Son of the Morning

"Want ye?" he growled. "Grace – I wanted ye months before ye finally came to me. I burned for ye.

How could I defend myself against a lass who wasn’t there? If ’tis the words you want, then aye, I love you. Did ye doubt it? After I found ye wi’ the Treasure, instead of killing ye as was my duty, I came near to killing myself loving ye! I’m glad ye came to stay, because I willna let ye go again no matter your wishes."

Startled, she realized that Niall’s dereliction of duty was indeed unprecedented; why hadn’t she realized that at the time? "You loved me then?"

"Of course," he said calmly. "Now, lass, I think ye should have your way wi’ me."

Having her way with him took quite a long time.Alice brought food to them that night, grinning at the way Niall sprawled in his big chair, modestly covered by his plaid, but his eyes heavy-lidded and drowsy with an absolute surfeit of physical satisfaction.

Grace lay on his lap, wearing only his shirt. The garment would have reached her knees, if Niall had left it alone, but he seemed to be incapable of doing so. If he wasn’t feeding her or holding a cup of wine to her lips, he was stroking her thighs, sometimes reaching a bit higher.

Her stomach was peaceful now, lulled by the plain, unseasoned food. She had had one bout with nausea, right after Niall had dragged her down to the great hall and they had pledged themselves in marriage to each other in front of all the residents of Creag Dhu, and everyone had insisted on toasting them. The second cup of spicy mulled wine had been too much. And after that, of course everyone had to toast the coming bairn.

The wine she drank now was weak and sweet, but added to the events and exertions of the day, she was exhausted and sleepy. She rested her head on his shoulder, her heart peaceful.

When a section of the wall beside the fireplace began moving, Grace merely blinked at it, thinking the wine must be stronger than she had thought. Then a man strode through the opening and stopped still, his pupils flaring. "I sent you a message," he said in French.

"Aye," Niall said drowsily in Scots. "Ye did. Ye waste your time speaking French, for she does too. And Latin.

And Greek. If ye’ve something private to say, best do so in Gaelic; she can’t speak that yet."

"Why is she here?"

"Why, because I married her." Niall smiled at Grace, his thumb tracing her lower lip. "Sweetings, my brother Robert. He’s king of Scots. Robert, this is Grace, my wife and the mother of my bairn."

Robert looked startled, Grace even more so. She scrambled off Niall’s lap and stood before the king ofScotland wearing nothing more than her husband’s shirt, her legs and feet bare, her hair hanging loose past her hips. She blushed.

Robert the Bruce was a big, powerfully built man, though not as tall as Niall. He was ruggedly attractive, probably approaching fifty in age, and wore the look of a warrior. He eyed Grace with some appreciation, his gaze lingering on her legs. Niall scowled and came to his feet, placing himself in front of her.

"Ye’ve told her everything?" Robert asked disapprovingly.

"Nay, she already knew." Niall reached back and made certain Grace was still modestly tucked behind him. "Would ye like wine?"

Robert began to laugh. "Ye rogue," he said with exasperated fondness. "Ye kill a clan chieftain, decimate the clan, and ask me would I like wine? The nobles are demanding that I raise an army to ridScotland of the renegades of Creag Dhu."

"Huwe attackedme," Niall said, his voice hardening. "And I freed all those Hays who survived the battle,"

"Aye, I know. I came only to ask – to beg, and me a king! – that ye try not to shed more blood for a time,"

"If ’tis in my power, I’ll live a verra peaceful life from this day onward," Niall said. "Will ye wish me happiness?"

"Always." Robert stepped forward and hugged his brother, and the glimpse Grace had of his face made her love him forever, for it was filled with love and an aching relief. He winked at her over Niall’s shoulder, and she blushed again.

"Can ye speak, lass?" he asked. "Yes, of course," she said, pleased that her voice was steady. "I’m pleased to meet you-" She stopped, suddenly unsure of what to call him. Sire? Your Highness? Your Majesty?

"Robert," said the king. "With family, I am Robert." He cocked his head. "Your accent is strange, not English, and not French either. Where are ye from?"

"Creag Dhu," Niall said firmly. "This is her home." Robert nodded, accepting that here would be yet another mystery about his brother. "When did ye wed?"

"Today." "Today!" Robert laughed again. "Then there’s no wonder ye had the lass half naked on your lap! I’ll leave ye to your wedding night, then, and may ye enjoy it well!"

"I will," Niall said firmly. "As soon as ye leave." Robert was still laughing as he stepped back into the hidden passage, though he tried to muffle the noise. Grace watched as the section closed behind him. "Just how many hidden passageways does Creag Dhu have?"

"It’s fair riddled with them," Niall replied, lifting her in his arms and carrying her to the bed. He lay down beside her, cradling her close against his side as if he would never let her go. "Ye feel so perfect," he whispered into her hair. As if ye are part of me, as if ye could be nowhere else."

"I don’t want to be anywhere else." "Then tomorrow morning, love, I think I should write those papers that brought ye to me. I dinna want to chance anything going wrong." He put his hand on her belly, where his child grew, and held her close as they slept, and dreamed.