The Chief: Order of the Broken Blade Page 7

  Chapter 16

  Cristane sank onto her bed. She looked across her chamber to the raging fire and stared at it for so long dots appeared before her eyes. Little orange and yellow ones, blessedly simple and distracting.

  But they vanished all too soon, bringing her back to the present. The message had come from Clan Kerr, and tomorrow Terric and Rory would be leading their men, and others—the friendly reivers—in a fight against an old enemy. All day, everywhere she went, people had been talking about it. Asking her about her role in the provocations. How did she feel about being avenged? Would the men who had taken her be taken prisoner or killed?

  All assumed, of course, the Kerrs and Kennaughs would be victorious in battle, but a small part of Cristane worried for Rory.

  And there it was. Rory.

  No matter how hard she tried, his face kept floating before her. Haunting her. The feel of his lips on hers invaded every thought. No distraction would block him out. Fortunately, she’d become adept at avoiding him. Cristane knew his routine, so she’d gone late to break her fast, early at the midday and evening meals. She avoided the stables and spent all of her time preparing to leave for England. For what would come afterward.

  But yesterday . . .

  He’d entered the hall just as she left it, and their eyes had met and held. One look at him had been enough to smother all her efforts to find joy at the prospect of her reunion with Cait. For months that was all she’d wanted, but now . . .

  Fool that she was, Cristane had dared to hope for more. In those brief stolen moments in between sleep and wakefulness, she’d allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to be married to such a man.

  And now he was chief.

  She’d not congratulated him yet. Cristane simply could not bring herself to speak to him, knowing her own weakness when it came to Rory.

  Coward.

  Aye, she was that. And tomorrow he would ride into danger. He might even be killed . . .

  Cristane stood.

  He was the man she loved, aye, but Rory had been a friend long before that. Would she let herself be such a coward?

  Nay. She could at least congratulate him. Wish him well on the morrow.

  Pulling on a robe, Cristane walked to the door, paused for the briefest of moments, and opened it—only to find the very object of her thoughts just beyond it, his mouth agape.

  “Where did you think to go dressed as such?”

  He thought to tease her at such a time? Her throat felt strangled, but she managed a quip of her own.

  “What manner of man comes to an unmarried maid’s bedchamber at this time of night?”

  His step toward her forced Cristane back into the room.

  “One who wishes to finish a conversation.”

  Her eyes lingered on Rory as he closed the door behind him. He was dressed simply, in a loose linen shirt that gaped open, giving her a view of his rather remarkable chest. Although she could not identify why, exactly, Rory seemed . . . different.

  “A conversation,” she murmured, moving back into the room.

  “Aye.”

  Rory did not follow her.

  Cristane spun around, giving him a partial answer as well. “I was coming to see you.”

  His expression unreadable, Rory crossed his arms.

  “Is that so?”

  He was in her bedchamber. The reality of it slammed into her with the force of a war hammer. Rory Kennaugh, chief of their clan and the man she had loved for as long as she remembered, stood in her bedchamber looking at her as if he would ravish her.

  And Lord help her, she would let him.

  “Aye, ’tis so.” She cleared her throat. “I never did congratulate you. Chief.”

  “And that is all you wished to say?”

  Nay, of course not. But most of her words would need to remain unsaid.

  “And to wish you well tomorrow.”

  “There will be no tomorrow. I’ve just been informed by Darron that Clan McKinnon stood down. Once they realized our allies, along with the reivers, gathered forces again them. . .”

  She was elated, of course. But there was still the matter of Rory. In her chamber.

  Cristane hated silence more than anything, especially silence that felt so heavy. So charged with repressed feelings and desire.

  “And you came here because . . .”

  “Because I have a question for you, Cristane. And I would have your honest answer.”

  She did not hesitate. “I’ve never once lied to you, Rory. I do not plan to start doing so now.”

  The statement seemed to please him, but it was nothing but the truth.

  “What do you wish for, more than anything in the world?”

