The King's Rebel Read online

  “Why, you’re right. They’re angel kisses,” he declared. At the word ‘kisses,’ he saw Meghan’s gaze drop to his lips and then quickly away. He smiled to see that her thoughts were drifting along the same path as his.

  “So, auburn hair, angel kisses, and eyes the color of a dove’s wing.” He paused dramatically. “What, no argument over the color of you’re eyes?”

  “No,” she said with a tiny smile.

  “Ye’ve a right sharp tongue when ye want,” he continued, ducking a quick blow to his head. “But that’s no entirely a bad thing. It means ye have a sharp wit in addition. I like that in a woman.”

  “Do ye now?” Meghan asked, the tiny smile still playing at her lips.

  “Aye,” William whispered, transfixed by that smile. Forcing himself back to their conversation, he asked, “So have ye any brothers or sisters?”

  The smile faded. “I had two brothers–both older. Dougal died when he was twelve. He was carried off by a fever,” she said softly.

  “And how old were ye at the time?”

  “Nine.” Meghan shook her head. “Campbell died only last year in pursuit of that great Scottish tradition.” At the bitterness in her voice, William raised his eyebrows. “Cattle raiding in England.” With a determined smile, Meghan threw off her melancholy. “Anyway, I’m my father’s only remaining heir, though he’s none to happy about it.” She laughed. “He’s no doubt afraid I’ll run off with some no-good man of the Bruce clan and shame our family forever.”

  William frowned. He just assumed that since someone had told her his Christian name last night, they had also mentioned that he was first cousin to Robert the Bruce.

  “So tell me, fair William, what of your family?”

  Carefully avoiding the topic of his clan, he said, “I’m an only child for my folk both died when I was but a babe. I grew up in my cousin’s household and have made my living by the sword. And, of course, our great Scottish tradition.”

  “But where is your home?” Meghan asked.

  William wanted to say, “Wherever you are,” but the newness of this emotion was still too unsettling. He didn’t want to scare either of them while their bond was still tenuous. He felt as if he’d stepped off a cliff and though he wasn’t plummeting to his death, each step he took forward was in thin air. The feelings Meghan pulled from him were powerful, heady, unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. It was damned unnerving, he decided.

  “Strawberries!” Meghan cried.

  Startled, William turned and started to stand. He turned back to Meghan just in time to be bowled over as she pushed past him and began rooting in the foliage near the brook. He followed her and watched as she expertly plucked a handful.

  “‘Tis entirely too early for strawberries!” she said. She popped one in her mouth and closed her eyes in delight. “This must be an enchanted forest to grow berries this sweet so early in the year. Here,” she said, standing and placing a few berries in his mouth.

  They were indeed as sweet as honey, but William was more interested in the strawberry juice that had stained Meghan’s lips. He took one of the berries and fed it to her, crushing it against her lips first to release its juice. Meghan’s eyes widened in surprise and she in turn placed several more berries in William’s mouth, allowing her fingers to graze his lips, caressing softly. William caught her hand, held it to his mouth and kissed her red-stained fingertips.

  But fingers were no substitution for Meghan’s mouth and William could resist their beckon no longer. Dipping his head, he kissed her slowly, as if they were the only two people in the world. The berry juice on her lips was sweet and William ran his tongue along her lips, drinking from them, urging them to part. The soft inside of her mouth tasted of the wild fruit as well and William feasted on its bounty. But the sweetness lasted long after the juice was gone.

  William felt Meghan’s hand slide up his chest and sink into the hair at his nape. It was all the encouragement he needed. He wrapped her in his embrace, crisscrossing his arms across her slender back, pulling her tightly to him. He bent his knees to allow better access to her mouth and then straightened, lifting her off her feet and settling her even more tightly to him.

  Still the kiss continued.

  But now it was Meghan who had begun the exploration. She sucked on his lower lip, nibbling gently. She brought her hand between them and fed him the last of the berries, then quickly pressed her lips to his and shared them with him.

  William had never been more aroused. He knew if they did not stop soon, they would end up with berry stains on more than their lips. He normally would have been content with an eager, willing lass in his arms to continue down to the ground to progress to the next step of lovemaking. For some reason, however, he wanted to move slowly with Meghan. It was another step in mid-air, no doubt, but he would have her bound to him before they joined physically. His mind reeled with the thought, and with a low moan, he dragged his lips from hers. She uttered a soft protestation and it was all he could do not to silence it with his mouth. Instead, he dropped reassuring kisses on her cheeks, her forehead, her eyelids, the delicate freckles-–no angle kisses--across her nose.

  “Meghan,” he murmured into the silkiness of her cheek.

  “Mmm?” she purred.

  “We’d best return to the—“

  ”Nay!” she protested, then blushed as if appalled at her audacity. At the pleading look in her eyes, he nearly changed his mind, but decided that for once, he would do the honorable thing where a lass was concerned.

  William smiled and cupped her face in his hands, drinking once again from the heady fount of her lips. “If we don’t return now, I’m afraid we won’t return the rest of the night.”

  Despite the layers of clothing between them, he knew Meghan could feel his meaning press against her stomach. With shaking hands, she slowly pushed herself away from him.

