Chapter Sixteen

'S ioma latha fada gu Bealtainn.

(There be many a long day until May Day .)

— Auld Scots Adage

When Julian entered the lord's chambers, he pulled up. Tamlyn rested on her belly, sleeping deeply, so deeply she barely seemed to draw air. His breath caught and held, whilst his eyes drank in the sleek curves of her bare back. The plaide blanket covered her hips, whilst the mass of shimmering gold hair spilt over one shoulder. Blood surged in his exhausted body, and suddenly, he did not feel quite so tired.

He carefully removed his sword and baldric so their clanking would not disturb her. With her constant squirmings last night, he doubted she found any more rest than he had.

As he sat on the long bench, undressing, his gaze never left her still form. Her pagan beauty moved him in a way words failed to express. He just knew he needed her, that his life had been cold, so empty before her golden presence came to bless him.

As Damian and he had grown, he had become aware his cousin oft experienced feelings— warnings —he could not explain. Especially clear in Julian's memory was just a year ago in Wales. As they approached a pass, Damian unexpectedly reached over and yanked the reins on Pagan, bringing their mounts to halt. He insisted they rode into a trap. And oddly, he had been right. Flanking the passes, they outwitted the Welshmen lying in wait for them. There was no way Damian could have known. Later, with a shrug, his cousin had chalked it up to his mother's Scottish blood .

Now, Damian insisted that fey ability had conjured the face of the woman he would marry, and that face was Tamlyn's. Julian had seen his cousin right too many times to doubt that Damian believed what he asserted. It was not Tamlyn. It could not be Tamlyn . Julian knew he would never let her go. Glenrogha and Tamlyn were his, and hold them tightly he would. Neither king nor cousin had better try to change that.

His dark side spurred him to take her tonight, brand her body, inside and out. Claim Tamlyn, bind her to him so she would never leave him. With a mind muzzy from fatigue, he had trouble remembering why that was not the path to travel.

After disrobing, he felt the penetrating chill in the chamber. In just his braies, he walked to the fireplace and added a brick of peat, still finding humor in that the Scots burnt dirt to stay warm. It caught quickly, flaring to life. The heavy earthy scent filled the chamber. Closing his eyes for several breaths, he stood inhaling the mysterious scent, and just listened to his heart thud out a plaint for Tamlyn.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Fool, stop thinking about the wench and go lie next to her, hold her," he whispered to the shadows.

Quick steps had him moving to the raised bed, and then carefully sliding under the covers. Oh, what he would not give to roll her over and push his throbbing flesh into that slick, warm heat of her body. A glow spread through him. He envisioned the many nights ahead, when after a long day of exhausting duty, he could come to bed and seek just that. Tamlyn waiting for him was heaven in his mind.

Drawing a ragged breath, he scooted closer, needing Tamlyn's nearness as he needed his next breath. Her scent hit his blood, a heady potion. Gently placing his hand on her back, he savored the coolness of her skin, its softness.

He drew his shaking fingers down the column of her spine, hesitated when he reached the tartan. The darker side of his desires held sway, so he slowly edged the material away exposing her rounded derrière. His palm traced over the curve, and unlike her back, the flesh was warm. Unable to stop himself, he leaned against her and kissed her shoulder. She sighed, and then a small shudder rippled over her. She turned, arching into him. Seeking his body heat.

And he had plenty to spare.

Tamlyn had no idea just how hot he burned for her. The beautiful breasts tightened under the cool air of the room, the soft, sandy-colored areola ruching to where her nipples jutted high and taut. With the pad of his index finger, he faintly circled the dusky tip, watching it retract even more. Tamlyn was so responsive. Unable to resist, he slid down the bed, just enough to use his tongue in the same action.

Her breath sucked in as her body bowed against his mouth, wanting more. His trembling hand sought the tip of the other breast, stroking, circling, then finally gave it a small tug and rolled it, as he greedily drew the first nipple into his mouth. He kept up that rhythmic pull on them both, her hoarse sighs rising in strength as craving seared through her body and mind.

Male territorial instincts spiraled within him, provoking him to take what was his. Edward's betrothal decreed she was his in all but deed. None would gainsay should he take her now and wave the bloody proof of her virginity as a pennon from the lord's tower of Glenrogha. He wanted to claim her, first with his hands, then his mouth and tongue―wanted to lap at her scalding honey―then, he wanted to ride her hard, her under him, over him, up against the wall, mount her as a stallion did a mare…and a score other ways.

