, panting just as hard as he. “I dinna want tae give ye up just yet.”

He was still hard, although he knew that would be changing soon. But he could not resist gently moving inside her.

Her response was a throaty moan. “Aye, ye ken ye feel good, but dinna get me started again.”

He shook his head in amazement, but his lips curved upward. “After that ye want more?”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “All ye do is touch me or kiss me and ye provoke a tempest in me.”

He chuckled and again moved inside her. “Ye do the same tae me.”

She closed her eyes. “See . . . just like this . . . I canna tell ye how good it feels when ye do that. But I’m more than sated. Dear God, Connell, how could I be anything else?”

He was growing flaccid, but she was right, this did feel good, almost relaxing, so he kept moving just a little. “That was incredible.”

“Connell,” she murmured, “that was pure fornication . . . and ye can do it again tae me anytime ye like.”

His smile grew. “Dinna tell me that, lassie, or I will be in even more trouble.” He backed away and helped her up. She staggered against him, and he caught her. “Ye all right?”

“Aye.” She looked up at him and smiled.

He gently brushed her hair from her face. “Are ye sure? That was so intense . . . ye ken I ne’er want tae hurt ye.”

“Oh, Connell, it’s fine . . . I’m fine. I loved it.” She ran her hands up his chest. “Sometimes we both need tae let go and just feel.”

He stopped and stared at her. For years, he had tried to put to words what he wanted and needed in a lover. He had tried to explain . . . so many times . . . but it didn’t matter even if he could find the words—the door had slammed shut in his face long ago. But Mairi’s simple truth resonated in his bones.

“Come here.” He gathered her in his arms, lifting her from her feet.

She tucked her head against his shoulder as he carried her past the hearth and into the bedroom.

“Wait, ye be forgetting something.” She pointed to the hearth.

He stopped. “Now, I really feel selfish for opening two presents.”

“Just remember this be yer Christmas present too. So ye willna get one on Christmas Eve or Twelfth Night.” She paused and frowned. “My family usually opened presents on Christmas.”

“Twelfth Night for us.”

She gave him a wicked grin. “Now that I ken how ye open a certain present . . . ye will be getting at least one on Twelfth Night after all.”

He returned her grin equally. “And I promise ye I’ll open it the same way. Let me carry ye tae bed and I’ll fetch the gift.”

“Ye are so sweet,” she said and kissed his cheek.

“I feared after my loss of control this night I was truly in trouble.”

“Connell, dinna ever worry about that. The more ye enjoy yerself, the more I do as well.”

He laid her in the bed but hesitated, tracing his fingers over her cheek. “Is that what it is?”

“What?”

“It’s amazing, but I feel the same way. The more I see ye enjoying yerself, the more I do as well. Ye have a way of . . . just freeing yerself and being absolutely there in that moment. And when ye do that . . . it . . . inspires me.”

“Intriguing . . . dinna give me the credit, Connell, that’s entirely yer doing.”

He shook his head, darting into the other room and grabbing the small box. But his thoughts chased themselves. This was more than the giddy joy of new discoveries; it was as if their passion, their energy took strength from the other, and like charcoal, it would flare hot then settle to a long, steady burn.

He arched an eyebrow as he climbed in bed. That was an appropriate metaphor if he ever heard one.

“So, my sweet,” he said, sliding next to her and propping himself against the headboard with his pillow. “Be there anything I should ken before I open it?”

She settled next to him, her head on his shoulder. “I think ye will understand when ye see it.”

“Verra well.” He gazed at the box a long moment, remembering their argument but remembering more powerfully what they had shared after, what they had shared since and even more intensely tonight. For him, it was not just allowing himself to love Mairi, it had been a turning point for him—when he finally stepped out of his past, when he finally allowed himself a small measure of hope. That was truly the gift she had given him.

He opened the box and peered inside. Nestled in a bit of undyed silk was a medallion made of silver and of very fine workmanship. He blinked once, twice, then his heart dropped to his boots, and his jaw went slack.

“Saint Clement?” he whispered. He looked at her. “This is what ye wanted tae give me all along?”

“Ross crafted it, and when I saw it, I immediately thought of ye.”

“Ross be one of the finest silversmiths in no’ just Edinburgh but all of Scotland . . .” His voice broke and his vision blurred. Earlier, he had thought about how well she understood him, but she had decided on this gift before things had changed between them. She had decided on it with enough certainty that she had stood toe to toe with him and fought for it.

