The Border Lord's Bride (50 page)

"And that is nicer," Ellen said with a gusty sigh. "Oh, God, Duncan, your mouth on my breast is sheer heaven!"

The taste of her, the clean fragrance that emanated from her skin were a powerful spurs to his senses. It had been months since they had enjoyed each other in this manner. His lust was fully engaged. His cock was hard and ready for her, but he was not quite yet of a mind to couple their bodies. He slowly sucked upon each of her breasts, enjoying the firm but tender flesh. Then his kisses began a deliberate and tortuous journey down her torso. Her skin was soft. He lingered awhile in the deep valley between her breasts, his mouth warm over her beating heart. He used his lips and his tongue on her quivering body, and enjoyed the wonder of her slow but steady arousal.

Ellen had closed her eyes to better revel in the sensations that his lovemaking was engendering within her. Briefly, for she quickly dismissed the unpleasant thoughts, she remembered Roger Colby‘s mouth and hands on her. How different it was to be loved by a man who loved her, not defiled by a man bent on revenge. The dishonor of what the Englishman had done to her began to evaporate with the joy she felt in her husband‘s passion.

His mouth now reached her belly, and he licked it slowly, all the while kneading it with a gentle hand, but it was the red curls below that tempted him onward. He pressed his palm flat against them, and Ellen gasped at the bolt of sensation that imploded within her. His long fingers played among the tight curls until a single digit was tracing a torturous path down her shadowed slit. He moved his big body so that he might lower his head, which he then buried within that fiery bush.

She felt his tongue imitating the finger that had gone before it, the tip of it pushing through her nether lips, his fingers now spreading her open; finding her most sensitive core, encircling it in leisurely fashion as she tingled with pure delight. "Oh, Duncan, yes!" she encouraged him, and when his mouth closed over that tiny tender nub to suck upon it, Ellen screamed softly, and her senses reeled.

He was dizzy with the scent of her, the taste of her, his face buried within her most secret place.

He sucked. He licked. He lapped at her juices, which were beginning to flow, while she writhed and encouraged him with little cries of pure delight. His heart was hammering furiously and threatening to burst through his chest. He was like a drunken man. And then he realized the throbbing ache of his manhood. He needed to be inside of her. Reluctantly he drew away from her moist sex and, quickly mounting her, drove hard into her sweet sheath. It closed tightly about him, squeezing him, loving him.

"Oh, yesss!" Ellen hissed. "Oh, yes!"

"Witch!" he accused. "I adore you!" And he thrust harder and faster until they were both breathless.

Ellen clung to her husband, her legs wrapped tightly about his firm body. Her nails raked down his long back, furthering his efforts to pleasure them. "Give me a bairn!" she demanded of him.

"Do you love me?" he countered, breathing heavily as he rested a moment.

"More than life itself, Duncan Armstrong!" she declared. "And don‘t stop fucking me until I am full of your juices, and your great cock is well satisfied."

He laughed aloud at her words, and began once again to pump himself into her. Slowly. Slowly.

Faster! Deeper! Until the woman beneath him was weeping with the pleasure he was giving her, and he was on fire with the pleasure she gave him in return. And then their passions shattered in an explosion of lust fulfilled. Duncan howled with his relief as his juices burst forth to flood her secret garden. Ellen screamed with satisfaction as she soared, filled with delight and love for this man who was her husband. Her legs fell away from his body as he rolled off of her.

But then, reaching out, he pulled her into his arms, holding her close. His big hand smoothed the long hair now tangled by their lovemaking. He kissed the top of her head, and felt her lips warm on his chest. Then together they slept until Gunna came to awaken them a short while after midnight. She brought water for them to bathe, and had already laid out fresh garments for them while they had slept.

"Is anyone else awake yet?" the laird asked the serving girl.

"They are just now beginning to stir in the hall, my lord. Sim has awakened the king and the Hepburn‘s man, and sent a man to the stable and barns to rouse the men. Cook has newly baked oatcakes and dried meat for the journey."

"Good. Tell Sim I‘ll be down shortly," Duncan told her, and when Gunna had gone he said to Ellen, "I don‘t want you going, wife."

"Put it from your mind, my lord," Ellen said, her voice determined. "It is my right to see Sir Roger Colby punished, husband. I will not remain behind."