  “Will ye meet me again?” he asked.

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow. We’ll return here. It will be our secret retreat.”

  Meghan nodded, started to say something, and then flushed an even deeper shade of pink.

  “What is it?” he asked, intrigued by the delicate color which seemed to creep down her neck and into the high-cut bodice of her gown.

  She shook her head and he grabbed her to him, tickling her until she screamed.

  “Alright! Alright!” she said between gasping breaths. “I–that is–what are you...What I was wondering is—“

  ”I’ve a meeting I must attend tonight,” he explained, absurdly delighted that she did not want to wait until tomorrow to see him. She frowned and he realized she assumed he was meeting with another woman. “I must meet with allies of my cousin.” William paused, realizing he had nearly said too much. “It is a small matter, really. Just the agreement of a–a trade of livestock.”

  Meghan nodded. “So long as there are no lasses about, I consent.”

  “There could be a score of lasses about and I’d not notice,” he vowed, pulling her to him for another delicious kiss before returning her to Earl Graham’s keep.

  They met again the next day and the day after that, until the meager strawberry supply was exhausted and the grassy slope near the stream was flattened from their reclining bodies.

  They spoke little, small love phrases, the occasional query about the other’s childhood. They were content to simply be in each other’s company. And kiss, of course.

  As they lay beside the stream on the third day, William plucked a wild rose and delicately drew it down Meghan’s straight nose. When he reached her lips, he drew the delicate petals across their fullness again and again. Her lips parted with a sigh and she tentatively reached her tongue out to touch the pale pink flower. William felt his mouth go dry at the provocative move and, forcing himself to keep his movements slow, he drew the rose to his own mouth and kissed the very spot she had licked.

  He was about to continue the delicate sport when he noticed the sun casting
fiery glints in her hair. He spread the riotous curls out until they created a gleaming halo about her head. Remembering his earlier desire to bury his hands in her hair, he grabbed a great handful and crushed it to his mouth. He saw her clear grey eyes grow stormy with longing and he gently lowered himself down until he lay half-atop her, pinning her to the ground as he kissed her with familiar expertise and novel emotion. He pressed her forehead against his own and they shared each other’s breath as they panted softly.

  “I’ve never been kissed like that before,” she confessed in a shaky whisper.

  “I know,” he answered. “Neither have I.”

  Meghan lifted her head and stared at him. “Truly?” she asked.

  “I swear ‘tis so.”

  She gave him a saucy smile. “I’m sure your friend Lorna would be disappointed to hear you say so.”

  “Who’s Lorna,” he teased.

  She opened her mouth in surprise and then realizing his joke, she said, “The poor lass who hung on your arm the other night.”

  “Jealous are you?” he asked, absurdly pleased to think that she might be.

  “Of course not! I just feel sorry for her. I saw the way she watched you after you came to dance with me.”

  He stood and pulled her up to stand against him. “Aye, after I saw ye, I could scarce remember my own name, much less that of an amorous chit.”

  A shadow of doubt flickered across her face and she pushed gently away from him. William had to force his arms not to convulsively pull her back.

  “I see. How on earth did you earn the nickname of Black William anyway?”

  William felt a moment’s trepidation. “No doubt for my hair. ‘Tis a common enough designation.”

  Meghan took a step back. “‘Tis said you earned the name for your cold-hearted seduction of innocent women.”

  William laughed and then instantly regretted it as Meghan’s grey eyes darkened with suspicion. “Meghan,” he began, taking a step towards her.

  “No!” she cried, hurriedly backing up.

  “Let me exp–“

  ”’Tis said you even led a maid to believe you’d wed her so you could gamble away her dowry.” Meghan’s voice rose a notch. “‘Tis said you seduce married women and then send them back to their husbands to bear your bastards. ‘Tis said you wooed a nun from her holy orders and left her–“

  ”Enough!” William bellowed. Meghan’s eyes widened and she put a shaky hand to her breast. He raked his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. “Will ye sit down and let me explain?”

  Meghan’s eyes remained wide with fear and she shook her head.

  William sighed and sat down on the boulder. He propped his elbows on his knees and stared at his boots.

  “The maid who lost her dowry did lose it to gambling,” he began, but looked up at Meghan’s sharply indrawn breath. “But ‘twas not my gambling, ‘twas her sire’s. He lost what little the family had scraped together for her dowry and then tried to get me to marry her to cover it up.”

  “Had you...” Meghan’s voice trailed off.

  “I never laid eyes on the lass, much less my hands. Her father just blamed me to save his pride.”

  “How did he even know you?”

  “He lost the money to me.”

  “And you kept it?” she asked, outraged.

  William lifted his head quickly and stared at her, his outrage clearly matching her own. “Nay! Not once I found out where it had come from. But it did no stop the rumors, did it? Did it?” he asked more sharply. Meghan hesitantly shook her head.

  After a moment, she said, “And the others? The other...rumors?”

  William shrugged. “I’ll no deny I’ve had my share of women and if any of them had a husband, I knew naught of it. Perhaps I’ve no been as circumspect as I should, but then I’ve never bragged about havin’ a women, either.”