  Still, he did not move. He stared at her intently, waiting for her answer. Closed off until she gave it.

  “What do I wish for?” she repeated, her mind whirring. Why had he come? What did he want?

  “Aye. You are a woman, have always been a woman, who tosses expectations aside. ’Tis something I’ve always admired. And so I ask, if you could have one thing in this world, what would it be? What do you wish for above all things?”

  What do I wish for?

  Food. Warm clothing. A family. Cait.

  That was it, though of course, it wasn’t. The one thing she wished for most was something she could never have. She’d be a fool to admit it, especially now.

  “You promised me honesty, Cristane.”

  Honesty? It would not be easy to give it to him. But she had promised, and after she left this place, she would hardly ever see him again. Part of her needed to tell him.

  “To be your wife.”

  He did not react to her outrageous statement at first.

  “And my sister?” he asked finally.

  “I adore Cait. And would miss her most dearly. But you asked for the truth, and so I gave it to you.”

  She hardly had time to react. Rory reached her in a few long strides, pulling her to him, and proceeded to kiss her so thoroughly she almost forgot the obstacles between them. Swept away in a tangle of sensation, Cristane stopped thinking. Planning. Admonishing herself.

  She let her love for him take over instead.

  When she felt the cool air on her shoulders, Cristane realized her robe was gone.

  Rory cupped her face. “Marry me,” he said. “I am so sorry for asking you to become anything other than my wife. I was a coward, unwilling to be exactly as I am. To take exactly what I want. And I want you, so much I can already feel myself inside you. You claim to know me well, and you do. Then know that I love you, so very much. Please forgive me.”

  She heard the words, looked into his eyes.

  “I cannot become your wife. You are the chief. And I am . . .”

  “A magnificent woman. A friend to my family. I adore you. My mother adores you. The clan will love you, not for the alliances you bring but for the loyalty and love you give all of us. Marry me, Cristane.”

  “Your mother?”

  “Knew all, though I did not break your confidence. She also knew what was inside my heart and took me, fool that I am, properly to task for not being enough of a man to take what I want. And I want you.”

  He reached down then, underneath her shift, and ran his hand up her bare thigh. She stared boldly at him as his fingers moved closer and closer to her core. Nearly jumped when he reached it.

  Could it be true? Could this wonderful man truly be hers?

  She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything.

  “Do not be alarmed.”

  Before she had time to ask what he meant, Rory’s fingers were inside her. Her jaw dropped, the sensation too foreign, and yet . . .

  “I would bring you pleasure each and every day.” He moved those clever fingers now, and Cristane had no words.

  When she looked down at his hands between them, Cristane clenched. And then closed her eyes.

  “Nay, not like this.”

  She felt the loss immediately. Whippi
ng her eyes open, she saw he was undressing.

  “Rory . . .”

  She’d seen him without a shirt, of course. But never in her bedchamber. And just like that, the clan chief stood before her utterly and completely nude.

  “You will become my wife, Cristane. But first, I plan to remove that shift.”

  Before she thought to remind him she’d not yet answered his proposal—as if she would say anything other than aye—he made good on his promise. When he lifted her shift upward, her arms shot into the air of their own accord.

  Groaning, Rory grabbed her around the waist and did just as he had promised. One moment, she stood staring at the body of a god. The next, she lay atop the coverlet, pillow under her head, with Rory on top of her.

  His kiss seemed to last forever, and she never wanted it to stop. But it did, his lips moving lower and lower until they covered one breast. Prompted by an ever-so-slight tug of his teeth, she grabbed the back of his head and pulled him closer.

  Rory’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once.

  “I need . . .”

  But she didn’t know what she needed. Rory, on the other hand, seemed to understand. When his fingers entered her this time, she was more prepared. Allowing herself this pleasure, she pushed into them, slowly at first and then faster.

  “Please.”

  They disappeared again, just as they had before, leaving her achy and wanting.

  Positioning himself above her, Rory licked his lips. And she was done for.

  “When I enter you, it will hurt a bit at first.”

