If he felt lonely, in the vastness of things, ’twas a feeling to which he’d grown long accustomed.
Gwen welcomed her husband home in a time-honored fashion. They spent the evening in their chamber, where she lovingly bathed the dust of travel from him, then joined him in a fresh bath and showed him how very much she’d missed him.
They lit candles and drew the velvet bedcurtains, alternately making love and stopping to feed each other tidbits from a scrumptious dinner delivered personally by Dageus.
It was clear from the array of foods, Gwen decided, that Dageus had quite the erotic mind, just like his brother. For he’d brought them lovers’ food: juicy slices of peaches and plums, baked meat tarts, cheese, and a crusty loaf of bread. He’d also brought honey, with nothing specific to put it on, a thing she’d not understood until Drustan laid her back upon the bed, drizzled a dab on that most feminine part of her, then proceeded to show her just how long it could take to lick it off. Thoroughly.
She’d peaked twice beneath his masterful, slightly sticky tongue.
Then there were cherries from the orchard, and she’d eaten a handful while trying her own hand at the honey.
Drustan had lain supine upon the bed for all of two and a half minutes before flipping her over on her back and taking charge of matters. She’d reveled in eroding his control. For such a disciplined man, he certainly came undone in bed. Uninhibited, passionate, his enthusiasm for sex was endless.
She’d fed him slices of roast pig, then given him small drinks of wine from her own lips. And when he’d whispered to her the same base, primitive words back that she’d said to him their first night together in the stones, untamed lust had consumed them both.
They’d rolled across the bed and tumbled to the floor, knocking over tables and candles and setting fire to the lambskin rug. They’d laughed and Drustan had doused it with the cooling bathwater.
And when she finally slept—spooned, her back to his front—with Drustan’s arms around her, her last thought was heaven. She’d found heaven in the Highlands of Scotland.
24
“Mmm.” Gwen sighed contentedly. She’d been having a marvelous dream in which Drustan was waking her by making love to her. Dimly, the realization penetrated—at the same moment he did—that it was no dream.
She gasped as, still spooned, he slipped into her from behind.
“Oh, God,” she breathed as he increased the tempo. Deeper, harder, faster. He thrust into her, his arms wrapped tightly around her, and nipped the skin at the base of her neck. When he rolled her nipples between his fingers, she arched back against him, meeting his every thrust until they peaked in perfect harmony.
“Gwen, my love,” he whispered.
When, later, he’d gone to fetch breakfast, intent on serving her in bed, she lay back, a silly smile plastered on her face.
Life was so good.
Whistling a cheery tune, Drustan balanced a tray laden with kippers and plump sausages, tatties and clootie dumplings, peaches and porridge, on his arm as he fumbled with the door. All had been prepared by Nell herself, all tasted by Robert.
Despite the fact that the threat loomed some distance yet in the future, he was taking no chances with his wife.
“Sustenance is here, and you’re going to need it, love,” he announced, pushing the door open.
The velvet bedcurtains were tied back, revealing a tangle of coverlets and linens, but the bed was empty. He glanced about the room, puzzled. He’d been gone a scant half hour, gathering food. Where had she gone? A quick visit to the garderobe? He had a delicious morning planned: a leisurely breakfast, a leisurely bath for his wife, who must be aching from so much bed play. More lovemaking only if she was able, if not, he would massage scented oils into her skin and gently minister to her tender limbs.
A chill of foreboding kissed his spine as he eyed the empty bed. Dropping the tray on a table near the door, he walked swiftly through the boudoir and into the Silver Chamber.
She wasn’t there.
He pivoted and stalked back to his chamber.
Only then did he see the parchment propped on the table near the fire. His hands shook as he snatched it up and read it.
Come to the clearing by the wee loch if ye value her life. Alone, or the lass dies.
“Nay!” he roared, crushing the parchment in his fist. ’Tis too soon, his mind protested. He wasn’t supposed to be enchanted for nearly a fortnight! He hadn’t even given the guards instructions to triple the watches and scour the countryside!
“By Amergin,” he whispered hoarsely, “we’ve changed things somehow.” By preventing Dageus’s death, they must have altered the way subsequent events would unfold. His mind raced furiously. Who was behind it all? It made no sense to him. And what might the enemy want with Gwen?