Chapter 9

Chapter

Nine

W hen Laura woke, the eagle was gone and the sun was out. Mistress Berenson had her head stuck around the side of the door. "Upsie-daisie, lazy bones. It is noontide!"

She saw the housekeeper had left a long length of black plaid for her to wear. "Where are my clothes, Mistress Berenson? I can hardly wear a length of wool to dinner."

"Yer clothes were as damp as a Monday morn in November, Maiden! I am drying them in front o' the kitchen fire." Bustling inside, the housekeeper showed Laura how to pleat the wool and then belt it over her chemise and around her waist.

Looking down at the thin material of her undergarment, Laura blushed. "Um, what covering do I layer over the top?"

Again, the kind old woman showed Laura how to lift the length of plaid hanging down at the back of the belt and pin it over her shoulders. "See? This practical length o' wool is all at once a blanket, a skirt, and a shawl. See how bonny ye look."

The arisaid did make her curves stand out in a very voluptuous way. The voluminous skirt stopped a good few inches from her ankles, which Mistress Berenson told her was necessary to keep the hem out of the mud. "Not that ye'll have much mud in yer future, Maiden," the housekeeper clucked her tongue, "because ye're set to become the wife of a laird's son, are ye nae?"

Laura did not reply. She pretended to be busy tying the ghillies over her stockings, but the small crease between her delicately arched eyebrows gave her away.

Later on, when she joined the Berensons in the kitchen, Laura found it easier to be enthusiastic. "It smells so good, Mistress. Thank you for all your hard work." They set about rolling pastry and setting tarts next to the fire to bake.

The mountain fortress had not seen such an elegant dinner for many years once Laura had finished cooking and baking. There was a bramble berry tart served with a thick, rich custard made with eggs and honey, clotted cream from the milk of a shaggy Highland cow whipped into a fool and flavored with lavender, steamed beef pudding, and fowl roasted over the spit.

"Green beans, turnips, and pigeon pie," Laura put the finishing touch on the platters of food, sprinkling chopped herbs over the steaming savory dishes. "That's everything. Can someone go and wake the laird, please?"

"He's already waiting for ye in the dining hall, dearie," Mistress Berenson told Laura. "Stop!" she raised her hand to halt the maiden from running out to join him. "Let me prettify ye a wee bit first."

Stephen produced a shell comb out of his pocket, and the housekeeper set about brushing Laura's hair into a shining sheath of darkness. She ordered Laura to sit with her hands soaking in warm water perfumed with lavender to scent the skin. Only when the young girl's hair was completely free of braids did Mistress Berenson allow Laura to stand up. "Och, yer hair ripples like a deep pond after a duck paddles through it, me dear. Ye're so bonny, ye could make the moon hide her face with jealousy."

Laura wiped her hands on a square linen rag Andrew Berenson referred to as a ‘clootie'.

All four Berensons gave her an encouraging wave as Laura straightened her back, smoothed out her plaid, and walked to the dining hall.

How was Laura to know what a stunning entrance she made? Dressed in finely woven black wool, with her shining tresses tumbling around her shoulders and down her back, she appeared like some dark queen as she stood at the chair, waiting for Altair to pull it back for her.

At first, the Laird appeared to be dumbstruck by her comeliness. Then, recollecting his manners, he scraped back his chair and moved to help her sit down.

"Well, it's a braw night for it," the laird's careless charm reasserted itself as he sat down.

"A braw night for what?" Taking a page out of the laird's playbook, Laura teased him with her question.

"Food," Altair said with a determined finality. Then he relented. "Och, fine. More than food." Reaching over the table, he took her hand, raising it to his lips. "Good company, a hearty meal, and maybe I'll show ye how to dance a Highland fling or two afterward."

When he pressed his mouth onto the soft skin of her hand, it made a warm glow spread through Laura's body; as if she were once ice, but now she was melting.

She waited for him to fill her goblet from the flagon of wine, and then raised it in a toast. "To the most fortunate chance meeting, my laird. Never could I have imagined a broken journey would prove so entertaining."

Shaking his head, Altair frowned. "Nay, Sonsie. Dinnae prate like that."

Laura was flummoxed. "Like what? I was not ‘prating', I'll have you know! I was toasting your hospitality and grace."

Gripping her wrist, he growled. "Dinnae talk like some high society damsel in a hall full o' guests. It's just ye an' me here, lassie. Act natural-like."

Chastened, Laura hung her head. "Truth to tell, Altair, I do not know how to approach you or what to say. Because this all seems so…final." The monumental realization that this was their last night together forever made the wine stick in Laura's throat.

His face grew kind. "Dinnae fash, lassie. It will all work oot in the end. Keep yer chin up." Giving her small hand a quick squeeze, he shrugged and looked around with a cheerful laugh. "I am a great brute for chiding yer sweet toast. Forgive me. Come, let us eat."

