Highland Dragon (8 page)

“Ye are warmer than my sisters,” she whispered against his chest as her body relaxed and then drifted to sleep. Though the flutter of her peaceful breathing soothed his ears, her soft curves now had him in turmoil. A wool-covered thigh had wormed its way between his, while the swell of her breasts pressed gently against his chest. Her feminine scent could drive a man to murder, and just when he thought his cock couldn’t possibly get harder, she slid a hand between them and unconsciously massaged his earlobe.

She’d make a good wife—once he tamed her temper.

He wished his father could see the man he’d become. He was confident Da would be proud of his dedication to the alliance. Calin dwelled on little else over the years. Having apprenticed under Uncle Kerk, he’d been trained by most of the men now in his charge—men who were loyal and dedicated to the clan. He would do anything for kin, and his union with Akira would protect them and their lands.

He closed his eyes, wishing he never had to tell her the truth.

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Laird Baen Kinnon sat at his trestle table and clutched his throbbing skull. Morning always brought the same damned ache. The same frigid cold. Dawn’s light had already cut through the mist and crawled up the tower wall. Gray light cast a shadow over the young girl cowering in the corner of his solar. He pointed to a satchel atop a three-legged cuttie stool. “Fetch me that poke o’ herbs and come fill my cup with ale, wench.”

The girl shuffled across the moldy floor rushes to do his bidding. She’d spent the night curled up with a few orange cats in front of an empty hearth. Had he not been blind drunk, her pathetic bawling would have kept him up half the night. Luckily, the drink had swiftly overcome him.

Her tear-spiked lashes rose just enough for her to peek at him through dirty, pale hair as she handed him the satchel.

She shivered.

He grinned. Just being in his presence terrified her, and he had yet to touch her. He retrieved the satchel from her shaking hand and proceeded to crush the dried herbs with the mortar and pestle, letting the biting smell penetrate the fog in his head. The mixture had been one of the sparse bits of knowledge his father left him. The concoction had softened his old man’s fists in the early hours of day and, by twilight, his father had always been too drunk again to stand, much less beat him.

He sprinkled the dust into his cup, stirred the ale with his finger, and then consumed the drink in a single swallow. He held out his cup for the girl to refill. Her hands shook with the task, but once completed, she attempted to scramble away. He snagged her wrist and pulled her onto his lap. Her soft young skin contrasted with the leathery hide of his hand. He stroked her cold neck and felt her shake beneath his fingertips. Leaning into her, he watched her pulse beat in her throat. “How auld ye be?”

“Ten an’ three, m’laird,” she mumbled, her lips near blue, her jaw quivering.

He could feel her panic. Could smell her fear. He needed to intensify her terror before her father came. His hand slipped into her loose bodice to cup her small breast. She jerked against him, her ice-cold fingers clutched his forearm.

“Ye are auld enough to marry. Have ye a laddie in mind?”

“Nay, m’laird.”

“Mayhap I should take ye to my bed. Teach ye how to pleasure a mon.”

The girl’s response came in the form of a shuddering sob.

Her future held no import to him. He sought her revulsion. He intended to use the little innocent to coax information from her father. Something had been amiss for months. He’d sensed his warriors’ betrayal on the training field. There was a snake among them, and he needed to find the vermin before he bit. Once he discovered who he was, he would force Darach to carry out the traitor’s punishment. The wretch had yet to kill a man, much less torture a prisoner. Darach needed to spill some blood to gain the respect of the Kinnon warriors before he claimed chieftainship.

Kinnon scoffed, lost in his thoughts. Darach couldn’t lead a frog to water. The whore he’d bought the boy from long ago claimed he had the blood of a Spanish aristocrat. But Darach had turned out to be a sniveling twit without a trace of backbone. How many years had the boy been skulking about in the north tower—hiding away from dusk to dawn?

His named heir possessed no character for leadership. No skill for manipulating others. The only pawns he managed to maneuver were the armies of cats scuttling throughout the interior walls of the tower. The closest Darach got to the training field was a crow’s flight from the parapet atop the north tower. The knave was of no more value to him than his four dead daughters. At least they might have filled his coffers through marriage.

If only Lena had borne him a son—a male bairn possessing his own noble blood, things would have been different. Thoughts of her still infuriated him eighteen years later. He awoke often at night to the hollow sound of sorrow and the cries of babes in the nursery. She haunted the walls of Brycen Castle, of this he was certain. Nigh every chamber remained irritably cold like her betraying heart. Her lavender scent was the only smell that didn’t reek in this Godforsaken keep. How could the bitch still live inside his head?

