Highland Dragon (16 page)

Crawling up beside him, she tucked herself partially beneath him on the slope.

She followed a trickle of water over his broad shoulder and studied the battle marks circling his thick arm. The wide top ring was near gray with age compared to the other three, which were sharp thin blue lines. “Did ye go to war young?”

“Not ’til I was one and twenty. Uncle Kerk wouldnae allow it.”

She traced the top ring with the tip of her finger. “This mark is older than that.”

“The rings dinnae signify the number of battles a warrior has fought. They represent a mon’s losses.”

“Ye lost many men when ye were young?”

“Nay. I lost my father when I was ten. I had the blacksmith mark me to remind me of my father’s aspirations.”

She met his tormented eyes and saw an age-old longing there she hadn’t intended to uncover. “I’m sorry. I know what ’tis like to lose someone ye love,” she whispered, overcome with the desire to comfort him.

“’Twas a long time ago.” He lowered his eyes, but not before she saw how much pain her last statement caused him. She desperately wanted to fill that void.

She reached up and caressed his bristled chin. “Calin?”

“Aye?”

Could ye ever love me like that?
The words dangled so loosely on her tongue, she felt all she had to do was open her mouth and they would come out. But the fear that his answer would crush her made her swallow the question and instead ask, “Will ye shave while we are here?”

His eyes flashed back open with the abrupt change in subject, and the air of humor returned to his grin. “Aye, but not until I bathe ye.” He ran the soap over her wet skin. Lathering her neck, her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. He set the soap atop its leather satchel and finished the job with his hand.

Though she enjoyed his touch, she couldn’t help but throw barbs at him. “I told ye I dinnae need your services to bathe. I can clean myself ye know.”

“As I am certain ye can, I thought ye might return the service.” He picked up the small cake of soap and placed it in her hand. Rolling onto his back, he cradled his head in his laced fingers and grinned. “I fear I need a stringent scrubbing. Would ye oblige me?”

Lusty barbarian.
Her husband proved to be very wolfish with his seductions. A playful trait she intended to learn, practice, and then master. She explored his body with the intrigue of a curious innocent. Her teasing fingers slicked over his shoulders, down his stomach, and around his corded thighs.

Then she stroked his cock—twice.

A robust moan rumbled from his throat. Hooded lids flickered over his rolling eyes. Intrigued by his response, she studied the pained expression on his face. She chewed her bottom lip wanting to touch him again.

She did.

She swirled her index finger around the tip of his cock, learning its smooth texture. She became bold in her perusal and gripped him firmly, unable to touch her fingertips to her thumb.

“Ye are being wicked, wife. Verra, verra wicked.”

Feeling her insides crackle with desire, Akira crawled overtop him, sliding her slick body over his. She brushed her breasts up and down his arousal then kissed him wildly. She pulled back. “Do ye want me, husband?”

Calin growled into her mouth, roughly pinched both her nipples, then spanked her bare arse with a whack. Throwing her off him, he jumped to his feet. “Hell and damnation! Of course I do, but I’ll not hurt ye. I swear ye are the devil in angel’s skin. Ye will pay for your wickedness, wife.” He dove headlong into the frigid water.

Laughing aloud, she sat up, curled her arms around her bent legs and watched her husband’s graceful dance in the rippling water. A sense of pride swirled behind her breast, warming her. She would make Calin proud to call her wife, and somehow she intended to find a way into her husband’s heart.

“Enjoy your merriment, you Scottish whore. ’Twill not last long,” Catriona murmured to herself behind the thick cover of gorse. Her nails sliced into her palms while a jealous fury erupted within her. “Calin belongs to me.”

Brycen Castle had never been so quiet. No squawking bairns running amok. No young maids scurrying with duties. The simple tapping of his guest’s fingertips on the stone council table sounded like a drum in his ear. The silence pecked at Laird Kinnon’s brain like a vulture on a rotting corpse.

It was cold enough to chill wine in the hearth. A hearth that hadn’t held a fire in nigh twenty years. Thick moisture slicked the stone table and dripped in black rivulets down the once smoke-tinted walls of the council chamber. He felt the end of summer in his bones. Or was the ice passing through his soul the spirit of his late wife taunting him again?