The moment the Berensons began bringing dishes to the table, Altair knew Laura had slaved for most of the day to make the feast. "Ye cheated," he laughed, rapping his knuckle on the board to show his appreciation. "I thought ye were tired after yer trip doon the beinn . "

Laura widened her eyes to show her innocence. "I was!" Chuckling, she told him the truth. "I asked Mistress Berenson to wake me at noon. Do you like it?"

He needed to use no words to give her an answer; the smile on his face said it all. No feast had ever been so bittersweet and yet so enjoyable. The wine flowed, and the conversation meandered over a myriad of topics. Altair wanted to know what England was like. Laura begged him to tell her more about the rugged Highlands that surrounded them. But he won out, reminding her that she would soon see the Highlands for herself with none of his help once her journey resumed.

That made Laura solemn, but she was determined to entertain him with the few travels made in her short life. "My father took me with him to London Town, Laird. We drove the coach down to Queenhithe to pick up a shipment of spices and silk. It was the most wondrous place. The ship's captain told me that boats have been docking at Queenhithe since Roman times, and that sometimes they find gold talismans or terracotta pots buried beneath the mud. Alfred the Great used the shallow waters to sail up or down the Thames River where his needs took him."

"It was called Tamesis when I was a youth," Altair confided in her, "a blend of the two river names ‘Thames' and ‘Isis'."

"It is a very great river," Laura told him, "full of divers fish and those soft creatures that live in shells. There are many species of fowl with flocks so large the sound of their wings can deafen as they fly past. Father was always pressing his acquaintances to bring him porpoise from the estuary, but I refused to serve him such a hideous dish—they have such sweet faces—I could never bring myself to serve them."

She was not sure if this description of her adventures pleased him because a deep scowl suddenly marred his handsome face. "It's been a long time since I saw a ship dock or heard the sound of a gull crying. Life continues, while I lurk here, moldering away."

Laura wanted to turn his mind to brighter things. "What is this Highland fling you mentioned?" Her lips curved into an alluring smile as she regarded him steadily over the rim of her goblet. "It sounds very dangerous."

Altair roared with laughter, and it was a while before he could shake his head and reassure her. "It's a jig we dance in the Highlands. Ye have to be exceedingly light footed to do it right. I only thought to mention it to ye because o' yer shoes. The Highland maidens wear ghillies when they prance."

"I've eaten so much tart," Laura giggled, "I do not think I could ever be light footed until a good many days have passed."

The laird insisted. Stephen and Andrew were called to provide music from the minstrel gallery, with the eldest son plucking at the lute with fingers like quicksilver while the younger son tootled a flute. With Altair holding her hands and guiding her steps, Laura learned to kick her feet up with a flick of the toes and then spin around with her hands in the air.

The couple were having such a good time, they hardly noticed when the music stopped and the Berensons retired to bed.

"This is called a reel," holding Laura around her waist, Altair lifted her up and swung her around in the air. Squealing and laughing at the same time, she closed her eyes as the room spun around her at a dizzyingly fast speed. "Stop! Stop," she begged him, "before the tart comes back up!"

Laughing uproariously, they grew still as the laird placed Laura back on her feet. They were both panting, their skin lit up with sweat and their chests heaving. They stared at one another as the laughter died away.

For that one perfect moment, it seemed as though their lives were golden, stretching out like a long enchanted spell.

"It must be late, Sonsie," Altair spoke first, as if he could no longer trust himself to be bound by her magic. "And ye have a long journey ahead o' ye on the morrow."

Shaking her head to block out his words, Laura denied that cruel fact. "Do not remind me, Altair. It feels like hot needles inserted under my skin whenever I think about leaving your castle—our fortress."

The silence in the old banqueting hall was almost deafening as they faced off the inevitable.

"Will you escort me back to my bedchamber?" Laura asked with tentative hesitation, unsure what his answer would be. She hurried to justify her request. "The passages are dark, and I am afraid to walk them without you by my side."

When he did not reply, she grew angry. "Do not make me beg! I have never loved, Laird, and nor has anyone ever taught me how it might feel, but?—"

"And ye think I am the man to teach ye such a thing?" His frown was back, but Laura could sense that his vexation was not directed at her, but rather at the circumstances.

Throwing caution to the wind, Laura ran into his arms, pressing her face against his chest. "Yes, a thousand times, yes. You are the man I want to teach me about love."

It was the only invitation he needed. Sweeping Laura into his strong arms, the Laird mounted the stairs to his tower two at a time. He needed no candle to light the way. He knew every stone riser with precise accuracy.