"Yea, Challon, I…canno'…run from you," came the faint breathy words. She was strangely trapped in dark dreams, where the heart was open, and truth and desire spoke.

His heart slammed against his ribs at the avowed words, seizing them as a near salvation after doubts from Damian's pronouncement had rooted in his mind. At first, Julian was puzzled by how lost she was to walking through her dreams, but he lifted her chin and brushed a soft kiss against her small mouth. She tasted of herbs, the flavor tart and sweet. Had she taken a potion? Mayhap 'twas the old crone's doings. Locked in the tendrils of the philter, she slumbered in Morpheus' realm. In spite of the lingering fear of enchantment, it thrilled him that her dreams were of him; it fed his hunger that she knew there was no escaping him.

Bending his knee, he gently pushed his left thigh between hers, forcing it up against her female mound. Her thighs locked around his leg, rubbing against his like a cat. 'Twas nearly his undoing. He wanted to kiss her, kiss her until dawn. Slow and soft. Hard and ravenous. He wanted to kiss her as the first shafts of morning speared into the solar, watch her golden beauty under him, and then slip into her body. He envisioned her eyes opening as she awoke in the throes of a shattering release, recognized he owned her, and no man but him had right to touch her… ever.

If he kissed her, the fantasy would be made real.

Instead, he wrapped his arms about her body, pulled her tight against him, and helped her rock out her urgent need. A strangled cry escaped her throat, as the faint thrusting of her hips stilled. Leaning to Tamlyn, he lightly brushed his lips over hers, drinking in the moans of her crest, sharing it, and using all his restraint not to devour her mouth with the hunger clawing at his insides.

Julian leaned back against the headboard, hugging her to his chest. He shook from the force within him, the blind yearning, unable to fathom all Tamlyn caused him to feel. In all his years, he had never required many things. He loved his brothers. Loved his father. And loved Damian as a brother. He needed his chargers to protect his life in battle. Yet, as he sat holding Tamlyn close, he could not recall ever needing anyone, that his happiness rested on the whims of another.

But he did need Tamlyn.

If he could not bind her to him, make her breathe for him as much as he needed her, he feared for that final shard of his sanity. He was a hard man—had to be to survive and live to this age. Only, he was so weary. He needed more than fighting, had to know his life counted for something other than an instrument to further Edward's pale aims.

He put his hand to the back of Tamlyn's head, cradling it with a fierce possessiveness.

Julian called himself fifty-seven kinds of a fool for placing so much hope on Tamlyn.

He might be casting his lots, only to have all his dreams crushed.

Feeling tears suddenly flooding his eyes, he panicked. By damn, this madness was overtaking him! He was a warrior, and not to be brought to his knees by a woman. Not this easily! He scooted Tamlyn aside and slid from the bed, embracing the anger.

???

Tamlyn roused slowly. She had dreamt of the black knight again, of the sacred pond, and how he had kissed her under the falling water. Every detail had been so real. This time, the dream did not end with the falls becoming flames, and the screaming of ravens, but moved past—to him claiming her on the muddy bank of the hallowed pool.

Her body still pulsed with sensations, the brand of his possession.

Challon had not returned by the time the evening meal had been ready. Over and over, she assured herself there was naught to fash about. He was safe. The taibhsearachd — second sight —had shown she was present when the attack upon him came. Since she remained locked within Glenrogha's walls there was little chance of it happening. He would return. Still, the ever-present nagging had dogged her steps throughout the long and tiring day, ending with her head aching to the point she was sick. Auld Bessa recognized the distress and had appeared at her elbow to push another tansy at her.

Not relishing the taste of the potions, her stomach rolled. She tried to shove it aside. Waking up on the following morn was so hard. "Nay, my head always fills as if 'tis stuffed full of wool come daybreak, and I always sleep too long."

"Sleep be what you need, lass." The crone put the cup on the table before her. "Drink. 'Tis a different one. No' so harsh on the tongue. Go ahead, stubborn wean. Bodies need healing rest. You needs must slumber in the lowest realm where dreams come to be. 'Tis your trial to face what be ahead. On the morrow, you wake resolute, and ready to deal with life's troubles."

