Highland Magic (16 page)

Branwenn stiffened, her canal siezing in
delight, “Ohhh, ohhh, ohhh, G-aw—awwwd!” she moaned.

* * *

Callum recognized the sound and his erection
jerked in reaction. Trembling now with need, knowing that he’d just
made her come with very little effort—a highly arousing
occurrence—one that, in all his experience, he’d never had happen,
he dragged the hem of her dress up and clamped his palm over her
mons, pushing his fingers over and between her labia lips. God, she
was soaking wet. So ready for him, surely ‘twould not hurt her to
take him.

Cognizant thought halted in that highly
charged erotic moment and his body took over. He ripped at the ties
of his braies and, opening her thighs a bit wider, pushed himself
into her waiting womb.

* * *

“Ahhh, Oh, God!” Branwenn gasped, thrashing
her head from side to side. It only hurt at the first entry this
time. Now, ‘twas perfect, exactly what she’d been craving.

“Aye, aye,” he ground out, his face a mask of
tortured pleasure as he stroked—not gently—into her. “Put your arms
around my neck,” he said. When she did, he slid his hands down her
inner thighs to her knees and lifted them, spreading them wide. He
thrust up, deep. So deep, he touched the mouth of her womb. He
threw his head back. “Oh, God, oh, God, this is too good...too
good.”

Branwenn opened her eyes and regarded him.
His brow was beaded with sweat and his eyes were glazed. In the
next instant, he was kissing her on the mouth, thrusting his tongue
between her teeth and simulating the same action with it that he
was doing inside her canal with his manhood. Lord, but how he could
make every rational thought in her head scatter to the four winds.
Suddenly she shattered, splintered into a thousand pointed shards
of bliss.

* * *

Branwenn’s slick inner walls pulled at
Callum, begging him to give up his seed. A hot/cold chill ran
straight from his manhood, to his groin, down his legs, and up his
spine. But somehow, somehow, he managed to free himself from the
siren’s tight grip just before he crested. Unfortunately, the semen
spewed all over the lower front of her ugly gown.

But neither of them was in any condition at
the time to realize the blunder. ‘Twas not until a few minutes
later, after the two of them had stood in each other’s arms as they
waited for their breathing to return to a normal meter, and after
Callum stepped back and resettled the gown around Branwenn’s legs
that it was discovered. But not by him.

“Callum! You’ve ruined my gown!” Branwenn
chided. She fisted her hands in the material and brought it up for
his inspection, making what looked like a half-collapsed tent of
the thing. “How am I ever to explain this to someone, should they
see me in this state before I can change? And the wash maids will
surely know what the source is.” Her face crinkled in humiliation.
“Oh, God!” she whimpered.

Callum quickly tied his
braies before turning his gaze to the front of the gown. Damn!
She’d made him blush like a lass.
Again
! “Well, they might not.... It
looks like...I know not...cream or something. Just say you spilled
cream on your dress.”

Branwenn’s eyes burned into
him. “I?
I
spilled cream on my dress? So, I must take the blame as well
as wear the pith of your loins, is that it?”

Callum shrugged, but his
cheeks burned like fire. “Say
I
spilled cream on you then.”

“This is only one of two gowns I have to wear
until the others arrive, and now ‘tis stained! Why will you not put
that seed of yours where it belongs instead of everywhere it
doesn’t?!”

This reminded him of
why
he had not found
completion inside his lovely, generous, soft-hearted, but
sharp-tongued lover. “I assure you, I’m quite willing to do just
that—once we are wed.” He eyed her closely then. “Did your brother,
Bao, speak to you this morn?”

“Aye,” she said, not meeting his eye.

“And?”

“And what?”

Callum gritted his teeth and growled low in
his throat. “Did he tell you to accept my troth?”

Branwenn tossed her head, her hand fluttering
in the air. “Oh. Aye.” She still had not met his eye.

“Aaand?”

She lifted her brows and gave a little shake
of her head. With a seemingly disinterested sigh, she said, “I told
him nay.”

With a low rumble, Callum crowded into her,
placing his hands on her cheeks and squeezing ever so slightly,
causing her lips to pucker. His eyes settled on them for long
moments as carnal images leapt into his mind. Her tongue darted out
and licked her lower lip. Callum lost whatever thread of thought
he’d had and dived into her, devouring that lush, ruby mouth for
the second time in only minutes. He was out of control. What was
wrong with him? He couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of her any
longer. Not since he’d partaken of the delightful bounty of her
twice now.

