They struggled together to remove his boots and clothing, kissing as they did so. And when he was naked he threw her to the bed and, without further ado, pressed his length into her welcoming body. She was warm, and she was very wet. “You’ve taken no lovers then while I was away,” he growled into her ear.
“Not a one,” she replied. “Ohh, yes, Conal, like that!
Do more,” Adair begged.
He reamed her slowly, slowly, going deeper and deeper into her sweetness. Her legs wrapped about him, and he slid as far as he could. Her hair smelled sweet, and her body seemed to fit his perfectly. She moved seductively against him. She moved in time with the strokes of his manhood. She made whimpering little sounds of pleasure, encouraging him onward until his head was spinning. And then too soon his juices filled her, and he groaned, disappointed.
Adair held him in her arms comfortingly. He was stillinside her, and she realized that his lover’s lance had not lessened in either its size or its intensity. He had spilled his seed, but he was not yet satisfied. And then he began to move in her once more. He used her for some minutes, rested a time, and then began his sweet torture once again. Her pleasure exploded, and his mouth kissed hers, stifling her cries of delight. And still he remained within her, hard and hungry.
“You are going to kill me,” she whispered to him.
He laughed low. “I have missed you, that’s all,” he told her. Then he ground deeply into her again, and before many minutes had passed both the laird and Adair found themselves lost in a blaze of fiery passion that consumed them and then left them too weak to move as they fell into a deep sleep, fingers entwined.
A summer stretched before them. The bees buzzed in the heather that grew on the hillsides, and there was peace. Duncan Armstrong had gone to Duffdour, been welcomed by his clansmen and proclaimed their laird.
The Armstrongs of Duffdour had pledged loyalty to their new laird. Conal, Adair, and Murdoc missed him, however. Murdoc’s wound healed, but his sword arm remained stiff. Despite his distaste for war he practiced each day in the courtyard of the keep, until finally the stiffness released its hold on his body, returning only when the weather was particularly foul.
“Why do you do it when you dislike it so much?”Adair asked him.
“The borders do not remain peaceful for long,” Murdoc told her. “My arm may be needed one day to help defend Cleit. Remember, Adair, that I am the youngest of our mother’s bairns. I must earn my keep, for I have neither lands nor coin to call mine. And only my brother’s kindness allows me a roof over my head.”
“When you are older, we will find you an heiress,” she told him, and he laughed.
Hercules Hepburn came to bring them news of the king in late July. “The king has stripped his father’s late favorite, Ramsay of Balmain, of the title the old king gave him, and given it to Patrick. He is now the Earl of Bothwell,” Hercules told them. “And the king is hearing all the cases of the four great criminal offenses.”
“What are they?” Adair asked, curious.
“Murder, arson, robbery, and rape,” he told her.
“Does the English king not hear such cases, my lady?”
“We have courts, with judges,” Adair replied. “Sometimes the king will hear a very important case, perhaps an accusation of treason.”
“We have not enough learned men,” Hercules Hepburn admitted. “And it is good for the king to involve himself personally. His father was too lenient in his judgments. Our King James is not. He hanged the only son of old Lord Drummond of Perth for causing the deaths of sixty Murray clansmen and women. Young Drummond, a most charming young man, and a favorite of the king’s, had been feuding with the Murrays. He fired a church into which they had fled his forces, causing those deaths. He said he meant only to singe their beards, but he had barred the only door. The king judged him guilty and saw him executed, standing by old Lord Drummond’s side as it was done. The king said he would show no favoritism in his justice.
“And how the people flock to him. He can gonowhere without being surrounded by the common folk. They love him greatly. When he comes from the Tolbooth, where he has held court, a man goes before him shouting, ‘Make way! make way!’ But the people reach out to touch his garments, to grab at his hand and kiss it. I have never seen the like of it in all my life,” Hercules Hepburn said.
“Have all the lords reconciled with him now?” Conal Bruce asked.
Their guest drank deeply from his goblet. “Some, aye.
Others, nay, although they will come around eventually.
He called for them all to come to Edinburgh. Some of his closest associates wanted him to charge his father’s supporters with treason; others did not. Angus was most vocal in saying that charging a man with treason who had fought for his king was absurd. The king agreed. But he needed to overcome the charge of regicide that some foreign governments are crying.”
“England,” Adair said softly. “Henry Tudor would seek an advantage.”
“Aye, England. Ramsay fled there, and is attempting to encourage their king to invade Scotland,” Hercules told them.
“To what purpose?” Adair wanted to know. “Scotland’s legal and lawful heir sits on its throne. But tell us what happened when the lords came to Edinburgh.”
“Some came and some did not, as I have previously said,” the big man continued. “A list of those to be ar-raigned for treason was put forth, but of all those great names only one appeared. It was the old king’s uncle, the Earl of Buchan. Hearty James, as he is called, is a fat fellow. He knelt before the king, bent, with his head touching the king’s boots, and our Jamie lifted him up and forgave him. And while neither Huntley nor Crawford nor the other great names were in evidence, there were a goodly number of other lords, knights, and gentlemen come for the king’s judgment. And he was fair, fining them, scolding them. He told them his greatest desire is to make Scotland united, strong, and prosperous. That he had no room in his heart for revenge.”
“That was exceedingly gracious,” Adair noted.
“It smacks of his sire,” the laird said.
“Nay, he is nothing like old James,” Hercules assured them. “This is a strong king, but he has begun his reign by tempering his victory with mercy. He is spoken of well for it. But of course, when it came time for the king to reward his own faithful, all of his council and friends were telling him what it was they wanted. Angus, however, said nothing. He was taciturn. I suppose he expected the king to reward him without his saying. But then he grew angry at the others, and berated them for their greed and disloyalty. Unfortunately he included the king in his tirade, and when he had finished he slammed out of the chamber. The king could not run after him, although I know it must have hurt him, for Angus has been, along with Bishop Blacader, his closest supporter.
