Page 39 of Tempted
The ladies hastily departed, and the king turned upon his heel and walked briskly back to the castle. The three remaining males stood in the courtyard, their blood high, screaming for release, yet impotent to do anything about it.
Within the hour Douglas and Hamilton were curtly told to gather their moss-troopers and depart for the Border Wardens’ Court. Both knew they had earned their monarch’s wrath and would need to do a creditable job when they met up with their English counterparts. They had not yet been punished for their raiding and knew it would hang over their heads until they returned from the Wardens’ Court in a week or two.
That night Rob Kennedy sat up in bed enjoying the view. Ada removed the modest gray gown of a tiring woman to reveal her daring scarlet petticoat and corset. Rob’s eyes kindled. “Come here, lass,” he begged thickly. Ada came to the bedside, allowing him to unfasten her laces so that her voluptuous breasts spilled into his big hands. He groaned with pleasure as her dark brown hair fell across his barrel-chest, and she bent forward to give him a generous kiss.
Ada felt no guilt at the adultery. Elizabeth would have been devastated if she’d suspected, but Ada knew the sex act was a duty for her mistress, a duty that she avoided altogether these days.
Rob marveled at the differences of women. Ada was the same age as his wife, had never been pampered or indulged in her life as a servant, yet she was more exciting to a man in her plain gray gown than any courtesan. At his age he was no longer driven by lust, and his arousals happened only occasionally in a month’s time, but Ada made him as horny as a rutting stag.
He couldn’t get her out of her scarlet underclothes fast enough, but she playfully slapped his clumsy hands away, lest he tear the fabric in his haste, and finished undressing herself. She did it slowly, sensually, exposing a shoulder, a thigh, the curve of her back, so that by the time her breasts and bum cheeks were bared, he knew only that he had to have her beneath him while he plunged. He labored and groaned, his breath heaving, his face reddening alarmingly.
“Rob, are you all right, love?” she asked softly.
He grunted his delight, sweat breaking out across his brow and chest.
Her fingers brushed his temples, and she said softly, “Let me on top—you’re going at it too hard.”
He plunged a few more times, realized she was probably right, and rolled over onto his back. Ada clung to his great body so that she rolled with him, then lay still to allow him to catch his breath. Then she knelt above him and continued the plunging motion he’d begun. Ada built to orgasm quickly and allowed him to see and hear how much pleasure he was giving her. She was wise enough to realize how it thrilled the male to know he could give an aroused female deep satisfaction. Within a minute of her own writhing vocal climax, Rob Kennedy spilled himself profusely.
She rested in the curve of his arm, both of them grateful for what they had shared.
“Lass,” he said hoarsely, “I wish we could stay fer a month, but it’s no’ to be.”
“This is our last night?”
“Aye. I did ma duty by informin’ James about the English attackin’ ma ship, so there’s no need tae tarry.” He paused, then confided, “Cassillis practically ordered me home. The king’s enraged over these clan feuds, and our chief seems tae think our Tina inflames the men tae violence.”
“I think it’s best we go. The king has a weakness for redheads, and in truth it does her reputation no good to be in the company of Janet.”
“Dear God, her mother would run mad if she knew,” Rob said helplessly.
“Well, she won’t know, so stop your worrying. Tina has more good sense than to breathe the name Janet Kennedy to her mother.”
Rob pushed away thoughts of Elizabeth as he filled his hands and his eyes with Ada’s generous globes.
In the royal bed James Stewart breathed the name over and over. He adored women in general and worshipped this one in particular. “Janet, Janet,” he crooned, entwining his fingers in the luxuriant red hair spread across the satin embroidered pillows. Though he was forty, he had the body of an athlete. He rode every day, as often as he could—both horses and women. He had a preference for red hair that was almost a fetish, an obsession. He gazed at the burning bush at the apex of her thighs and lowered his mouth to it reverently.
“James,” she whispered, “I think I’m carrying your child.”
He lifted his head and gazed at her with joy. “Jan, that’s marvelous!” He loved all his children. “He’ll be a little redhead like the two of us.” He kissed the round curve of her belly reverently.
“Your hair is auburn, a far more beautiful shade than mine,” she protested.
“Not to me, sweet,” he murmured against her flaming mons, lost in her woman’s scent.
She too was delighted at the prospect of the child. He would keep her in luxury for the rest of her life, as he did all the women who had borne him children. His council didn’t object to his mistresses and bastards—each new one reconfirmed that he was not tainted by his father’s depraved and degenerate homosexuality. Sodomy could not be stomached by the rough, masculine Scots.
Later, as they lay on the floor before the fire, where their last bout of coupling had landed them, James absently stroked her hair.
“What’s troubling you?” she questioned as she fingered his roughened skin made by his chain of remorse. No body hair grew in a wide circle about his middle.
“The English,” he replied. “Nay, if I’m truthful, it’s my Scots … Clan feuds … only if we are united and stand together can we keep England at bay. The clans have been at their favorite pastime, cattle raiding, again.”
“The Campbells and the Hamiltons?” she asked.
He nodded and bit her ear playfully, “And you damned Kennedys are as bad as any, if not worse.”
“Ha! What about Douglas?” she demanded.