He ceased the mild assault on the skittish doe in his lap and flung her to the floor. “Get off me.”

The girl tripped over a pile of old chicken bones as she scrambled to reach the farthest corner of his solar. Laird Kinnon stood abruptly, knocking back his chair. A sharp pain coursed behind his eye. He refilled his tankard and in one swallow, he emptied the cup. With his exhale came the hot plumes of anger.

Lena had turned him into the monster he was today. He’d been respected by his clan before he married that whore, and she betrayed him with the MacLeod. Dalkirth had belonged to the Kinnon ancestors for decades and he would see his soil in English hands before a MacLeod dare own a blade of his grass.

He finished the flagon of ale then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. The ruckus outside his solar door reminded him of his present task. The girl’s father had arrived. He crossed the chamber and pulled her up by her hair. She yelped then he forced her hand beneath his plaid and pressed her icy palm against his semi-hard erection. She blanched, and he thought she might swoon. Not giving her the opportunity, he gripped her around the waist and threw her atop a feather tick buried beneath shrouds of drapes.

A high-pitched scream rang out of her mouth at the same time the chamber door burst open and slammed against the stone wall.

“Let her alone, m’laird!” Niall Kinnon yelled as Kinnon’s warriors threw him into the room. He scurried to his feet and rushed across the floor to get to his daughter. “She’s all I have left in the world.”

Laird Kinnon motioned for his guest to sit.

“I mean ye no dishonor, m’laird, but I’d rather stand,” Niall said, while pushing his daughter behind him.

With a single nod, Kinnon dismissed his men standing beneath the doorframe, then returned his attentions to Niall. “Do ye decline your laird’s hospitality? Like ye refused my order for an audience? Your daughter would be safe in her bed had ye come when I summoned ye.”

He marched over the planks of his solar and rammed his fist into Niall’s gut, sending him to his hands and knees. “A Kinnon warrior does not fall after one blow. Get up! Ye are a disgrace to my clan. I should strip ye o’ my name and your bitch daughter, too.”

He kicked him in the ribs. “Get up, ye worthless cur.”

Gasping for air, Niall stood clutching his side. He stared remorsefully at his daughter and took a place at the trestle table. He didn’t turn away the silver flask of whisky Kinnon offered him. Instead, he took a hearty sip followed by another.

Laird Kinnon joined him in the drink, giving him ample time to comprehend the seriousness of his situation. “Ye pledged fealty to me a decade ago. I took your family in when ye had nowhere to go. I’ve been verra good to ye and trained ye beneath my own sword. After all I’ve done, why have ye betrayed me?”

Niall’s eyes widened. His skin turned ashen. Knuckles whitened around the flask. He took another gulp. Kinnon recognized fear easily.

“Answer me!”

“I have not betrayed ye, m’laird.”

Kinnon was sick to death of the lies. He crushed Niall’s head to the table. Blood spilled from his nose and mouth. “Ye lie! I have protected these lands for my kin, and my warriors repay me with lies.” He pulled his
sgian dubh
from his stocking and held the blade firm behind Niall’s ear.

His daughter cried out.

“If ye e’er wish to hear her screams again, ye will tell me who leads the rebellion against me,” Kinnon threatened.

Niall’s head shook and sweat gathered at his temple. “I dinnae know. I swear it. I dinnae know.”

More damned lies. Kinnon launched off him and grabbed the girl by the back of the neck. Holding her tight in front of him, he pressed the blade against her breast. A dab of crimson bled into her sark. “I’ll cut out her heart and feed it to ye raw if ye dinnae answer me.”

“Please, have mercy, m’laird.”

“Give me the traitor’s name, and I’ll release her.”

Niall pinched his eyes tight. His loyalty to the enemy sparked a fury in Laird Kinnon that summoned the beast inside him. “I’ll give ye the time it takes me to rape your daughter to reveal the traitor’s name then I’ll kill her in front of ye.” With a rip, the girl’s bodice hung from her waist.

Niall’s eyes flooded with unshed tears. His head fell and his lips moved in prayer. “Kendrick. Kendrick Neish,” he confessed. “Now please, free my child and do with me what ye will.”

Laird Kinnon smiled. Kendrick was a traitor just like his father, Murrdock Neish, and could be dealt with the same way. He could enjoy using each one of Kendrick’s sisters until he flushed out the bastard. The same way he had Murrdock. The same way he handled all those who rebelled against him, including Niall.

