'Never!' she swore as he rubbed himself tantalizingly against her.
He laughed. 'Beg!' he repeated.
In reply she pushed him from her and rolled away from him. He followed her onto the bed, reaching for her, but Alix eluded him, laughing. 'Now 'tis your turn to beg, my lord,' she teased him wickedly.
They rolled back and forth across the large bed until finally the laird caught his bride. He forced her beneath him. 'Now beg!' he told her fiercely.
'You beg!' she insisted. 'Do you not want to sheath yourself deep inside my warmth, Husband? Do you not yearn to take your pleasure?'
'Aye!' he told her, and pushed just the head of his cock inside her. 'And you,
'Aye!' Alix agreed.
'Then as we are of the same mind,' he said, and he thrust hard.
The breath went out of her as she felt the denseness sliding into her. He loomed over her, taking her legs and pressing them as far back as he could without harming her. Then he thrust hard a second time, and plunged deep over and over again until Alix was indeed begging him not to stop. She squeezed thick flesh probing her hard. He groaned and she smiled, for she realized that they were gaining equal pleasure. And then her head began to spin, and she saw stars behind her closed eyes. She heard herself calling to him, 'Please! Please! Oh, Colm, please!' And then she was spinning and falling even as she felt his juices exploding to flood her with his essence.
When she finally came to herself again Alix found herself in her husband's arms. 'And it isn't even noon,' she half whispered to him.
He laughed softly. 'Understand, madame, I don't intend letting you out of this chamber until the morrow. And if it rains on the morrow we will remain here.'
'But I'm hungry,' Alix said.
'Food will be brought to us,' he promised her.
'You have schemed all this out beforehand,' she accused him.
'I have,' he admitted freely. 'I love you, lambkin, and now that you are my wife I do not have to pretend. All in the keep knew it. But we are newly wed and shall have this day, and perhaps another, just the two of us.'
They had three days, for on the seventh of December it rained an icy rain, and on the eighth it snowed. And while on the morning of the ninth it was still snowing Alix insisted on leaving her bedchamber for Fiona's sake. The laird, while grumbling, knew she was right. His daughter was bright and lively, but she was also fragile. She had become very used to both Alix and her father being there for her. She greeted them when they entered the great hall almost with relief.
'Where have you been?' she demanded to know. 'I was afraid, but Fenella said it is the custom for a bride and groom to be alone for some few days. She said you would be back when that time was over. What were you doing?'
'We were doing what a bride and groom do when they are alone, and one day you shall learn that for yourself,' her father said.
'Have you enjoyed your holiday from your lessons?' Alix asked the child.
'Father Donald came when you were not here, except on the wedding day,' Fiona grumbled. 'He is not as much fun as you are, A-Mama. All he wanted me to do was read my Latin with him. He said I didn't need to know how to do mathematics. That my husband would do all that was important one day. But I like mathematics.'
'And we shall do some this morning,' Alix promised her. 'Iver, send to Father Donald and tell him I have returned and will take up my daughter's schooling now.'
'At once, my lady,' the steward said.
'I'm so glad you're back,' Fiona told them. 'I missed you. I was afraid you had left me, Da. Alix is now your best girl.'
'Nay, Fi,' her father assured her. 'Alix is my lady, but you will always be my best girl, even when you have brothers and sisters to play with, my bairn.'
'When will I have brothers and sisters?' Fiona wanted to know.
'Alix and I are working very hard to make them for you,' the laird told his daughter, who clapped her hands with delight. 'That is why we were away.'
'But we need not go away again,
'Aye, madame,' he told her with a grin. 'We most assuredly will.'
And Fiona was satisfied. The days grew very short as December progressed. As Alix had told Fiona the year before, she would be in charge of decorating it this year. The two, in Fenella's company, ventured out from the keep one morning to cut pine and other greenery. Over the next few days the hall was festooned with all manner of greenery and holly, along with many beeswax candles.
The Twelve Days of Christmas began on the twenty-fifth and ended on the sixth day of January. They had had a wonderful time just the three of them. Malcolm Scott couldn't ever recall having had such a glorious celebration as he did that year. And he realized he was unbearably happy. Really and truly happy for the first time in all of his life. He wondered if Dunglais had ever seen a happier time.
His father had been a hard man, but then it was a hard world in which they lived. His mother had been loving and patient. He was his parents' second child. His older brother had died at birth. And when he had been Fiona's age, his mother had given birth to a daughter who lived but several months. Oddly, his father loved his mother and had been satisfied with a single son even after his mother died and he might have taken a young wife to assure his line.
Times were particularly difficult when he was growing up. The king, James I, had been an honored captive in England since he was a boy of eleven. The last heir of Robert III, his father had sent him into the custody of the French king to keep him safe. But the boy's ship was captured by pirates and the young Scots heir taken to the English king. Although his elderly father had died upon learning of his heir's fate, James I was not able to regain his throne until he was twenty-nine. He returned with an English Queen, Joan Beaufort, the great-great-granddaughter of King Edward III of England.
Queen Joan bore her husband eight children, but unfortunately six of them were daughters. And then twin sons, Alexander and James, were born at Holyrood Abbey in the midautumn of 1430, but only James survived as his father's heir. When James I was murdered at Perth during the Christmas season seven years later, his son, James II, took the throne. The queen had been injured attempting to save her husband. She saw to the executions of his killers quickly and without mercy. Two years later she remarried to one of her husband's cousins, James Stewart, known as the Black Knight of Lome. They had three sons, but though others were now responsible for her first son, the young king, Joan Beaufort at least was able to give him a few companions who were not part of the squabbling factions running the boy king's life.
Malcolm Scott smiled to himself, remembering. He had been called to become the king's companion at the age of nine. The king was two years his senior. Oddly, the lad from a not particularly distinguished border family and the young king had become fast friends. While the other boys had either dropped away, or at their family's urgings allied themselves with those controlling the king's life, Malcolm Scott had remained loyal to James II. It had not brought him wealth or prestige once the grown king took charge of his life and his kingdom, but the two men had remained good friends. He had been happy then, but not like he was now with Alix.
January passed, and on the second day of February Alix brought Father Donald a supply of fine beeswax candles that would last the Dunglais church for the year. The day was called Candlemas. The ewes were once again lambing, and the days were growing longer again. Their lives had taken on a comfortable familiarity. Fiona was suddenly growing taller, and the nights were long and sweet as the laird and his bride worked to make a child. March came and went.
And then one late April day, the snows finally gone from the moors and the hillsides, the watch on the tower called out that a party of armed men was approaching the keep. At once the drawbridge was pulled up and the gates closed behind it. They did not appear hostile, and there were but six of them who rode with a gentleman. It was the gentleman who came forward and waited to be challenged.
'Who goes there?' came the expected query.
'I am Sir Udolf Watteson of Wulfborn Hall. I seek to speak with your master, and I request shelter for my men and me this night.'