He hated this chamber. The chill was worse here than any other room in Brycen Castle.

Laird Kinnon itched for upheaval. Something to heat his blood and set his mind free of this haunted place. And Kendrick Neish would soon provide what he hungered for.

A war.

As of late, his training field reeked of male sweat and fresh blood. Every lad in Dalkirth who could wield a sword trained alongside their fathers, uncles, and brothers. Just yestereve he sent missives to his brethren in the Lowlands. The survival of Clan Kinnon resided in the loyalty of its kin. That loyalty didn’t extend to Kendrick. Laird Kinnon knew why Kendrick failed to train with his kinsmen. The traitor sold one of his bitches to the MacLeod. It took the blood of a prized warrior to gain that information.

The Kinnon garrison was strong, but not strong enough. His warriors would lose a battle against the MacLeods even with the aid of his Lowlander cousins. Which is why he now stood in his council chamber staring into the pitch-black orbs of Logan Donald’s eyes.

Laird Kinnon needed an ally.

He pulled at the loose-fitting woolen trews beneath his plaid as he paced around the stone table where Logan sat in apparent boredom. Long, dense fingers propped up his black-bearded chin and clouds of mist swirled evenly out his nose. A pile of cats by the empty hearth held his interest. Four in all. And every one as scrawny as the next. Laird Kinnon hated the mangy creatures, but had never been able to rid the castle of their presence. He’d tried to poison them, but the damned things wouldn’t die.

Lena had coddled them like bairns.

Logan brushed a piece of lint from the pleated wool draped over his shoulder. His nonchalant demeanor infuriated Laird Kinnon, but he tempered that anger and feigned interest in Logan’s personal affairs. “Your wife is about to deliver your first bairn, is she not?”

“Aye. Our midwife has confined my Maggie to a bed as her time draws near. Methinks she may be carrying bairns o’ two.”

“I have not seen Maggie’s brother among my warriors. Kendrick bears my name and lives on my lands, yet finds nay time to train with the Kinnon brethren to protect the verra ground he reaps.”

“Our country is at peace with England for the nonce,” Logan offered congenially. “Ye train your warriors as if war awaits ye on the morrow. There is really nay need to deplete your men’s endurance during such times as these. Kendrick devotes his time to tending to his herd and his womenfolk. Now I know ye have not dragged me away from my wife on the Sabbath to speak to me about the absence o’ my brother-in-law. What do ye want from me?” Logan’s brows drew tight as he rose from the table, towering two heads over Laird Kinnon. The trestle bench scraped across the floor and echoed off the empty walls. The cats scattered.

Laird Kinnon looked up at him and swallowed his pride. “I have asked ye here to propose an alliance.”

A treacherous smile played at Logan’s lips. “The chieftain o’ Clan Donald would sooner dig his own grave afore aligning with ye.”

Angered by Logan’s sardonic tone, Laird Kinnon’s pulse tripped a beat. “But your father would unite his clan with a shepherd’s son. A peasant who holds nay status and is disloyal to his chieftain.”

Logan bent over the stone table and looked Kinnon straight in the eyes—not a trace of fear could be found in his expression. “Kendrick dinnae sell his borders to the English for a bride and enough siller to fill the caverns beneath Brycen Castle. Ye would do weel to remember that ye did.”

Laird Kinnon spat in the empty hearth and paced the chamber in frustration. That English bitch hadn’t been worth the gold attached to her name. The same gold which had prevented him from aligning with either of his neighbors. The same gold that was now gone.

He gripped the dried ox hide from the chamber’s sole window and tore it from its fastenings. He searched the bailey. Smoke swirled in wisps from the cot-houses. Matrons herded their bairns down a path to the kirk.

A woman’s weeping echoed in the corridor behind him. His head snapped in the direction. Logan’s head cocked with intrigue, but Laird Kinnon knew that cry all too well. The strong fragrance of lavender suddenly filled the chamber. Despite himself, he shivered. “I fear ye leave me nay choice then. I have need for an audience with Kendrick. Ye are wed to his sister and can bring him to me. I have a proposition for the mon.”