She knew Altair's bedchamber from the time she watched over him during his healing sleep. As he went to fling open the window shutters, Laura could not stop staring at the enormous bed. This was where her journey would end if she had her way, but one short night of passion with the man she knew she had somehow tumbled head over heels in love with was better than nothing at all.

Long fingers of moon rays poured through the narrow casement, casting the floor into shadow while bathing the bed in silvery starlight.

The couple wanted to savor this moment. They needed to stretch out time in such a way that the memory would last forever. For Laura, there was not a shred of doubt in her mind that the path of her fate guided her here, but the bubble of excitement swelling inside her was spiced with trepidation.

Kneeling at her feet as she sat on the edge of the bed, Altair untied Laura's shoes. Whenever he glanced up at her with his amber eyes, Laura felt her belly contract with excitement. Even the light touch of his fingers on her ankles thrilled her to the core.

As the ghillies dropped to the floor, she leaned back, resting on her hands, staring at the vaulted ceiling. The sensation of his fingers moving up the inside of her leg to loosen her garters nearly proved too much for her endurance. A soft moan escaped her parted lips.

Altair made no comment when he heard the erotic sound. He was skilled enough to understand this was Laura's personal experience, one that she must be free to express however she wanted. As her stockings were peeled off, one by one, inch by inch, Laura fell back on the bed, biting her lower lip to stop her licentious utterances from getting louder. She might be a maiden, but she knew enough about her body to understand that if Altair were to touch between her thighs, she would reach the climax her body so desperately craved.

As if to test her endurance, he began to stroke the inside of her thighs with a tempting massaging motion. Unbidden, she opened them wider for him. He stopped, spellbound by the sight of her beauty bathed in the moonlight. But it was not good enough for him just to lift her skirts and thrust himself between those soft, pale thighs. This, after all, must be a night to be remembered.

Laura opened her eyes with a languorous flutter, and she watched him loosen the cords of his boots and pull them off. She could not stop her face from showing fascination as he removed his shirt. Her mouth almost dropped open when she saw the rippling muscles of his torso. "Oh my…"

Giving a nervous giggle, she wondered if he was going to drop the plaid belted around his waist with the same careless unconcern. She was not sure if her heart could stand the shock, however pleasurable it might be.

But when he joined her on the bed, Laura was given an excellent explanation for his slow reveal. "Let's get ye oot o' that bonny arisaid o' yers first, Sonsie," his deep voice murmured in her ear as he lay beside her. "And never forget that we have all night to feast oor eyes on one another."

It took a moment to unbuckle the tight belt and unwrap the plaid from her body. "I feel like a gift on Yuletide morning," she chuckled nervously as Altair flicked the garment onto the floor.

"Are ye somethin' good to eat?" His rough tone made her belly contract with delight, exactly like a child opening presents.

"H-how hungry are you?" It made Laura feel powerful to tease him like this.

"I am starving." Altair growled, pressing his mouth hungrily over her lips. Dressed only in the thin lawn of her shift gown, Laura should have felt shy with her naked body on show under the transparent garment, but she was not. In fact, it felt like the shift was strangling her.

Quickly, she ripped the ribbons open to expose her breasts. Now, it was Altair's turn to inhale sharply. "Ye are bonny beyond belief, Sonsie," he growled, burying his face between the large globes before paying attention to the hard peaks of her nipples. Every time his tongue flicked over them, Laura wanted to claw at his skin with ecstasy.

"Th-that feels amazing," she gasped, daring to run her hands over the hard muscles of his midriff. She adored the way her fingers rippled over that part of his stomach that resembled a washboard.

And if her fingers moved to pluck at his belt, who was to blame her? He was her end goal; Laura was ready to see what a real man looked like under his plaid. Every maiden wondered if her beau would be a stallion or a mouse once he was freed. And Laura was no different.

But Altair was more disciplined than she. "Wheesht, darlin'." The corners of his mouth curved up as he removed her hands. "Be patient. We have all night."

"I-I want it now," Laura moaned softly, thrashing her head from side to side in a small tantrum of yearning. "Take me now, Altair. I am yours, forever yours."

First, there should be many small kisses over her luscious breasts. But this was only a precursor to him lowering his mouth down over her soft belly until he reached the plump mound between her thighs. "As the rain prepares the soil for the seed, Sonsie, I need ye to be dripping like raindrops before…" As he murmured these tempting words, she felt his mouth moving at the entrance to her passion. And when he removed his tongue, he was able to assure Laura that she was good and ready.

Her shift was bunched up around her waist, with the neckline untied to display her ripe breasts. Her soft, dimpled thighs were spread wide. Laura had to hold her hands over her plump mound in a bid to contain her pleasure as he stood up to remove his plaid.

The sound of footsteps thundering up the stairs were clearly heard outside the tower door!

Pounding on the door itself as someone hammered at the old wood panels.