Forty-One
Laurel grimaced as Teine’s hooves clattered on the stones within Stirling Castle’s bailey. She dreaded returning, even if she was relieved their four days of soggy travel finally ended. With her head bowed against the wind and driving rain, she’d had plenty of time to contemplate how her life changed since the last time she was at court. She’d struggled the first day of the journey to rid her mind of the sight of Colina floundering as Dominic held her head below the water. Brodie offered to carry out her sentence, but Dominic said he’d brought the viper into Eden, so he would be the one to remove it. Brodie forced Graham to watch before he hanged from the gallows for his part in the treasonous plot.
“We will leave the moment the king allows it,” Brodie pledged as he lifted Laurel from the saddle. He held the extra length of plaid over Laurel’s head, but she was already soaked. They hurried inside, and Laurel led Brodie to his former chamber, using servants’ stairs and passageways to avoid being recognized. They slipped into the chamber and shed their sopping wet clothes, huddling together in their spare plaids once Brodie built up the fire. They’d had little chance for intimacy while on the road. Between their guards’ presence and Brodie’s constant vigilance, there hadn’t been a chance to slip away. They traveled with three score of warriors, so Laurel felt well protected, but she was glad for the privacy and the time alone with Brodie.
“Do you recall the last time we sat before this fire?” Brodie whispered against Laurel’s ear before he trailed kisses along her neck and nipped at her bare shoulder.
“As I recall, we were lying, not sitting,” Laurel corrected. She opened her plaid and leaned back, Brodie supporting her head as she laid down. His body hovered over her as she reached for him. Brodie’s hand skimmed over her silky skin, his lips following its lead. His kisses scorched the inside of her thighs as his fingers peeled back the petals before his tongue lapped up her dew. She moaned as her hands clenched the plaid that laid around her. As Brodie’s teeth raked over her sensitive nub, she raised her hips to him. When he slid two fingers into her sheath, she was certain she would float away.
“Thistle,” Brodie murmured as he continued to lavish his attention on her core. She writhed as her belly tightened. “You’re close.”
“Yes,” Laurel whispered. Increased pressure and speed from Brodie’s fingers and a long draw on her nub between his lips pushed her over the edge. She willingly surrendered to the sensations Brodie created. She clawed at his back, silently begging him to shift so she could embrace him. When his length was within reach, she stroked with deliberate slowness. She brushed the tip against her entrance, smiling when Brodie growled. “I didn’t want to wait, but you made me. I shall do the same.”
Brodie nipped at her ear as she guided the head of his cock into her sheath. The moment her hand released him, Brodie surged forward, seating himself to the hilt. As their bodies moved together, they locked eyes and gazed at one another as the passion and need enveloped them. Nothing existed to them beyond their embrace. They rocked together in a rhythm they learned the first time they made love before the very fireplace that crackled beside them.
“Brodie,” Laurel pleaded. She clung to him as their lips fused together, and they both increased the pace and force of their thrusts until they cried out together. Laurel’s entire body tingled as pleasure coursed through her. Brodie’s cock twitched as his seed emptied into Laurel. He rolled them so he rested on his back, his stitches reminding him that he shouldn’t move with such disregard. But he’d gladly accepted the twinges of pain for the powerful release that came from making love to his wife. Laurel sighed, “I ken it’s only been four days, but it feels like forever.”
“Aye. I wish there were a way we could soar like a bird and fly as the crow does. We could be home without days of travel, days of hideous abstinence.”
“To have such magic,” Laurel smiled wistfully. “I don’t want to be in Stirling, and I don’t want to be at court. But I am happy to be before this fire with you. It reminds me of the first time. I’d never imagined a body could feel the way you make mine feel. I didn’t know then the happiness you bring me now.”
“I loved you then, Laurie. But I feared you didn’t feel the same. I wanted to tell you, but I was too cowardly to face the possible rejection.”
“I felt the same. I desperately wanted to tell you, but I feared making a fool of myself. But I knew even then what I know now: I love you and marrying you was the richest blessing I’ve ever received.”
The couple laid before the fire, talking about everything and nothing as they held one another until they drifted off to sleep. The world outside their chamber door long forgotten.