The laird nodded. "Very well, then, let us get the stink of our coupling off of us or our passion will be ascertained by all." He would not argue with her. It was her right, but he had hoped that by offering her the opportunity to remain at Duffdour she would have taken it and been kept safe.

But then, his Highland wife, his border bride, was not a weak woman to be wrapped in a sheepskin and protected, for all her petite stature.

The water in the pitcher was hot, and there was enough for two full basins. They washed themselves and dressed for hard travel. Ellen would not ride sidesaddle, and so, having put on a clean camise lined in rabbit fur and a natural-colored linen shirt, she pulled on a pair of dark green woolen breeks that came to her knee, woolen stockings, and her brown leather boots.

Finally Ellen drew on her worn leather jerkin with its staghorn buttons. It was a garment her grandsire had given her the year before she had been sent to court. Then, dressed, she sat down, brushed out her hair, and plaited it into a single thick braid, which she tucked beneath one of her husband‘s laird‘s bonnets, with its silver clan badge. The badge showed a raised arm in its center, and its rim was inscribed about the edge with the Latin words Invictus maneo, which translated into "I remain unvanquished."

"Why does your bonnet have an eagle‘s feather, and mine does not?" Ellen asked him.

"Because I am the laird," he told her with a small smile as he fitted a dirk into his boot. Then he kissed her little nose. "And you are but the laird‘s wife, Ellen, my love."

"Well," she allowed, "I suppose that‘s fair. And you make a much better target that way, my lord husband. My father‘s cap had the eagle feather. I used to wear it."

He laughed aloud. "With God‘s good luck you‘ll not be a widow too soon."

"I would hope not," Ellen declared. "I want another night like tonight." And she laughed when he flushed. "I‘m certain we made a strong son, Duncan."

"Or a very headstrong daughter," he replied, grinning. "You blooded me, wench."

"We had best hurry down to the hall before everyone else is there and ready to ride. It will be difficult going without the moon," Ellen noted.

"The night is clear, and there will be a sliver of moon, enough to keep us from having to carry torches. And the horses‘ hooves will be muffled, so our passing will barely be noticed unless someone is up and awake, which is unlikely," the laird said.

"I remember the countryside being desolate," Ellen told him.

"It is, mostly," he agreed as they descended into the hall.

There they found the king and Hercules Hepburn commiserating with each other about the early hour. Together they went outside to the front of the house, where the horses and the men were milling about. Sim and several servants were passing out the oatcakes and dried beef to the group to be put into the pouches they all carried. Water bottles were filled, some with wine. Finally the raiding party was ready.

The king and the laird of Duffdour at their head, Hercules Hepburn and the lady Ellen behind them, they moved across the open area between the house and the walls, through the gates, and out onto the moor. The sky above them was as black as onyx stone, and filled with bright stars and the barest sliver of a waning moon. To Ellen‘s surprise there was just enough light for them to ride freely. And there was no wind. The air was April cold, but one could sense the milder weather to come.

After they had ridden for several hours, and a false dawn was just beginning to brighten the horizon, Ellen heard the sound of horses other than their own. She looked about nervously, but Hercules Hepburn reached over, patting her arm, and nodded that it was all right. And then Ellen saw coming to join them Conal Bruce and his clansmen in the company of Robert Ferguson, the laird of Aldclune, and his clansmen. They had been a large party riding out from Duffdour. Now they were a very large party, and Ellen suddenly realized it didn‘t matter how many men were at Devil‘s Glen. Sir Roger Colby was already a beaten man.

They stopped briefly to rest the horses, to eat oatcakes and chew on the dried meat, to drink from their flasks. Ellen watched proudly as her husband and the king went to thank the Bruce and the Ferguson clansmen for joining with them. Soon it would be over. Soon Sir Roger Colby would be punished for his presumption in kidnapping and holding the laird of Duffdour‘s wife, and for daring to attempt a plot on James Stewart‘s life. And then she would be free, Ellen thought. Free to be the lady of Duffdour. To mother her son, to nurture the bairn she was certain she and Duncan had created but a few hours back. She breathed deeply of the cool air surrounding her.

This was what freedom smelled like, Ellen considered, and she smiled.

They continued on after their brief stop, reaching Devil‘s Glen as the false dawn waned away.

Hercules Hepburn volunteered to ride down the narrow access to the glen so they might know what awaited them. He was gone close to an hour, and then he returned to make his report to the king and the laird of Duffdour.

