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“Yer mine, mo ghràdh. In this life and all the eons to come. Eternity isnae enough time. There will ne’er be enough time.”
“Aye, I ken and ye are mine as well, mo chridhe.”
Mayhap there is some truth to this witch business after all…
CHAPTER 3
CULLODEN
My cock is still hard inside of her, our pleasure still ringing out inside of me. Never has anything been sweeter. Never.
The wife of my heart is not mine by law. I mean to correct that as soon as we get back to Leydfrod Castle. The minister there will be able to marry as we have already consummated our handfasting. When I start to move away from her, she stops me.
“Stay, husband,” she whispers, clinging to me.
“I doona want to hurt ye, love,” I reply, and she reluctantly lets me go. My cock comes out of her with a sloppy wet sucking sound, and I grin. Unbidden, I can picture her round with my child, already holding a slightly older wee bairn. I realize now how much I want that with her. Only her. Forever her.
I lie down beside and pull her toward me, cradling her in my arms.
“Are we crazy?” she whispers.
“No, lass.”
“How can ye be sure?”
“Because I’ve been waiting for ye my entire life. Have ye heard rumors of the Stewart men?”
“I’ve heard tale that they do not wench, not imbibe to excess. Our storyteller told us they were weak.”
“Those vices are the weakness, I rather think. To me, these can only be strengths. I ken that I was put on this Earth to love only you. I kenned it the second I saw ye. Dancing bare for me with the firelight glowing on your perfect pale skin. Daracha, lass… I will love ye until I take me last breath. There will be no one else for me. I meant it when I said I was yers. And ye are mine. We will wait this storm out and then travel to Leydfrod Castle until spring. Then we will return here and rule over this land together.”
“I’d like that verra much,” she says. “I am starving. Shall I cook something for us?”
“That would be lovely,” I reply. Then she gasps. “What? What is wrong?”
“Is that amount of blood normal? I looks as if someone was murdered in this bed.”
“What? It should only be a verra small amount unless I hurt you. Did I hurt you?” I ask as I take in the sight of all the blood. It is all over the bed and the tops of her thighs and mine.
“No, I mean just for a moment at the very beginning but the rest was pure pleasure. It is you. Yer leg is bleeding, husband.”
“Shite, I forgot I was stabbed earlier today.”
“Ye forgot? How? How do you forget being stabbed? Does it happen so often that it could slip your mind?” she asks, scrambling out of bed. She puts a kettle of water on the fire and comes back to the bed carrying clothes and a small bag.
“Ye made me forget. Ye were dancing naked. I didnae have a moment to think about my wound.”
“Silly man. Come. Sit on the edge. Let me tend to ye.” She tuts under her breath as she begins to wipe my blood away. “Oh, husband. This doesnae look good at all.” Once she has the blood cleared away, I see the edges of the wound are red and swollen.
“Tis naething. Ye should see the other man,” I say, trying to put her at ease. A fever is what kills more men. The wound itself not so much.
“Ye arenae funny. What if you get a fever? My sister would be able to help you, but all I can do is clean you up and soothe a salve on it. You shouldnae have come in this condition,” she says, tears welling up in her eyes. I place my hand on her cheek and lean down to kiss her. Her concern for me warms my heart.
“I promise ye lass, this is just a flesh wound. I have been hurt far worse than this in my many battles.”
“That doesnae make me feel any better. What will you do now as laird. Will you still fight?”
“Only when needed to here, I promise ye. Our home may need defending and I willnae sit by and let our home crumble around us.”
She nods but says nothing else. I wish I could assure her that everything would be alright, but that is a promise I canna make, for surely it would be broken. I am a savage man; I have had to be. The water finishes heating; I watch as she dips a clean strip of linen in the water, swirls it about in the air to prevent it from burning me, and washes my wound carefully. She gently applies a salve to the wound and rubs the rest of my thigh, instinctively knowing that it pains me. Jealousy momentarily surges up in me, thinking about her doing this to another man. She is kneeling in front of me, and I cannae help my body’s reaction to her nearness. She smells like lemons, and I’ll never smell another lemon again without thinking of her. Of my wife.