With grumbling reluctance, she downed the thick liquid. The mixture tasted of rose, lavender and heather. Too late, she detected the sweet, tart flavor of mandrake. "You feed me Mayapple?" Almost an accusation, the words came out slowly, as she could already feel the tansy starting to spread through her system. "What have you done, Bessa? I feel... strange."

"You have no' found rest peacefully for a sennight. This nightfall you shall find that dark slumber of Annwn ."

Blinking her eyes, she pushed to her feet, struggling to stand. Fighting against the effects of the herbs, she barely made it up the stairs to the chambers. It was with the greatest effort that she undressed and climbed into bed. Closing her eyes, she reached for the cover to pull it up over her since the chamber was cool. The plaide remained fisted in her hands at her hips .

Within heartbeats the black knight came to her again, and he kissed her under the falls. Every detail had been so achingly real. The taste of his hot mouth, the contrast of the coolness from the droplets of water. This time the dream went on, to him touching her, stroking her. Finally, he laid her down on the muddy banks of the sacred pool, and had taken her in a savage claiming.

Giving her no quarter. She did not want one.

Now, lying in the bed, her mind struggled to separate from the vision. Everything had felt so real that she was loath to let go of being there with him. Her body still vibrated with the hungry sensations, ached for him to possess her again. Reaching out, her hand stroked the bedding, surprised to discover it warm. Challon had returned in the night? She rubbed her nose against the coverlet and allowed his special scent to flood her mind, summoning all the profane, erotic images of her lovemaking with the warrior all in black. A wall of heat roared through her body, excruciating. Her breasts sensitive, a tightness in her womb clenched like a fist.

Her eyes glanced about seeking Challon, wondering where he had gone. Had he left already?

Grey light filtering into the chamber from the solar told her dawnbreak neared. She listened for sounds or stirrings. All was quiet, yet somehow, she sensed Challon's presence. Sliding from the bed, she wrapped the soft ruana around her, and on silent feet padded into the other room.

Tamlyn paused under the solar's archway. Effects of the potion still eddying within her, she blinked, trying to adjust to the brilliance of the rising sun. The light was almost painful to her eyes. Damn Bessa and her strange concoctions!

Then, in the halo of the morn's rosy radiance, she spotted him. Challon stood motionless, a silhouette against the stained-glass window. The Kenning roared to life within her, as a wave of sadness brushed against her mind. Oddly, she sensed a troubling chaos. His emotions clashed violently—anger, pain and crippling need. She almost sucked in a breath as she felt the anger was directed at her. Everything was too jumbled for her to discern what was tearing at his soul. Tamlyn wondered, mayhap, if he was recalling his brother, Christian. She wanted to go to him, hold him. Offer this man solace he so desperately needed.

Her heart jumped, pounding a tattoo. Lingering sexual desire of the dream flared. She wanted him. The mind-consuming reaction dumbfounded her, how this man ignited this dark response within her, whilst St. Giles―so like him―did not.

She thought Challon remained unaware of her presence. Confused by her own body and his warring emotions, she started to turn away.

His words stopped her. "Your father was wise, gifting your lady mother with this window. 'Tis quite peaceful standing here, watching the world come awake."

"Aye, 'struth." Tamlyn felt perplexed. Peace was not what she sensed roiling within him.

Unsure, she crossed the room. "My mother loved it. She died here, you know. My father had the servants fetch his chair from the Great Hall. He carried her in and held her in his lap, rocking her frail body. They watched the sun rise together…" The words lodged in her throat and she could not speak more.

Even after all this time it still hurt. The image of her father holding the woman he loved more than life, humming to her as she passed over, brought tears to Tamlyn's eyes. The sorrow as strong as if it were yesterday. Tamlyn had thought Hadrian would go mad. She would never forget that insane, animalistic howl that arose from him as he had sensed her spirit no longer lingered.

A blanket hung around Challon's shoulders like a mantle. Lifting his arm, he partially opened the cover, a silent invitation to share the warmth of his body. Tamlyn did not hesitate, but rushed to that promise of comfort. His intense heat dispelled the coldness of the heartrending memory.

Challon enfolded the wool about her and pulled her near. "You still cry tears for your lady mother. How old were you?"

"Five and ten." She slid her arms around his waist greedily absorbing his fire.