  “And what of me?” Meghan asked.

  William returned his gaze to Meghan’s face. Trepidation was clear on her beautiful features and her few freckles stood out clearly against her pale skin. “What of ye?”

  “Will there be rumors of me once you’re through with me?”

  He held out his hand to her. “Come here, Meghan. Aye, it’s alright.”

  Meghan walked slowly toward him and when she stood in front of him, he took her hands between his and looked up at her. “I’m hopin’ I’ll never be done with ye. I told ye last night I’d no felt this way about a lass before and I meant it. I’ve never said this to a woman before-–“ he grimaced. “Especially not after just a few kisses, but...” he cleared his throat. “Meghan, I do believe I love ye.”

  Meghan sank to her knees as if they could no longer support her weight. He tilted her chin, forcing her to raise her gaze to his.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered and he felt a drop in his stomach that made him want to take the words back. “I’m sorry I doubted you,” she said in a rush. “‘Tis just that I–I believe I love you as well and yet I was afraid you were just trying to, well, you know.” Her cheeks flamed.

  “Aye, I know, sweet Meghan. And I want ye that way more than ye know. But I’ve more honorable intentions than that toward ye.”

  A tear raced down her cheek. William caught it at her jaw and smoothed it away. He brought his other hand up to her face and slowly bent his head to hers.

  ***

  The fourth days of the Mayday festival passed in a blur of stolen kisses and quiet conversation enjoyed in the secluded privacy of the woods surrounding Earl Seamus’s castle. Meghan made William roar with laughter at stories of her antics as a child, antics which invariably ended with her backside smarting from her father’s opinion of her pranks.

  William in turn taught Meghan all he knew of the fine art of kissing, though since that first day, he often grew confused as to who was the student and who the teacher. In the quiet whispers between kisses, he carefully deflected her questions about his family name and instead wove beautiful promises of what their life would be like together.

  “I’ve some land and a large rambling house I’ve not seen in some years,” he told her.

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged and settled her more comfortably in the crook of his arm. They were seated against a large oak tree not far from the wild strawberry patch. A gentle mist lay over the wood and they were snugly wrapped in William’s woolen cloak.

  “I told ye I’d made my living by my sword these past years. My steel and my horse have been the only thing’s I’ve needed. Until now,” he said, smiling down at her mist-sparkled hair. The dampness had made her curls tighten into silken ringlets about her face. He brushed one off of her cheek and then ran his calloused finger down the velvet of her face.

  “It will no doubt be in grave disrepair,” he continued. “But I’ll send word to have my crofters begin work on it. By the time I carry you over the threshold, ‘twill be livable. I’ll work the land,” he grimaced at the thought, but resolutely pushed on. “And in no time, we’ll have all the comforts of yon castle and then some.”

  “It sounds lovely,” said Meghan as she lifted her arms over her head in a feline stretch. Returning to her snug position at his side, she said, “You know, William, my dowry is not small. We’ll have a good investment to buy seed and cattle and whatever your keep needs.”

  “I’m no interested in your dowry,” he assured her.

  “I know. But all that I have is yours–my body, my heart, my soul. ‘Tis meet that you have my father’s wealth as well.”

  William smiled and dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “Let’s save your dowry for our daughters, aye?”

  Meghan blushed but smiled as well. “Aye.”

  Chapter 5

  Meghan awoke before the dawn and stretched in anticipation of the day. If all went as she and William planned, they would be wed this eve, if nothing else, betrothed. Two other couples had already turned the Mayday celebrations into wedding feasts and as this was the last night of the festivities, it
was sure to be the grandest night yet.

  The past week had been blissful. She and William had spent every waking moment alone. Sorcha and Glynnis teased her about her absence and even her father had taken note and he’d scarce remembered she had accompanied him to the earl’s castle!

  Beside her, Sorcha stirred. Why, Meghan was so happy, she did not even mind being in the middle of the bed she shared with Sorcha and another maid. It was a cramped, uncomfortable place to sleep for you could not turn one way or the other without having someone’s hair in your face or an elbow in your rib. It was impossible to fling a limb free if you grew too warm and making a retreat to the privy was near impossible.

  The thought made Meghan squirm. Sleeping or no, Sorcha was going to have to put up with being climbed over.

  Upon her return, Meghan fetched up her cloak and wrapping herself in it, sat in the deep window to watch the dawn break. Her nose grew cold and her toes begrudged their bareness, yet nothing could dim Meghan’s happiness. She was to wed the most dashing, strongest, bravest, handsome–Meghan shook her head and laughed softly. Aye, she was besotted with Black William, but there was something more. She knew without a doubt that he was the man she was meant to marry for their souls fit together as well as did their lips. That last thought made Meghan blush and her breath quicken. If the endless kissing they had indulged in were any indication, their life would be one of passion as well as love. Truly she had been blessed.

  A few hours later, Meghan rushed down the narrow stairs and looked about the great hall with breathless anticipation. She spotted William at the same time he looked up at her and they smiled the smile of two people who are alone in the world of love. This morning he wore a blood red plaid which was vaguely familiar in its patterning.