Tossing the girl aside with the flick of his wrist, he turned his blade on her father. Strong fingers laced over Niall’s forehead as Kinnon pulled his head back then sliced his throat open. He couldn’t have the informant infecting his new plan, nor would he tolerate disloyalty.

“Da!” Niall’s daughter screamed and fisted her hands over her mouth.

Satisfaction filled Kinnon’s chest as he met the girl’s horrified eyes. “It seems your father has met with an untimely death. As your laird, ’tis my duty to see that ye are fostered accordingly.”

He licked his lips and followed the screaming girl to the floor.

Akira awoke to Calin’s moist lips seducing hers. He tasted sinfully delicious. His warm inviting mouth aroused her senses. Until those senses fully awoke, and she realized what she was doing. She shouldn’t return his kisses so willingly, so wantonly. They were not yet wed and she wanted his respect—and the strength of his arousal pressing against her thigh had nothing to do with respect. Mam had not taught her propriety for her to lay beside this man and allow him to have his way with her.

She tried backing away, but the ground prevented her goal. “Have ye plans to rut with me now, m’laird?” she asked, displaying a congenial smile.

“By the saints, lass. There is nay reason to be so wicked so early. Try again. This time mayhap ye could say something a wee bit more pleasant.”

Akira looked past him into a gray sky and searched her mind for pleasant words.
It would be pleasant if I could go home. It would be pleasant if I wasnae cursed. It would be pleasant if I dinnae enjoy the fact that your hand just slipped beneath my wool.

The man had her wanton again. “If ye dinnae remove your person from me, I’ll introduce my knee to your bollocks. I might add, this may not be
pleasant
for ye.”

He laughed at her threat. “Those werenae pleasant words. Try again.”

Spiteful words came easily to her. She’d known harsh words as a child and learned long ago how to deflect the jeering. No matter how many barbs she threw at Calin, he dodged them and pressed forward. Mayhap he was a good match for her. The tightness of her face smoothed into a genuine smile. She conceded to his game. “Good morrow, m’laird.”

“There. That wasnae so difficult. And my response would be: ’Tis as beautiful a morn as the vision I awoke to.” Calin smiled at her as if he’d known her a hundred years and could wake to her face a hundred more.

The man was born with a silver tongue and a reckless ability to lie with it. Not for one second did she believe he thought she was beautiful. What was his game? She’d agreed to be his wife. Why was he making such great efforts to flatter her now?

Calin continued. “And your sleepy eyes and supple lips are all a mon needs to arise in good spirits. Of course, the fact I’ve managed to untie these three pesky ribbons brightens my morn all the more.”

Now he was the one being wicked. The palm of his hand lay over her stomach while playful fingers danced circles around her navel. She wished her body would quit betraying her. The man’s closeness had her near scorched with foreign desires. She squirmed just enough that her knee brushed the base of his heavy sac causing him to flinch. She wondered if he awoke every morn in such a state of arousal. The fleeting question sent a jolt of expectancy through her mons.

Calin leaned in to kiss her, again, but she placed a finger over his lips, removed his hand from beneath her plaid and stopped him. “Why are ye kissing me, m’laird?”

“Ye agreed to this condition. That ye would kiss me every morn, and every night, and anytime I felt the need to kiss ye.”

The grin splitting his face reminded her of how improper she’d been the night before. “This condition was made based on our union, and we are not yet married. So your kisses will have to wait along with the rest of ye that has arisen.” He looked crestfallen, staring down at her like a child who lost his pet.

“And if I dinnae want to wait?” Calin questioned.

“Then I’ll have to make more demands of ye.” Akira held back the smile threatening her face while contemplating her options. Her curiosity about their betrothal had been piqued the night before when he readily agreed to her requests. She wondered why he chose her so many years ago. Why not Maggie or Neala? Did Papa or Kendrick owe him a debt? Kendrick had known him longer than she’d been alive and her brother would be the only one who could answer her questions. Not that Kendrick had ever been loose with his answers in the past. She gave up trying to pry information out of her brother long ago.

She needed to know what Calin would gain from their union, but the man guarded her like a knight protecting his king. She had to ride with Kendrick today. But how?

As she stroked Calin’s dense auburn beard and inhaled his masculine scent, a mischievous idea developed in her head. She traced a fingertip over the brow that always seemed to be raised. “If ye intend to take liberties on my lips prior to our union, I would request that ye bathe with soap a minimum of once a sennight. Starting this day.”

He snorted loudly at her blatant insult. “M’lady, are ye implying that I smell?”