"I barely recall my lady mother. She died trying to give my father another son. I was only five. After her death, Guillaume and Destain's mother raised me. She was a kind and gentle woman. My brother, Darian, was from a maidservant." Challon lifted her chin so she would look at him. "What is it? I felt your heart miss a beat. "

When she did not answer, he stroked his thumb over her cheek. It was hard to imagine a warrior so used to wielding a sword being so gentle. She looked up into his eyes, sensing so many contradictions within this man.

"Tamlyn, you must learn to speak your thoughts. How else are we to know each other?"

She nodded. "My father loved my mother deeply, honored her above all others."

He nodded faintly. "Go on."

"'Afore I said I wouldst marry with you if you agreed to two conditions. I spake I ask two things only." She moistened her lips, fighting to get the words out.

Challon's head lifted as he drew in a frustrated breath. "I promised I shall wed you in your rites—though I have no idea what I agreed to. Howbeit, as for your father, I fear there is little I can do."

"Surely, Edward would listen to you? My lord father be no friend of Clan Comyn and the Balliols. He killed Balin Comyn for trying to kidnap my lady mother on their wedding night. Why he rode out under their banner still be riddles neither my sisters nor I understand. Raven thinks he went to parley, make terms for peace like Edward has done so many times in the past."

He kissed her forehead lightly. "I shall do what I can, Tamlyn. If it were within my power, I wouldst see him released. These days, Edward little listens to anyone."

She swallowed her rising tears. "'Tis not that. I wouldst ask one more thing."

"Yet another condition, Tamlyn? You play games? Bend your mind to the coming reality. We shall wed."

"Still, I ask this last thing."

He exhaled, his temper growing short. " Last one , Tamlyn. I want your agreement after this. No more dragging of your feet. We needs must move forward."

"If you speak your troth with me, then I expect three vows to be held true. The final one: I shan't accept a lord husband who keeps a leman."

"If?" Challon moved so fast she had no time to react. He pushed her back to the wall beside the window, his mouth taking hers. The ruana slid down her shoulders, the stones cool to her exposed back. But Challon was all fire. He used his lips, his teeth, his tongue, working her mouth until she gave him what he wanted. Head spinning, sensations eddied through her blood until it was painful. He was not rough, but he devoured her, kissed her with a savage fury that was terrifying.

She felt as if she were losing herself. His warlock's power was suffocating her will to resist.

Tamlyn pushed against his shoulders. Challon was strong, the muscles of his beautiful arms rock hard, unyielding. He refused to break the kiss, but finally sensing her panic, gentled his demand. The slow, tender siege to her senses was more devastating. It saw her fear scatter, cast away upon the winds of Annwn . Instead of pushing against him, she clung to him, her fingernails biting into his skin. Shaking, she feared her legs would not hold her.

His hand snaked cross her belly, and then lower. The fingers of his right hand sifted through the soft curls. Shocked, she squeaked within the kiss, as his middle finger intruded farther pushing over her mound, along the wet crease, and finally into her body.

He broke the kiss and lightly nipped her lip. Moving the finger in and out slowly, he spoke low husky words, "Feel how your body weeps honey for me." He chained kisses up her jaw, then to nuzzle her hair against her ear. "I want to taste that honey."

Her eyes batted thrice as it registered what he meant. "But that be—"

"Be what, sweet Tamlyn?" His chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Wouldst you deny me?"

"But surely men do not—"

"Aye, they do. Think on it, my faidhaich . My mouth moving on you…my tongue thrusting in you." He moved his finger slowly, agonizing, making her body jerk in response.

Tamlyn was shocked by his suggestion, thinking this was not right. Then, Challon's hand worked magic and her mind instantly conjured the dark image, of him on his knees before her, doing everything he promised.

And she wanted that. Ached for that.

Her thighs clamped around his hand, holding him, as lightning arced through her, exploding within her brain until the world seemed to come apart in a million pieces, then slowly put itself together again.

"Sweet mercy." Julian sagged against her, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as his whole body tensed to steel.

Tamlyn listened to his labored breathing. Not moving, she feared he might fall since he leaned heavily on her. Just as she grew concerned, he straightened up. Putting a hand above her shoulder, he loomed over her.

"You give me that, when I want, faidhaich —every time I want—and then there won't ever be a question of a leman."