  She tried to say, I know, but nothing came out.

  “But by the time we’re done, I promise you’ll find nothing but pleasure in this bed. Tonight and every day. As my wife.”

  He dared her to disagree.

  When she didn’t, instead pressing her hips into his hand, which lay on her mound as if already claiming it, and her, Rory waited.

  For her?

  She smiled, realizing she had never answered him. “Aye, Rory. I will be your wife.”

  Smiling back, though not innocently at all, he did move into her then. But stopped.

  “You will no longer be a maid.”

  When she thrust upward, Cristane barely had time to relish the look of surprise on his face as Rory met her, entering her fully. And aye, there was a bit of pain, but not as much as she had feared.

  Covering her with his body, Rory’s face just inches from hers, he kissed her again. Tongue swirling and tasting her every bit as much as she did him. When he moved again, finally, it was entirely as pleasurable as before, but fuller, as if he’d given her all of him.

  Moving to the rhythm he set, Cristane became impatient. Grabbing the back of his head once more, she pressed closer with every part of her body. In response, Rory circled his hips to a pressure she could no longer withstand. It was the sweetest of treats, but it unleashed something fierce and hungry in her. A scream escaped her lips as her body clenched everywhere. She could hear his laughter, not mocking but joyful, as the world burst and her toes and buttocks clenched tightly. His roar of pleasure only intensified the feeling until Cristane finally remembered where she was, who she was with.

  When had they stopped kissing? What precisely had just happened?

  “I had no idea,” she murmured.

  Rory looked immeasurably pleased with himself. And with her.

  “’Tis not always such.” He moved an errant strand of hair back off her face. “But when a woman takes your buckle, declares herself in love with you, and when you have the courage to love her back”—he leaned down and kissed her nose—“it seems the word lovemaking was created for such a scenario.”

  A memory flitted into her mind then.

  “What is it?”

  “I saw you first,” she said. “On Saint Valentine’s feast day, I saw you first.”

  “Mmmm.” His eyes did not leave hers. “You’ve been talking to Amye, have you?”

  Cristane laughed. “Perhaps. It seems, sometimes, good things do happen to good people.” And then her smile fled. “This means Amye will never allow me to help in the kitchen.”

  Rory moved within her again, hard and apparently ready to begin anew.

  “You may help Amye, take charge of Bradon Moor . . . you may do anything that pleases you if you make me one promise.”

  She would give this man anything. Cristane had already given her heart to him. What more was there?

  “Anything.”

  “Promise to love me, always, and all that I have is yours.”

  She’d never been asked to make an easier promise.

  “You have it, this night and every one that follows.”

  The chief smiled, a victorious and loving smile.

  “As you have mine.”

  Not ready to leave medieval Scotland just yet? Jump into Cecelia’s brand new series coming Feburuary 2020. Highlander’s Through Time follows four brothers from modern New Orleans as they fall back to 13th century Scotland in a quest to find their missing mother.

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  Author’s Note

  The end of The Chief seemed like such a natural stop for the story, and the series, that I chose not to write an epilogue this time. Thank you Elaine for the tips in the final chapter of the story.

  This period of history, from the early 13th century in Order of the Broken Blade to the late 13th in my other historical series, the Border Series, has become one of my favorites to write about for many reasons. As a lifelong Anglophile who studied medieval history and literature in college, all things Middle Ages continue to fascinate me.

  With so many ideas swirling through my head for a new historical series coming in 2020, I would love to hear from you! Join other readers and me in Blood and Brawn, my Facebook reader group, and share your favorite period in medieval history. It just might become the setting of my next historical series.

  Most of all, thank you for reading Order of the Broken Blade and for spending your precious hours with Lance, Guy, Terric, Conrad, Rory, and the ladies they love.

  Xoxo,

  Cecelia

  THE CHIEF Copyright © 2020 by Cecelia Mecca

  Cover Design by Kim Killion @ The Killion Group, Inc.

  Edited by Angela Polidoro

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.