ye will remember me well when ye use it. I hope this will provide for you and your bairn for many years.” Not giving her a chance to reject his gift as she’d rejected him, he rose and blew out the lantern. He led Rand from the stables, and said, “Come, Malina. ’Tis time to send ye home.”
* * * *
The stable became dark and quiet once more as Big Darcy and the ample-chested trollop he’d called his wife left with his beast of a horse. Anya crept from the shadows of the tack room to peek out the barn door. Silhouetted by the blue night, he held out his hand, and the woman reluctantly handed over what looked to be a box. After tucking it in the saddlebag, he helped the woman mount, then mounted behind her. They rode silently into the night.
She clapped her hands in delight. She’d just witnessed the heir of Ackergill agree to willingly dishonor his marriage vows by helping his wife run away. But even better, she’d just witnessed the man she’d ruined with rumors when he was little more than a lad get a taste of the rejection he’d dealt her time and again when she’d been blossoming into her womanhood.
Of all the young men in the clan, she’d chosen the tall and comely Darcy to give her maidenhead to. At first, he’d laughed at her, not in cruelty–for he had never had the stomach for cruelty–but as though he thought her advances in jest. But they had not been in jest. In fact, they had been so earnest and had so exposed her tender, young heart that his rejection had planted seeds of bitterness within her that had grown into thorns. By the time she’d learned the finer points of seduction and had finally lured him into kissing and fondling her in the stables, she had no maidenhead to give, and she realized she resented him for it. Vengeance had seemed a better reward than the long-awaited coupling.
When he’d shed his plaid, she’d seen her opportunity. The lad had been large. Not monstrously so, as she’d led him to believe, but larger than the others she’d seen, for cert. ’Twas almost a pity she hadn’t permitted herself the pleasure of sitting astride such a magnificent cock. But kenning she’d so affected him that he’d never approached another lass in the years since that night made it worth the sacrifice.
Now Big Darcy was married, it seemed, and his wife didn’t want him. And not only that, but she was asking him to help her run away. ’Twas a delicious discovery she couldn’t wait to share up at the keep. Steafan would be furious. He may even disown his nephew. Too bad Big Darcy had a brother, or ’twould surely be Aodhan Steafan would set in line for the lairdship.
“There ye are, lass,” came a familiar voice out of the darkness. Aodhan. Her current lover and an important man among the Keith.
“You’re late,” she said, putting an extra sway in her hips as she approached him.
He swept her up in his strong arms and carried her to the dark tack room. “Business up at the keep,” he murmured as he closed his mouth over hers. No apology for keeping her waiting. But then she didn’t expect one. Not from the war chieftain.
“Wouldna happen to have been a wedding, now, would it?” she asked as he set her on the counter and helped himself to the pockets in her dress, searching for her vial of rose oil.
Aodhan tensed. His hand stopped in its search. “How did ye ken?”
“I saw Big Darcy with a strangewoman. I heard him call her his wife. Steafan must be pleased to have his heir finally wed.” She toyed with the wiry hairs framed by the V of his shirt, pleased to ken Aodhan must have been so eager for her he’d undone the laces on his way to the stables.
“Aye,” he admitted, but he said no more.
She didn’t care for the caution in his eyes. He liked to tup her, but he wouldn’t confide in her, the stubborn man.
“Who is she?” she asked, palming what he’d been searching for and pulling it from her pocket. ’Twas a vial of rose oil of her own making.
* * * *
The stable became dark and quiet once more as Big Darcy and the ample-chested trollop he’d called his wife left with his beast of a horse. Anya crept from the shadows of the tack room to peek out the barn door. Silhouetted by the blue night, he held out his hand, and the woman reluctantly handed over what looked to be a box. After tucking it in the saddlebag, he helped the woman mount, then mounted behind her. They rode silently into the night.
She clapped her hands in delight. She’d just witnessed the heir of Ackergill agree to willingly dishonor his marriage vows by helping his wife run away. But even better, she’d just witnessed the man she’d ruined with rumors when he was little more than a lad get a taste of the rejection he’d dealt her time and again when she’d been blossoming into her womanhood.
Of all the young men in the clan, she’d chosen the tall and comely Darcy to give her maidenhead to. At first, he’d laughed at her, not in cruelty–for he had never had the stomach for cruelty–but as though he thought her advances in jest. But they had not been in jest. In fact, they had been so earnest and had so exposed her tender, young heart that his rejection had planted seeds of bitterness within her that had grown into thorns. By the time she’d learned the finer points of seduction and had finally lured him into kissing and fondling her in the stables, she had no maidenhead to give, and she realized she resented him for it. Vengeance had seemed a better reward than the long-awaited coupling.
When he’d shed his plaid, she’d seen her opportunity. The lad had been large. Not monstrously so, as she’d led him to believe, but larger than the others she’d seen, for cert. ’Twas almost a pity she hadn’t permitted herself the pleasure of sitting astride such a magnificent cock. But kenning she’d so affected him that he’d never approached another lass in the years since that night made it worth the sacrifice.
Now Big Darcy was married, it seemed, and his wife didn’t want him. And not only that, but she was asking him to help her run away. ’Twas a delicious discovery she couldn’t wait to share up at the keep. Steafan would be furious. He may even disown his nephew. Too bad Big Darcy had a brother, or ’twould surely be Aodhan Steafan would set in line for the lairdship.
“There ye are, lass,” came a familiar voice out of the darkness. Aodhan. Her current lover and an important man among the Keith.
“You’re late,” she said, putting an extra sway in her hips as she approached him.
He swept her up in his strong arms and carried her to the dark tack room. “Business up at the keep,” he murmured as he closed his mouth over hers. No apology for keeping her waiting. But then she didn’t expect one. Not from the war chieftain.
“Wouldna happen to have been a wedding, now, would it?” she asked as he set her on the counter and helped himself to the pockets in her dress, searching for her vial of rose oil.
Aodhan tensed. His hand stopped in its search. “How did ye ken?”
“I saw Big Darcy with a strangewoman. I heard him call her his wife. Steafan must be pleased to have his heir finally wed.” She toyed with the wiry hairs framed by the V of his shirt, pleased to ken Aodhan must have been so eager for her he’d undone the laces on his way to the stables.
“Aye,” he admitted, but he said no more.
She didn’t care for the caution in his eyes. He liked to tup her, but he wouldn’t confide in her, the stubborn man.
“Who is she?” she asked, palming what he’d been searching for and pulling it from her pocket. ’Twas a vial of rose oil of her own making.
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