* * *
Laurel gritted her teeth as Margaret Hay glared at her. Her courtship ended when Nelson died on the battlefield. But the woman whose eyes shot daggers at Laurel seemed to have forgotten that Liam Oliphant now courted her. Unimpressed with Margaret’s attempt to intimidate her, Laurel rolled her eyes so everyone could see and turned her back on Margaret. But she came face to face with Catherine MacFarlane. The lady-in-waiting before her wore the same angry expression as Margaret. Her uncle, Andrew Mòr, refused to sign the betrothal agreement with Edgar Gunn once Andrew Óg explained Edgar’s role in Laurel’s abduction. From what Andrew Óg admitted when Laurel and Brodie found him at the evening meal the night following their arrival, his father had nearly torn him to shreds for suggesting the betrothal move forward. The irate laird asked how his son could be so daft as to think he’d create an alliance with a man who tried to harm the clan they’d just fought a battle alongside.
Sarah Anne came to stand beside Catherine and folded her arms, as though her posturing would intimidate Laurel. Rather than cower at the matching glares, Laurel laughed. Loudly. She folded her own arms and used her height to tilt her head forward and look down at the two women.
“Sulk and hiss as you please. I survived abduction, a battle, a night lost among the mountain peaks, and an attempt to kill me. Your pathetic attempt to intimidate me is just that: pathetic. Find someone else to bully. It didn’t work on me when I was stuck with you before, and it won’t work now.”
“You’re awfully full of yourself for someone whose husband was forced to accept her without a dowry,” Sarah Anne snapped.
“Think what you will, but either way, I married Laird Campbell, and you’re still a spinster.”
“Penniless pauper. You seduced Laird Campbell, so he had no choice but to marry you,” Sarah Anne pressed on.
“I wasn’t penniless after you spent one hundred and sixty pounds on that gown and two others,” Laurel said smugly. She no longer felt she needed to keep her secret. “Och, aye. I ken all aboot that. Do you want to ken how I do?”
Laurel’s expression was patronizing, and she knew it would antagonize Sarah Anne.
“Probably because you wanted the gown for yourself and couldn’t afford it,” Margaret chimed in as she came to stand beside her sister.
Laurel cast her gaze around the queen’s solar, grateful Queen Elizabeth was yet to join them. She pointed to the three women before her and to five more ladies-in-waiting. “Look at the bottom left of the embroidery on your bodice, tell me what you find.”
Laurel waited, amusement tempting her to laugh again. But she lost the battle and laughed so hard she nearly wet herself as one stunned face after another looked in her direction. All except Sarah Anne. She’d long suspected the woman couldn’t read or write. As the younger sister, it was clear her father hadn’t given her the minimal tutelage Margaret received. She looked blankly at Laurel before her eyes darted from side to side, trying to read the cues to how she should react.
“It’s an L and an R, Sarah Anne. I might have been the fourth daughter, but I’m still the daughter of an earl. He bothered to educate me. In case you truly don’t know, Laurel begins with an L, and Ross begins with an R. I made the gowns each of you is wearing. The others already figured that out.”
“You were a seamstress?” Margaret asked in disgust.
“Aye. And I’ve had the pleasure of watching ladies flounce around in my creations for years. You’ve looked down on me, thinking me a pauper, kenning my father wouldn’t provide for me. But I kenned you’d have naught to show off, no way to preen, if it weren’t for me. Tell me, have you found any gowns that compare to these since I left?” Laurel watched as eyes lowered and a few heads shook. “The best seamstress in Stirling suddenly disappears at the same time that Laurel Ross marries one of the most powerful lairds in the Scotland. An almighty coincidence. Look down on me all you wish, but I held the power to your social status while I was here. And I took it with me. You have naught to compete with. You’re all as plain as you were the day you arrived. I gave you status, and now I’ve taken it away. Do you ken what you can do?” Laurel watched as the women looked at her questioningly. “You can sod off.”
“Lady Campbell, I’ve missed your unique perspective on life at court.” Laurel froze as Queen Elizabeth’s words floated to her. When the woman said no more, she turned and dipped into a low curtsy that matched all the other women in the chamber. When they all rose, Laurel found the queen gazing at her, a suspiciously knowing expression in her eyes. “I long suspected you were the talented dressmaker, but none of my guards could ever catch you. I suspect it was your husband who deduced what you got up to. He is likely the only mon with the wits to keep up with you.”