“I am
implying
naught. I am telling ye that ye stink.” Akira batted her thick lashes at him. “And this”—she tugged roughly at his beard—“I fear may be infested. If ye’ve any inclination of kissing me prior to our vows, then your beard will need to go as weel.”

Calin’s eyes widened. “M’lady, a Highlander without a beard is as rare as a sheep with nay wool. I have nary a doubt, ye are testing me.”

Akira crossed her arms over her chest and raised both brows to challenge him.

“Ye cannae be serious. Ye want me to…shave. The bath is acceptable, even desirable at this point, I admit. But the beard? ’Tis a most unreasonable request. Ye cannae ask this of me.”

“Then ye refuse?” She shot him a contrived glare to reflect her stubbornness.

Calin stroked his beard, contemplating briefly. “I’ll not do it. I refuse.”

Akira pushed him away then stepped out of the blankets of their pallet. “Then I refuse to ride with ye, too. I’ll not subject myself to another day suffocating on your repugnant odor. Nor will I have my skin crawling with your lice. Nor will I allow ye to chaff my face.” Stomping away in mock rebellion, Akira went to the brook for her morning ablutions.

Pleased as a sheared sheep in the summer months, she brought her hand to her mouth to cover her giggle then quickly asked God for forgiveness for the ruse. Granted, it was a wicked thing to do, but today she would seek answers from Kendrick.

Calin sat up and scowled. The little vixen was playing him like a fife. He agreed to every one of her requests the night before and, still, she wasn’t satisfied. This had to stop. He couldn’t have her thinking he would dance every time she opened her mouth or flashed those big blue eyes his way.

He tossed a murderous glance at Kendrick, who obviously overheard the entire quarrel as he grinned like a day-old groom. At least he was safe from the badgering of his men. His dear cousin, Jaime, would thoroughly enjoy this if he wasn’t still snug inside his plaid.

“Och, the lass is a shrew. Did ye raise her with extra spit and fire just to spite me or did she come that way?”

Two bushy eyebrows rose and curved Kendrick’s eyes into half moons. “Akira’s been spittin’ flames since ye laid the squallin’ dragon in me arms. Ye’ve verra much to learn about her. Other women—as I’m sure—may have fallen over themselves tryin’ to gain your attentions. Akira will not. I fear ye may labor hours on end to have her melt in your hand.” Kendrick burst with laughter. “I’ve a straightedge in me saddlebag, if ye’ve need of it.”

Calin gaped at the witless man as if horns suddenly sprouted from his head. “Are ye wowf? Think ye I am actually going to concede to this? I will be the laughingstock of my clan. Why would she make such a request o’ me?”

“I suspect the lass is testing your loyalty.”

“I
am
loyal,” Calin responded sharply.

“Ye are loyal to Clan MacLeod and the alliance. Mayhap Akira wishes to test your loyalty to her.”

Admittedly, this decision might be less taxing if Kendrick wasn’t so obviously enjoying Calin’s quandary. His auld friend was starting to grate on his nerves.

“If ye dinnae wish to shave for Akira then do it for your clan. Do it for the alliance. By making such a bold sacrifice, you are ensuring her acceptance of your union. And ye will flatter her in the process.”

Calin guffawed at Kendrick’s back-minded persuasion. “And how do I benefit?”

Kendrick’s grin turned into a toothy smile. “Ye get to ride with the lass and protect your secrets.”

A deep throaty growl vibrated out of Calin’s throat. “Damnation! I’m the chieftain of Clan MacLeod. Why in the name of Saint Margaret am I contemplating this?”

Pushing himself to his feet, Kendrick left Calin with a final thought. “Think o’ it as a means to subside some o’ the guilt ye must feel for branding her.”

Calin pushed air through his nose like an old bull.

A brilliant sun broke over the ridge, cutting through a hazy mist as the men waited atop their steeds. Sirius pranced impatiently among a patch of wildflowers while Akira sat pillion behind Kendrick, her nerves as fragile as an autumn leaf. Because Calin’s men hovered over them, she restrained herself from asking her brother any direct questions involving her union to Calin. She didn’t know how much these men knew or even if they could be trusted.

Feeling comfortable and safe again, she leaned into Kendrick and took a deep breath in an effort to ease her tension. She quickly recoiled. Not even the wildflowers beneath their horse’s hooves could lessen what this journey had done for Kendrick’s pungent odor. “Ye might consider a bath yourself, dear brother. With soap.”

“Think ye this is funny? I cannae begin to understand why ye made such a ridiculous demand o’ him. The mon has been verra good to ye. To our entire family. Laird MacLeod is chieftain o’ the clan ye are marryin’ into on the morrow, and ye make a fool o’ him in front of his warriors. A mon has his pride ye know.”