“And what might that be?”

“As laird of Clan Kinnon, I wish for naught more than the same peace King James provides. Peace among my clan and the Isles. Kendrick has conveniently bound the Isles together for me by marrying his sisters off to my neighboring clans. ’Tis my intention for my son to marry Kendrick’s twin sisters and strengthen the loyalty within our clans.”

“’Tis bigamy and punishable by death according to the kirk. Kendrick will not allow it, nor will King James. Now, if ye have nay further need o’ me, I’ve a wife to tend to.” Without waiting for a dismissal, Logan scuffled through the molded rushes stirring up the stench of cat piss.

It infuriated Laird Kinnon that he held no status with this man. The Donalds had never been his enemy, but neither were they allies. For him to remain in power, he would have to get to Kendrick. “Darach will choose. One for his wife, the other for his leman. Ye will send Kendrick and his sisters to me, or I’ll send for your Maggie.”

Logan swiveled on his heel. The broadsword hanging from his hip swung wide with the action. A surge of trepidation flushed through Laird Kinnon, warming his skin. He poised his palm over the hilt of his
sgian dubh
in preparation.

Logan’s black eyes bore into him. “Ye cannae threaten me, auld mon. Ye may seek loyalty among your warriors by threatening their women, but ye have nay reign over my person or my Maggie. Touch my wife, and I can promise ye a slow and painful death. Kill me and suffer the fury o’ Clan Donald.”

Laird Kinnon would not be swayed by the obstinacy exuding from Logan’s eyes. These bastards had been after him for years to unite. Now that he makes one of them an offer, he is threatened for his generosity.

After Logan turned beneath the doorframe, Kinnon unsheathed the
sgian dubh
from beneath his right arm. Darach would have Kendrick’s sisters and Kendrick would regret he’d ever crossed Laird Baen Kinnon. Pinching the blade between thumb and forefinger, he flung the
sgian dubh
into Logan’s upper arm.

The man didn’t flinch, nor did he cry out. He simply pulled the blade from his arm as if removing a splinter. Laird Kinnon’s pulse skidded when Logan donned a broad smile from over his bleeding shoulder.

“Ye waste my time, auld mon, but I’ll give Kendrick your message. He has awaited your summons too long and will relish an audience with ye.” Logan wiped the dark blood from the blade then sheathed it next to his own in his wool stocking just before he left.

Alone in the chamber, Laird Kinnon tried to ignore the woman’s laughter.

Heat flushed through him. Perspiration slicked his skin beneath his fur vest. The walls instantly bled streams of black.

He drew a breath of lavender.

A feather-light weight brushed over his shoulder.

Hair prickled at his neck.

Laird Kinnon rushed from the chamber and headed for the training field.

“I swear when my sister returns, she will have ye drawn and quartered, Jaime MacLeod.”

Calin heard the futile threat just as he passed beneath the archway with his wife at his side. Jaime spun Isobel in circles, clearing a path through the chaos of the Great Hall. Two matrons sweeping out the old rushes reared back to avoid a foot in the face. Isobel shrieked and wrapped both hands tightly around Jaime’s neck. His cousin’s eyes were alight with mischief, while Isobel’s cheeks stained a rosy red.

Isobel thwarted Jaime’s advances in much the same way Akira had. Most women went willy-nilly beneath Jaime’s charms, but Calin concluded Isobel, like Akira, wasn’t most women. Untamed and obstinate, Isobel was just what his cousin deserved. The sight of their feuding struck him as comical. Feeling no need to keep his merriment contained, Calin’s boisterous laugh echoed into the tall ceiling above him, bouncing off the carvings of cherubs.

When he stole a glance at Akira’s stunned expression, he knew she didn’t share his opinion. Wide blue eyes and a gaping mouth verbalized her opinion more than words. He couldn’t determine if she was appalled or angry. He decided both.

Akira rushed around a man rolling a wooden barrel of heather ale, then tore Isobel out of Jaime’s arms with possessive force. Even though they were the same height and proportion, she carried Isobel at an alarming pace up the stone stairwell. Calin followed and tried to pry Isobel from Akira’s arms, assuming she would have difficulty with her sister’s weight.

