Their climax erupted with volcanic force, and they clung to each other, united in a crystal sphere of body and spirit.
Transfixed, they seemed to pass an age in that moment, until Colin gently withdrew from her and rolled to his side, taking her with him.
As his breaths subsided, he caressed her face, lifting her chin and kissing her lightly on the forehead, eyelids, cheeks, chin, lips.
“I love you, Celia. I'm sorry that I had to hurt you.”
“Do not be sorry, Colin,” she murmured softly, her black eyes clouded with passion. “I'm not.”
“It will not hurt like that again,” he said in return, stroking her soft hair, her shoulder, her back. “It'll just get better.”
“I'll die if it gets any better,” she answered, a laugh rippling through the love-scented air. She looked across at him, touching his chest, his shoulder, his upper arm, her face growing serious. “Colin, I hope that next time I can please you as you've pleased me.”
Colin laughed aloud at the thought of her not pleasing him. Pulling her tightly against him, he crushed her lips with a searing kiss.
“Please me?” he growled with a smile. “Never before have I felt what we shared tonight. I felt as if I came out of a dark tunnel into a light I'd never known. You released in me a passion that I could not control. Please me? My God, love, you've pleased me...intoxicated me...enslaved me.”
Celia pushed him onto his back and smiled down into his gray eyes.
“Oh, Colin,” she thrilled. “I love you so much. I came here tonight to talk and...and one look at you standing there, so handsome...naked…” Celia's hand roamed the muscles in his chest, in his hard stomach, traveling lower to his naval, even lower. “I want to learn everything. And everything about you.”
As Celia's fingers reached his manhood, she heard Colin take a sharp breath. Her mouth was on him now, kissing his lips, tasting his neck, his chest. Thinking back on the pleasure that he had given her, she encircled his nipples with her tongue. Colin groaned as her hand lightly grasped his throbbing arousal. Abruptly Celia's face was above his, her eyes mischievous and her expression impish.
“Colin,” she began. “I'm ready to talk now.”
The giant took her auburn curls in his two great fists and rolled her over onto her back.
“Tomorrow. We'll talk tomorrow.”
As the first light of dawn crept through Colin's window, the warrior rolled onto the still warm space beside him. As his consciousness emerged through the gray haze of slumber, Colin realized that Celia was no longer there.
Sitting bolt upright, he pushed open the heavy curtains that blocked his view of the panel. The entry was closed, and she was gone.
For a moment Colin wondered whether the night before had really happened. Whether she had come to him. Whether they had shared the incredible passion that seemed almost dreamlike in his memory. But glancing at the bedding, he knew that she had shared with him a cherished moment of her life.
Lying back in the billowy comfort of the bed, Colin felt a gnawing ache begin to grow in him. There was a vacant place inside of him that he knew was intimately connected with the vacant place beside him. He felt almost foolish—like a pubescent schoolboy—knowing that the longing he was feeling was for a woman in the very next room. He smiled into the tent-like darkness above his bed and closed his eyes. He missed her.
Bear was waiting for Celia as she came down the stairway into the Great Hall, his tail wagging fiercely in a now customary morning greeting. Grabbing him by the ears and kissing him in the middle of his square forehead, Celia turned toward the South Hall with a mixture of feelings that were combining to color her cheeks with a rising heat. Her excitement at seeing Colin was combined with a bit of nervousness; her desire to be with those whom she knew cared for her was mixed with a bit of shyness at the thought that they might discern some change in her.
Celia was pleased to see the sun streaming in the open doors of the Entry Hall. Another beautiful day.
Entering the South Hall, Celia paused in the doorway as she noticed a stranger sitting with Lord Hugh, Colin, Edmund, and Alec. Immediately Colin looked up to see her and leapt to his feet. Crossing the hall, they met in the center, and as Colin took her hands, she blushed furiously, noting that all eyes in the hall were upon them.
“You're certainly in good color this morning,” he whispered as they turned toward the head table. “Difficult night sleeping?”
Celia could not answer, her face glowing crimson, but she dug her nails deeply into the flesh of his palm. Colin responded immediately, hiding a wince and sandwiching her hand firmly in his.