“But I just—”

Kendrick jerked a flat palm into the air and shook his head. “Quiet lass.”

Akira held her tongue, but wasn’t the least bit concerned about making a fool of him. Of course, Calin wouldn’t shave. She glanced at the other MacLeods. Their expressions filled with accusations, but not a single man voiced his opinion.

As the seconds passed painfully slow, she regretted her actions. She had goaded Calin to speak with Kendrick alone. Made a request the chieftain would, nary a doubt, not fulfill. She didn’t really expect him to shave, but he’d been at the brook far longer than any of the others. It was madness to believe he would fulfill her request just to kiss her. Did the man lack control of his lusts so much he couldn’t wait another day until they wed? Was it possible he might actually be attracted to her?

Akira shook her head, dismissing her foolish thoughts.

Calin emerged over the knoll, bare-chested, clasping his
léine
shirt between rigid fingers. The tails of his plaid swayed from his waist while the sun glistened off damp bronze skin dusted with golden hairs. His arms were as thick as her thighs and proudly displayed the rings of battle many warriors inked into their skin. The top blue ring, being thicker and more prominent than the other three, bespoke of a warrior’s loss in battle. Dark eyes met his men’s curiosity. He cringed.

Akira followed his line of sight and found his men gawking at him open-mouthed.

Gordon was the first to find words. “Who are ye, and what’ve ye done with our laird?”

Calin stabbed him with another piercing look. “Did I give ye permission to speak?” He sidestepped to Kendrick’s mount, grabbed Akira around the waist, and then jerked her to the ground. “Ye ride with me,” he demanded, more than a little perturbed. Turning to his men, he ordered, “Ye will ride ahead. We’ll meet ye at the Minch. The vessel should be waiting to ferry us across. Gordon, handle the funds with the captain.”

There was no movement—not man, nor beast. They were still gaping with slack jaws at him as if he were a bogie that slithered up from the underworld. “Ye’ll do as ordered. Now begone!”

Calin smacked the flanks of Gordon’s horse sending it racing. The others followed suit. His harsh tone and abrupt actions startled her, but she knew he was holding onto what pride he hadn’t just sheared off and left in the brook.

True, Calin wasn’t the man she had envisioned for her husband, but he proved capable of changing that image. She tried to hide her joy, all the while, ogling the handsome creature standing in front of her. Strength lined his face from strong cheekbones to a distinguished nose. The golden color of his eyes, though lit with anger, sparkled beneath dark lashes, and his rousing woody aroma stimulated her senses. But most of all—what tickled her innards and curled her lips—was his smooth jaw. She wouldn’t be riding with Kendrick, but she was nonetheless pleased.

He pulled her possessively to his chest and raised her hand to his cheek as if awaiting her inspection. She didn’t deny him. He did this for her, and she intended to reward him with her approval. Her fingertips touched his freshly shaven cheek. “’Tis better,” she murmured.

“I should hope this pleases ye,” he responded gruffly.

“It pleases me verra much. Verra, verra much.” She played over the slight cleft in his chin and along his strong jaw.

“Then I would have my kiss now,” he demanded and made himself ready for her by bending down.

Akira considered pecking him on the cheek just to be obstinate, but she secretly wanted to taste what he offered. Standing on tiptoes, she threaded her fingers into his darkened hair, flowing loosely in wet clumps over his brawny shoulders. Drawing him close, she skimmed a feather-light kiss over the ridges of perfectly chiseled lips before nuzzling her cheek against his jawline.

Settling back on her heels, Akira wavered beneath his smile. His grin creased his face with three dimples. Two set in his cheeks and one that winked at her from the corner of his eye. The longer she stared at him the deeper the crevices became until he flashed white teeth. Akira clutched her chest and inhaled deeply. He was certainly easy to look at.

Calin growled, ripped his
léine
shirt on, and rushed past her. “Ye are becoming difficult to woo.” He mounted and hauled her up in front of him. He whisked her raven locks aside and took a moment to dine on her neck. “I’ll not always do everything ye ask of me.”

“I know.” Akira warmed with amusement at the victory she won. Having only known him a day, she was elated with his willingness to please her. She resolved to be content with their arrangement, regardless of why he chose her. For her own safeguard, she would accept the fact he chose her because she was smart enough to manage the keep. As long as she kept her wits, she’d have a bounty of bairns to love her and a bonnie fine man to wake to every morn. She
would
make him a good wife.