Akira glared at his interference. “I’d like a moment alone with my sister.”

“Of course, but let me assist ye. ’Tis not fitting for—”

“I’ve been carrying Isobel for a decade. Ye insult me by implying she’s a burden to me.” Her firm countenance didn’t invite argument.

Calin backed away, nearly toppling over Jaime, who stood on the step below him. He swiveled to shoot Jaime a warning look.

“I dinnae treat her unkind in any way, m’laird,” Jaime defended, even though no verbal threat had been given. He crawled around Calin in the narrow space of the tower stairwell. Standing in front of Akira, he halted her steps.

Calin glimpsed the troubled glint in Jaime’s eyes when he touched Isobel’s cheek. Furthermore, he recognized the victorious expression on Isobel’s face when she drew her finger across her throat.

Jaime turned to Akira. “M’lady, dinnae believe what Isobel tells ye. I’ve been a perfect gentleman in her presence.”

“Ha!” This reaction was unanimously delivered by all three of Jaime’s accusers.

“Ye are nay gentleman, Jaime MacLeod,” Isobel said. “Ye are a rakish swine.”

A lock of blond hair fell over his brow when Jaime’s chin fell to his chest. The crushed look on Jaime’s face reminded Calin of the young lad who’d been pushed back to Aunt Wanda’s skirts when Calin had been old enough to train with the MacLeod warriors. He brushed aside the familiar pang of sympathy and watched Jaime descend one step. Calin had never seen such a look of defeat on the man’s face as he did right now.

Akira took advantage, and pushed forward. But Isobel halted her. “Wait.”

Jaime turned, his eyes wide and hopeful.

“I’ll need an escort today,” Isobel said. “If ye promise to behave, I’ll allow ye to accompany me to the games.”

Jaime dipped into a regal bow. “With m’lady’s permission, I’d be honored.”

Akira just stood there staring at Jaime, the look of shock still clinging to her face. “I need to speak with my sister in private.” Her voice faltered.

Calin followed the sisters up the stairs and into the solar adjoining his. He held Jaime at bay beneath the archway, giving Akira the privacy she’d requested. Akira sat Isobel atop a three-legged cuttie stool in the corner of the chamber then smoothed her red plaid kirtle around her. Try as he did, Calin couldn’t hear the women’s conversation, but he watched intently.

Akira had difficulty swallowing. She thought her eyes must be playing tricks on her. Did she really see Isobel’s leg move? Kneeling in front of Isobel, Akira held her hand then noticed the blush in her cheeks and the dimple at the corner of her eye. Never had she seen her sister look so happy.

Isobel’s face exploded into a flurry of exhilaration. “Is Jaime not the most delicious rogue ye’ve e’er laid eyes on?”

“Nay. My husband is. Never mind that. Isobel, your leg. I saw your leg…” She couldn’t find words to finish her sentence. Akira had catered to Isobel for more than half her life. Bearing Isobel’s weight somehow lessened Akira’s guilt about the accident. Isobel never asked for anything. Simply existed from day to day in silent frustration.

But now, Akira was filled with such hope she could barely breathe.

Isobel leaned close to Akira and kissed her forehead. “Do ye remember the tingling I got just after the accident?”

“Aye.” Akira’s stomach jumped, but too often she’d prayed for her sister’s recovery and too many times she’d been disappointed. She waited patiently for Isobel’s continuance.

“Jaime took me to—”

“Enough about Jaime. I want to know if I imagined the movement in your leg.”

Isobel soothed her with a smile. “My toes started burning about a month ago. It wasnae like the tingle. ’Twas different.”

“Why did ye not tell me?”

“I dinnae want to get your hopes up, again.” Isobel massaged Akira’s earlobe as she continued. “Ye will think me brazen. And I swear if ye tell Mam, I’ll pull out your eyelashes.”

“Crivons, Isobel. Tell me.” Akira couldn’t stand the unknowing on a subject so close to her heart.

“Yestereve when Jaime took me to my quarters he wouldnae leave. I wouldnae admit it to him, but I dinnae want him to leave.”