He had not patronized Saint Clement because he had never considered himself a blacksmith. But since coming to Edinburgh and returning to his trade, he had been fortunate to find work, and even more so to work for a master smith who was not only talented but a good man. Connell had also been so very blessed to find a pleasant home for Mairi and Adam . . . but it wasn’t Fortune who had smiled upon him. Nay, it was much more than that. A tremor passed through him, and he suddenly squeezed his eyes shut. He had told Mairi yesterday that he had been blessed, but even then he hadn’t realized the truth of his words. He lifted his gaze and focused on the well-worn cradle at the foot of the bed. He then looked at Mairi in his arms, her body pressed intimately against his.

In that moment, he saw with perfect clarity two very precious gifts he had been granted.

“Connell?” Mairi asked worriedly. “Are ye all right? Yer face be a bit pale.”

He wrapped his arms around her and held her so tightly she squeaked in surprise. “I be . . . even better . . . now . . . thank ye, lassie It’s perfect.”

“Ye like it?”

He lifted his head and gazed down at her, still holding the box tightly in his hand. “I love it.” He studied her a moment, admiring her beautiful face. “I told ye I had been blessed, but only now do I see what it truly means.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Ye, my bonny lass, ye and Adam.”

I ne’er thought myself a jealous man until I saw him watching the lassie who was my wife in body if no’ in truth.”

~
Connell MacGrigor

W
earing only his trewes and boots, Connell donned his farrier leathers and tied the straps behind his legs to hold them in place. The heavy leather protected his legs when he shod horses. Snow covered the ground. The day was again gray and cold, but the biting wind did not bother him, even though he did not wear his tunic. He had been working all morning before the forge and now welcomed the relief.

For the most part, shoeing horses was easy for him, so he could typically finish one or two in a short amount of time. He and Ian had an agreement when it came to farrier and more mundane work. Anything Connell earned from farrier and other tasks such as armor repair or sharpening weapons, he could keep; he only paid Ian a small amount for use of the tools and any supplies or horseshoes he used.

This type of work was also a good way for him to return to the basic smithing skills that had lain dormant for far too long. Everything else Connell did was to assist Ian with the swords various nobles had commissioned. Connell was rapidly acquiring the skills his father had not been able to teach.

He grabbed his farrier snips, a specialized tool he used to remove the old shoe from the horse’s hoof. Marcus led the first horse forward, its steel-shod hooves making a soft noise on the packed dirt of the smith’s yard.

Clop, clop, clop, CLANK.

Connell arched an eyebrow. That was not a good sound. He patted the horse’s neck as he studied its hooves. The shoes appeared relatively new. Then he spotted the loose one, the twisted nails barely holding it onto the horse’s hoof. “They must have been doing some hard riding.”

He stepped to the horse’s left hind and ran his hand down its leg. The horse was well trained and knew what was coming. He picked up his hind leg so Connell could check the shoe.

“Good lad,” Connell said, smiling. He placed the horse’s hoof between his legs and held it with his knees so he could use both hands. He brandished the snips, and within three quick moves, he rid the horse of the loose shoe. He pulled out a farrier’s rasp and filed down the small broken parts of the hoof, evening it out. Before he allowed the horse to put its hoof down, he studied it one last time to make sure it was at the angle it needed to be for the way the horse stood. Satisfied, he released the hoof and straightened.

“Have him stand evenly on all fours,” he told Marcus.

The lad tried, but the horse was relaxed, its eyelids drooping, and it did not wish to bother with moving.

Connell laughed and took the reins. “Sorry to disturb yer nap.”

The horse immediately woke up and shifted his weight as Connell directed. He checked the animal one last time and nodded again.

“Why do ye check so many times?” the lad asked.

“Ye’ve heard the saying ‘no hoof, no horse’?”

“Aye.”

“’Tis true, a mistake on my part can lame this animal.” He handed the reins back to him and firmly patted the horse’s neck.

He looked at the shoe he had just pulled and tossed it into the scrap pile filled with other shoes and broken steel. They would melt it down and reuse the steel for metal fittings and plow blades.

He strode into the shop where upon the wall hung a wide assortment of horseshoes of varying sizes and shapes. He picked the one he wanted and returned to the horse, who obligingly lifted its hoof off the ground so Connell could check the fit.

