“Well?” he demanded. As he stood there, feet apart, arms akimbo, he had no idea what a frightening picture he presented. A tall, muscular stag of a man in a rage was a terrifying sight to see for two small women.
“No’ exactly, M'laird,” said Etta and looked at Fergie, the other housemaid.
“Tell me exactly then,” Alex demanded in a threatening rumble, “is she hurt?”
“Naw, M'laird,” Fergie said fearfully. She went on to tell Elsie's story about what had happened in town. As she spoke, Alex’s face grew darker and darker.
“You say she was hitting him?” he asked, eyes narrowed.
“So Elsie says, M'laird,” she said, wringing her hands nervously.
Alex made a noise like a snarl. He was sure that Robina had not encouraged him, so Lockie had been taking a chance, hoping that somehow he could tempt her back into his arms.
He dismissed the maids, who scurried off without looking back, and thought for a while. He could not let this pass; not only had his wife been embarrassed, but his honor was at stake. He could do without that if he had to, but he could not and would not have Robina insulted.
There were several courses of action to be weighed up. Lockie was a coward; he would never come to Alex’s castle, and Alex would not go to Lockie’s for fear of imprisonment. Alex knew that Lockie was not above making him disappear for his own ends.
There was only one answer: they would meet in the Church of St Veronica in Glengour. A church was a place of sanctuary where even Lockie would feel safe, because drawing a weapon inside a church was a mortal sin and killing someone was instant damnation.
Just at that moment Robina came in. Her face was ashen, and she looked drained and exhausted. The minute she saw him she ran into his arms and burst into tears.
He held onto her tightly as she wept, cursing Lockie to hell. He sang the same little melody he often sang to her at bedtime, then, safe in the warmth and strength of his arms, she calmed down. Alex dried her tears.
“All right now, sweetheart?” he asked softly.
She nodded against him.
“I heard what happened,” he told her. “You know how it is, gossip spreads like wildfire.”
“I am so embarrassed,” she whispered. “He made me feel so small and stupid, but I did get a little bit of revenge.”
“What?” he asked, smiling.
“I threw a tankard of ale over him!” she exclaimed, then managed a little laugh. “You should have seen his face!”
“I wish I had!” Alex laughed. His face grew sorrowful. “What a waste of good ale!”
“I know how you can make it better,” she whispered, her eyes twinkling.
“Milady!” he said, scandalized. “You are insatiable!”
“But you love it!” she giggled.
“Yes, I do,” he smiled, and kissed her, and soon the cares of the day melted away.
He gently set her on their bed then looked her all over. “My wife, you are so beautiful,” he whispered. She heard the note of pride and possessiveness in his deep voice. He kissed her stomach, as he loved to do. “Do not move a muscle,” he instructed. He kissed and licked her nipples, then ran his tongue down her body to her navel, where he paused to kiss and lick it again.
She giggled. “You are tickling me!” she protested.
“Good!” he replied, as his mouth moved closer and closer to her slick wetness.
She gasped as his tongue touched her, but a moment later as they joined together all she could think about was Alex as he concentrated on giving her the most loving pleasure a man could give a woman.
She watched his face as he came to a climax, his eyes looking straight into hers as she came too, then he rested his head on her breasts, feeling their softness against his skin.
“I will always be your shield, Robina,” he murmured, then his voice hardened. “That is why I am going to kill him.”
She gasped in fright. “No!” she cried. “No, you will not, Alex. They will hang you and our baby will be without a father. And I will be without my love.”