Akira followed Isobel’s line of sight over her shoulder and saw the two men standing in the entranceway—a frightful expression now engraved on both their faces. She turned back to Isobel. “Please, do go on.”

“He touched me,” Isobel said softly. “Weel, he…I dinnae give myself to the mon, but no one had e’er paid me any heed and…”

“Tell me, Isobel. I swear on Papa’s grave, I’ll not judge ye.” Akira’s hands visibly shook in anticipation.

“When he touched me, my entire body came alive. I felt my legs burning. Not a tingle in my toes, but an ache. ’Twas so powerful. And after…” Isobel blushed. “This morn when I awoke to his teasing—”

“He stayed in your chamber?” Akira interrupted.

“Ye promised ye wouldnae judge. I told ye I dinnae give myself to him.”

“Forgive me. Do continue.” Akira pressed her lips to Isobel’s palm, and held her tongue. Isobel’s words were so hushed Akira could barely make them out.

“He kissed my legs, and I felt his lips. I looked down and saw my toes moving. Look.” Isobel raised her kirtle and wiggled her big toe.

Akira burst into joyful tears, and collapsed onto Isobel’s lap. Her whole body shook as she hugged her sister around the waist. Never had she known a greater happiness than she felt at this moment.

At this sight, Calin turned to Jaime. “If ye’ve hurt her, I’ll kill ye.”

Calin crossed the chamber and raised Akira to her feet. Brushing her hair from her face, he wiped the tears from her eyes. “What has he done? Tell me, and I’ll punish him to the fullest extent of his crime.”

Her face smoothed into what appeared to be happiness, but her big blue eyes overflowed with tears. He wanted to console her, to listen to her, but instead of explaining, she ran into Jaime’s arms. She embraced him so ferociously he gasped for air. Grabbing both sides of Jaime’s face, she kissed his cheeks, his chin. Then, damn the saints, if she didn’t kiss him on his mouth.

“I fear I love ye, Jaime MacLeod.”

Jaime turned a bright shade of pink, which infuriated Calin to a state of insanity. “Ye what?”

“Jaime, mayhap we should give my sister and her new husband some privacy.” Isobel waved him in her direction.

“Nay. I want ye to stay,” Akira insisted.

“Nay! I want them to leave,” Calin insisted stronger and actually felt his nostrils flare as he pointed at the door. Anger heated his skin, and his patience ceased to exist.

Blowing a relieved breath, Jaime crossed the chamber and lifted Isobel into his arms. “There is an herb garden just outside the walls. Would ye like to see it?”

“Nay. Isobel ye—” Akira started to protest, but Calin interrupted.

“Wife, let them leave.”

Isobel wrapped her arms around Jaime’s neck as he carried her with ease toward the open door. She gave Calin a “be-nice” look over Jaime’s shoulder that only irritated him further and waved to Akira with one finger as they left.

Akira’s cheeks streaked with tears, but she donned a huge smile. Calin was furious when he crossed the chamber and slammed the door. “Damn the saints! Ye will tell me what that was about? Ye kiss another mon and tell him ye love him, and I am the one who has promised not to take a mistress?”

“Ye are overreacting.” Akira’s smirk enraged him all the more.

“Overreacting? We have been married a day, and already ye are throwing yourself at another mon and right in front of me!”

“Calin MacLeod, I think I found your temper,” Akira teased then closed the space between them. When she reached up to caress his cheek, he roughly seized her wrist.

“Ye tell me what Isobel said. I’d like to know what makes my wife fall instantly in love with another mon and cover him with kisses. Kisses that belong to me.” Calin’s tone bordered on cruel, and the hold he retained on her wrist was unbreakable.

Ignoring his obvious rage, Akira’s smile became even broader. “He found her legs. Jaime found her legs. Isobel has been crippled for a decade, and that lusty bastard found her legs.”

Calin’s frown lessened, but he wasn’t satisfied. He waited for her to elaborate.

“I love Isobel, and I am the reason she’s crippled. There is nay greater gift I could’ve ever been given.”

He released her wrist, but the image of his wife kissing Jaime blinded him from fully comprehending her words. “How did he
find
her legs?”