“Some small adjustments,” Connell said, noting the corrections he had to make with an experienced eye. He allowed the horse to put its hoof down and strode to the anvil. He placed the shoe on the point of the anvil so he could widen it just a little, the blows of his hammer ringing. Using the hammer always involved a rhythm. He struck the shoe, and on the offbeat when he moved it, his hammer struck the anvil, then he returned and struck the shoe. Within moments, he had made the adjustments he wanted and returned to double check the fit.

“So ye always double check?”

“Double and triple check.” He winked at the lad. “The carpenter’s adage fits here. Measure twice, cut once.”

“I see . . . I think.”

Connell grinned, took a couple of farrier nails from his pouch, and held them in his teeth, then he again lifted the horse’s hoof, set the shoe, and hammered the nails to hold it in place. On the outside of the hoof, he caught the end of each nail as he drove them through in the claw of the hammer, and with a quick twist, he broke off each sharp point. Then he pulled the farrier’s tongs from his belt and plied them to the hoof, bending the end of each nail down so they hooked over the hoof wall, holding the shoe firmly in place. He ran the farrier’s rasp once over the nail tips, just to make certain there were no sharp burrs, but only once. Anything more would weaken the outside of the hoof. Within moments, he was done.

“Now, laddie, lead him away from me in a straight line so I can watch him walk.”

Marcus did as Connell asked.

Connell watched the horse move and listened to the sound of its hooves.

Clop, clop, clop, clop.
The horse moved in an easy, even gait and seemed much happier to have his shoe fixed.

“Verra good,” Connell said. “That shoe isna going anywhere. Ye can put him in the pen, Marcus, and fetch the next one.” All the horses remained fully tacked, tied in the pen, awaiting either to be shod or for their owners to claim them.

“Aye, Connell.”

As Marcus brought him the next horse, he heard the church bells ring for Nones, and his belly rumbled.

Clop, clop, thud, clop.
This horse had lost his shoe entirely. His belly rumbled again, and he looked longingly over his shoulder at the house. “Laddie, let’s eat dinner afore we start this one.”

“But there are four more horses,” Marcus said, and he too looked at the church as the bells fell silent. “The captain said they were in a hurry, and I think at least two horses need all new shoes.”

“Four more?” Connell asked, less than pleased. He wanted to earn extra coin, but four more horses was a bit much.

“Forgive me, but he be an English captain, and I dinna wish tae anger him. Besides, he offered twice as much as ye normally charge if we took all of them.”

Connell glanced at the merchant booth across the street from the blacksmith shop and spotted the men-at-arms loitering about. A warning shiver skittered down his spine. “English?”

“Aye,” Marcus said and nodded in the same direction. “I dinna think they be part of the guard here; their armor and weapons are nicer.”

To Marcus, the differences in quality of weapon and armor would be the first thing he would notice. “Good lad,” Connell said softly, but he watched the men a moment.

Marcus spoke truly. Even at a distance, Connell could see their armor and weapons were finer than those of the city guards. They were definitely English knights. The warning shiver intensified, and his eyes narrowed. The six men wore chain mail hauberks, their heraldry emblazoned on their horseman’s surcoats of various colors. They also wore mail hosen, and Connell noticed very little plate. They were knights, but not of high rank, as plate grieves, which better protected a knight’s legs when he was aboard a horse, were quite expensive.

“This horse is the captain’s. He’s wearing the green surcoat,” Marcus said.

There were two knights wearing green surcoats. Connell shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. Just when he had hope for Marcus, the lad’s head seemed to return to the clouds. “Excellent, now tell me which green surcoat, the lighter one or the darker one?”

“Oh . . . uh . . . the darker one. He has whiskers . . . uh, wait . . . they both have whiskers.”

“Darker surcoat suffices. I see him. Did he tell ye anything more?”

“He just said they were in a hurry. They’re headed south.”

Since King Edward had withdrawn the vanguard of the English army after Longshanks’s death, Connell was not surprised to see English knights rapidly headed south and hopefully out of Scotland all together. He forced down his old worry. He and Mairi had been here for a few months, and there had been absolutely no sign of trouble. If these knights were hunting for the English king’s bastard heir, they certainly wouldn’t have hired him to shoe their horses. He would have been in irons by now. He turned back to the horse. He had work to do.

Speaking softly, Connell patted the horse and moved to check the hoof with the missing shoe. He scowled, noting the horse’s leg appeared to be a bit swollen, and the animal did not seem to want to put weight on it. The horse moved away from him as he started to lightly run his hand down its leg.