“I'll be good,” he surrendered. “Besides, we have a visitor.”
Exchanging looks with the man now standing by his place at the table, Celia thought there was something familiar in his face, though she was sure that she'd never seen him before. The handsome, boyish features were marred by the bright red scar crossing his forehead from just above his right eye and disappearing into the shock of brown hair. His eyes seemed to register recognition as she approached, and that recognition was closely followed by surprise and admiration.
“Lady Celia,” Colin said, taking her arm possessively. “I'd like to introduce you to Alec's brother, Ambrose Macpherson.”
Celia glanced from one brother's smiling face to the other, realizing now why Ambrose's looks had seemed so familiar. He was just a slightly shorter, scarred version of Alec. But while Celia knew that Alec's brothers had been at court, she was sure she had never met them.
“I know Lady Muir,” Ambrose replied heartily.
“You do?” Celia blurted out, perplexed at his response. “I'm sure that we've never met, m'lord.”
“Aye, m'lady,” Ambrose continued. “I was among the crowd who were following in your wake during the celebration last summer. I'd seen you many times before, but you were never one to cast an eye in an admirer's direction. But pardon my surprise at seeing you here, the word at court was that Queen Margaret had sent you to England.”
“There was a change of plans, m'lord,” Celia responded evasively.
Colin led Celia to his place at the table and sat beside her. Sitting, Ambrose leaned forward to address Celia.
“M'lady, I was just telling these good gentlemen news of someone you have had some unpleasant dealings with, I believe.”
“You've met Danvers, Celia?” Alec asked, craning his neck to see her face.
“Aye, Alec,” she said quietly. “Unfortunately, I have.”
“Indeed, she has,” Ambrose said with admiration. “I was a witness to one meeting they had.”
Ambrose turned to Lord Hugh. “M'lord, if I may. During one of the king's tournaments at Stirling—two years ago, I think it was—this English devil Danvers came to our court, supposedly representing the new English king at the festivities.”
Celia's back stiffened at the words. She knew this story all too well, and was not entirely happy about hearing it again here and now. She would be happy if she never heard Danvers's name again. She smiled gratefully at Colin as he reached onto her lap and took her hand.
“During the competition,” Ambrose continued, “Danvers beat the earl of Huntly's younger brother.”
“Aye,” Lord Hugh interrupted. “I recall hearing about this. Instead of accepting the unarmed lad's word of yield, the English dog beat him badly with his truncheon. He almost died of his injuries, didn't he?”
“Aye, Hugh,” Edmund said. “But he recovered, and he's a much better fighter now that he's grown...and experienced.”
“After the beating,” Ambrose went on, “the pig Danvers yanked the steel-mesh glove off the bleeding and unconscious warrior and gave him a vicious, unmanly kick. Then he mounted and rode to the grandstand where Queen Margaret was sitting with the king and with her entourage. He went directly before the queen and asked if he could present the token to his own `lady.'“
Colin felt Celia quiver with what appeared to be rage as she stared directly at the place before her.
“The spectators were all quiet, disgusted and ashamed at his conduct on the field, and curious to know who his lady might be. Receiving a nod from the queen, Danvers dismounted and climbed into the seats, stopping in front of Lady Muir, offering the glove as token.”
Ambrose stopped his tale a moment, just long enough to drink from the cup by his plate. The South Hall was in total silence, as everyone awaited his next word.
“Danvers stood there for what seemed like an eternity. The crowd's attention was riveted on them. Then Lady Muir stood up, took the glove from his hand, and whipped him across the face so hard that blood ran down his cheek and dripped from his chin like rain from a gargoyle. She spat into his stunned face and turned on her heel, leaving Danvers before a chuckling king and a wildly cheering crowd.”
From the hushed onlookers in the hall at Kildalton there suddenly erupted a great cheer for the woman sitting red-faced beside their young laird. Before the noise subsided, Celia was surrounded by the Campbell fighters and the household members, all congratulating her as though the event had just occurred.
Celia looked up at Colin, stunned at the spontaneous response from his people. The gaze that he met her with was one of intense pride, and a sense of relief and joy washed over her.