A glint sparkled in her eyes. “He touched her the way ye did me.”

“I’ll kill him.” Calin pivoted to leave.

“Nay! Ye must not say anything. Isobel threatened to pull out my eyelashes if I told anyone.” Akira locked her arms around his neck. “I dinnae love Jaime. I spoke out of haste. I promise not to attack him again.” She stood on her toes and gave Calin a quick kiss on the cheek. “Dinnae be jealous.”

But he was jealous. Damned jealous.

Love. She used the word so freely. He selfishly wished he’d been the one to give Isobel back her legs. He wanted to be the one she said those words to. They’d come so easily for her. But she was passionate about Isobel. He wanted her to be that passionate about him.

Damn the saints!
She was rubbing his ear again. But, that too, she shared with Isobel. He’d seen them do it. That, too, he wanted to be his and his alone. “I am jealous,” he admitted in a gruff tone. “I’m jealous of Jaime, of Isobel. I’m even jealous of Andrew. Sit down, I want to talk.” Calin hauled her beneath the ivory-lace dome of the canopy bed then forcefully sat beside her.

She twisted into him and slid an aggressive hand beneath his plaid. Skimming over the bristly hair of his bare thigh, she lewdly cupped his heavy sac, which caused his manhood to leap. The insatiable woman then had the audacity to actually purr. “But we have talked all morning. I am feeling rather…healed.”

“I am not.” Calin pushed her away from him then crossed his arms over his chest like a spurned boy. “Tell me why ye feel responsible for Isobel’s injury.”

She scowled at his rebuttal. “There was a boy, Gowan, son of one o’ The Beast’s favored warriors. He tormented me. Called me a witch and played tricks on me. He told the other children I’d been sent to Beauly Priory because I was evil. The day before the accident, he cut my hair. He said he needed the lock to cast a spell on me. Isobel and I snuck into his cottage that night and took his younger brother from his crib.”

“Ye stole the boy’s brother?”

“I am not proud of this. Now do ye want to know or not?”

His silence encouraged her to continue. “We
borrowed
the brother and put another piece of my hair along with a muddy toad in his place. That morning Gowan came running into Dalkirth screaming like a girl and accusing me of turning his brother into a toad. He was crying when Isobel and I skipped in with his brother, returning him with angelic smiles. We lied, and told his mother the lad came out that morning to play. The children laughed at Gowan’s insinuations and ridiculed him.”

“Like they always did ye?”

Akira nodded, her fingers working at a loose thread on her kirtle. “Of course, he dinnae have to put up with such mockery Gowan and Darach Kinnon were as thick as cherry sap. That afternoon, Isobel and I were walking down the path at the base of the keep. When we looked up the slope, Darach and Gowan released a cart full of boulders down the hillside at us. Isobel pushed me out of the way, and the cart rolled over her back. She just laid there flat on her belly with her face pressed into the ground. The wheels never even touched her legs. But she never walked again.”

Akira’s voice was laced with sorrow, and Calin regretted making her dredge up the past. But at least now he understood her hatred for Laird’s Kinnon’s named son. “’Tis when ye quit sending the missives.”

Akira nodded. “I dinnae feel I was of worth to anyone.” Caught up in the memory, she squeezed in closer and reached for his ear.

Still irritated, Calin grabbed her hand. “Why do ye rub my ear?”

Akira’s thin dark brows wrinkled as if appalled by this accusation. “I dinnae rub your ear.”

Calin actually felt his eyes bulge. Was she jesting? How could the woman not know she did this? “Ye have been teasing my right lobe since I met ye. Every morn, every night, and every time your mind is preoccupied by something else. As it was just now. I want to know why, and I want to know why Isobel does the same to ye.”

Akira looked genuinely perplexed. He didn’t know why this would be such a revelation to her, but it was just the same, and he intended to know why.

“I dinnae remember ever doing this to ye. ’Tis not possible that I believe we are…Nay. ’Tis foolish thoughts of children. ’Twas just a habit I acquired in infancy—naught more. Isobel and I have always done this. ’Tis our…connection. Since we are twins, Mam said—”