“Ho, laddie,” Connell said soothingly. He frowned at the horse, who tossed its head, champing at its bit. “Marcus,” he said softly. “Be on yer toes with this one.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I dinna ken, but I have a feeling we’re going tae find out.” Just as he reached for the horse’s leg, he spotted the problem. On the inside of the horse’s off hind leg, hidden and a bit difficult to see, the hoof was split all the way up to the coronet band and was bleeding a little. The animal must have been in terrible pain.

Connell stopped and straightened. “We have a problem.” He looked again at the English knights, who were still at the merchant booth across the street.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need tae speak with the captain.” He focused on the man and strode across the yard.

HHH

The church bells had been silent for some time as Mairi finished placing the last of the food on the table. She hummed softly as she worked, keeping one eye on Adam as he played on the floor. He was quite adept at crawling now, and if Mairi diverted her attention, he’d disappear in an instant. But right now he seemed content to play and burbled softly to himself.

The other eye she kept on the door, but when it didn’t open, she frowned. Connell was never late for dinner. She moved toward the window that faced the blacksmith’s shop.

“Da-da-da-da,” Adam said as she walked by.

She smiled and scooped him into her arms but looked at Adam a long moment. “Did ye just call for Da?” She hadn’t really taught Adam “Da.” It was a sound he made naturally, but she hadn’t used it in regard to Connell. She wanted to talk to him first because she wasn’t sure how he would feel about it. But children could be quite perceptive. She had a feeling Adam was beginning to absorb more of the world around him, and she wouldn’t be surprised if it was a lot more than she realized.

“Da-da-da.”

“He’s late, isn’t he?” She walked to the window and looked out, immediately spotting Connell as he worked shoeing horses in the yard. “See? There he is,” Mairi said and pointed.

Adam looked out the window, chewing on his toy. She knew the instant he spotted Connell because he grinned broadly and started kicking. “Da-da-da-da.”

Tears blurred her eyes. She had no way to know for certain if he was actually calling Connell “Da.” He might have been calling the horse “Da” for all she knew. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder. Connell now easily stepped into the role of Adam’s father.

She sighed softly and looked again to the yard. Connell didn’t seem to be stopping his work. Marcus led the horse he had finished away and immediately brought him another. Connell looked over his shoulder at the house longingly. She didn’t know if he could see her and Adam watching him from the window, but judging by the number of horses in the yard, she wondered if he would have time to eat at all.

“Now, that will never do,” she said as she watched him. He wasn’t wearing his tunic again, and she found herself watching him just for the sake of watching. He was so very beautiful.

Just over a sennight had passed since Saint Clement’s Day. She had been worried that the medallion wouldn’t be to his taste, but he treasured the gift, always wearing it about his neck.

Adam squawked, stretching his arm in Connell’s direction

“Smithing is hard work,” she said softly and looked up at the low-hanging clouds. It was cold, but at least it wasn’t snowing.

“Ye think we should surprise him by taking his dinner tae him this time?” she asked Adam.

“Da-da-da!”

“Of course ye do,” she said and laughed. “Verra well, let’s get ye bundled up.”

It didn’t take her long to get Adam dressed for the cold weather. She carried him on her left hip and the basket with Connell’s dinner on her right. She set the basket down long enough to close the door and stepped into the street, walking toward the shop.

When Connell had been fighting the crates, Mairi had dived between the rails of the fence because that had been the fastest way to reach him. But this time her hands were full with Adam and the basket, so she walked around to enter through the street gate.

Connell now stood in the middle of the smithing yard speaking to an armored knight. Marcus stood with him, still holding the horse. Mairi’s step hesitated as she realized the man was English. The old fear she had thought defeated returned with surprising power, and she stopped in the middle of the gate. She would just go back home and wait for Connell there.

But as she glanced over her shoulder, she noticed five other English knights standing across the street, and they were watching her.

If ye act like a frightened mouse, then ye will draw their attention,
Connell had said.

If she just abruptly left, she might make them suspicious. Seeing Connell shoeing the horses told her why they were there. The knights weren’t searching for them. She was jumping at her own shadow again and she needed to stop. They were here because Connell was a blacksmith. It was business as usual.

She bid her pounding heart to slow and lifted her chin, taking another step toward Connell.

Connell happened to glance in her direction. “Mairi?” His gaze focused on the basket she carried, and he hurried to her.

“Sorry tae interrupt. I saw all the horses, so I brought yer food.”

Connell smiled and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank ye, I’m famished.” He started to take the basket from her, but Adam was not about to be ignored. He held his arms out and leaned forward. “Da-da-da-da.”