"He‘s there, or someone is there in the house," he told them. "He has few men that I can see.

There are perhaps a dozen of them sleeping in the barn."

"You went in?" Ellen was horrified.

"Aye, how else were we to know?" the big man said. "I was quiet, and not a one stirred. They‘re undoubtedly drunk and bored, having little to do. A right nasty-looking lot, if I do say so, my lords. I could not say how many are in the house, however."

"You didn‘t go in?" Ellen teased him.

Hercules Hepburn grinned. "Nay, lady, I fear that there I bowed to discretion." Then he turned to the king. "But the door is nothing more than a door. The man either has no fear of being attacked or is a fool."

"What say you, Duffdour? Should we enter the glen now, or wait?" the king said.

"Now, while none are stirring," Duncan Armstrong said.

"We should leave some men here to guard the mouth of the glen, just on the chance that Colby has adherents coming to join him," Conal Bruce suggested.

"Aye, that way we‘ll be warned, and cannot be attacked from two sides," his half brother agreed.

"And Ellen must remain here too."

"Nay," Ellen said.

"I don‘t want you caught up in the fighting," her husband retorted.

"Nay, I would be there when the light fades from Roger Colby‘s eyes," Ellen replied stubbornly.

"If one of you kills him, then I miss my opportunity to watch him die. And he does not know that I am partly responsible for his downfall." She turned to the king. "My lord, at no other time would I go against my husband‘s wishes, but it is my right to see Colby meet his fate. This man kidnapped me, imprisoned me, abused me, and called me a whore and a slut. He said all women were. Let me come with you!"

James Stewart considered. The young woman he had known as an innocent girl, whom he called

"my bonny," was, he was surprised to realize, his friend. Kings, he knew, by virtue of their exalted positions, had no friends, yet Ellen MacArthur was his friend. Still, he did not wish to make an enemy of even as unimportant a man as Duncan Armstrong. His border lords were

invaluable to Scotland. "Let the main party go ahead first," he said to Ellen, "and when we have gained the glen I will send a man back for you. By the time you reach us the others will be slain, and we will be ready to assault Sir Roger‘s house." He took her small gloved hand up in his hand and kissed it. "I believe that will relieve your good husband‘s fears, my bonny. And it should suit you. Does it not?"

Ellen nodded. "Thank you, my lord," she said, and looked to Duncan, who nodded his

agreement.

"Then it is time," James Stewart said.

The laird of Duffdour ordered six of his men to stay behind with his wife, and they secreted their horses behind some trees. Then together he and the king led the raiding party into the access to Devil‘s Glen. The trail was narrow, and it would take them some minutes, moving slowly, to maintain the element of surprise before they reached the glen‘s clearing. Above them the sky was beginning to grow light with the coming dawn. The birds in the bare trees called back and forth and sang their morning songs. They moved carefully in order to preserve the peace of the place.

And finally they came out from their limited access. Before them stood the dark stone house, and about it two barns and several empty pens.

"The men are in the barn farthest from the house," Hercules Hepburn said.

"See to it," the king ordered him.

The big man gathered a group about him, murmuring his instructions. Then Hercules and his party moved across the open space and entered the barn where Colby‘s men were sleeping. They heard not a sound as the barn‘s inhabitants were quickly slain. And when the deed had been done, Hercules himself returned down the narrow track to fetch Ellen back.

When he reached her he told the others with her that they were to remain watchful, and send one of their own if anyone approached the entry to Devil‘s Glen. Disappointed, the Armstrong clansmen watched as their lady and her escort went back down the slender access to Devil‘s Glen. They moved slowly, for they went single-file. Hercules Hepburn, being a big man with a large horse, took up so much of the path they traveled that it was necessary for Ellen to come behind him.

She looked about her as their horses walked along. On either side of her rose up sharp hillsides, almost cliffs, of rock and earth, small trees, and brush somehow managing to cling to them. It would be a very dark trail in summer when the leaves were on the trees. And, looking up, she could see but a thin strip of sky. It was difficult to tell exactly what time of day it was, the bit of sky was so scant. She now had a greater appreciation for the care that was necessary to get through into the deep heart of the glen itself. And Ellen suddenly understood how the glen had gained its name. It seemed it was a devil of a place to reach.