‘Twas Branwenn that broke the kiss. Turning
her face away, she said urgently, “Callum, we cannot do this here!
Not again. We shall surely get caught.”

With a nod, he rested his brow against hers.
His breathing was harsh and he still held her face in his palms,
though more lightly now. “Wed me, Branwenn.” ‘Twas a plea.

Branwenn’s eyes misted. Oh, if only she
could! But she would not—not, at least, until he’d given her his
heart. “Nay,” she whispered sadly, “I cannot.”

* * *

“We shouldn’t allow it, you know,” Daniel
said to Bao a fortnight later as they walked toward the training
field to meet Callum.

Bao nodded. “Aye, I know. But, in my mind the
two are already wed. ‘Tis just the reciting of the vows that is
lacking.”

“But it cannot go on much longer in that
state.” He turned his gaze to Bao’s. “You agree, do you not?”

With a gruff sigh, Bao nodded. “Aye, agreed.
But why does Callum not tell her he loves her—is he that dense? He,
who Grandmother Maclean swears always knows the exact words to give
a lass to make her turn her eye to him, has even had every lass—and
lady—in the shire ready to do his slightest bidding since he was
old enough to tie his own braies.”

Daniel shrugged, his head shaking. “I ken it
not. He’s either lost this much-admired ability—or simply has lost
his senses, and his heart, to our sister so fully that his silver
tongue has turned to lead with her.”

“Aye, ‘tis the latter that sounds the
surest.”

“So...how much longer do we allow these
not-so-secret trysts before we put a halt to them?” Daniel
asked.

“I cannot help but feel sorry for Callum—and
I do want my sister well-wed to another, should the Norman show his
ugly face. So...let us give Callum a fortnight more to either give
the lass the words, or convince her to wed him without them.”

“Aye—or, if fortune is with us—the decision
will be taken out of our hands by the beginning of a babe growing
in her belly.”

“Aye, but I tell you truly, I like not that
thought. ‘Twould suit me better to have her wed first.” Bao looked
at Daniel and shook his head in wonder. “I never would have
thought, a year ago, that I would be so calm in the face of my
sister’s loss of virtue outside the bounds of a wedded union.”

Daniel slapped him on the shoulder and gave
it a shake. “‘Tis not so hard to understand, brother. The lass and
her swain—no matter how simple-mindedly foolish we believe he’s
behaving—are deeply in love. And there is no real choice for either
of them—as you and I both know from experience—than to wed.

* * *

The next day, trouble arrived.

But not in the form of a Norman. ‘Twas
David’s mother who showed up on the MacGregor doorstep, her
clothing chests in tow.

“I must speak to Laird MacGregor in all
haste,” she said to the steward once she had gained entrance to the
keep.

“Aye, my lady,” the steward replied and
walked out, presumably to fetch the laird of the keep.

Isobail Gordon settled on one of the stools
by the hearth. She knew she should remain standing, at least until
Laird MacGregor arrived and asked her to take a seat, but she was
simply too weary from the journey here. Her weak heart had not
grown stronger over these past days, as the physician had
confidently supposed was possible, and she was almost certain now
that the remainder of the time left to her in this world was short.
So, she must spend these last days near her son. And try to find a
permanent home for him, since his godfather—her brother—Robert
MacVie, had neither the coin, nor the time, to take her son now
that he was dealing with the possible loss of their clan’s
holding.

A sound of shuffling footsteps coming from
behind brought her out of her reverie. She stood and turned, then
performed a quick courtesy.

“Lady Gordon? You are David’s mother?”

“Aye, Laird,” she replied softly, smiling
gently.

“Well, I can surely see where the lad gets
his coloring. Why, he’s the same hair and eyes as you.”

Isobail relaxed. Laird MacGregor was quite
good-humored, naught like her vexing uncle-in-law, Laird Gordon.
“Aye, ‘tis truth, the lad looks the image of my father.” Her smile
brightened, revealing a dimple in her left cheek. “Tho’ my brother,
Robert, got his dark looks from my mother. You’d never know the two
of us were kin, were we standing side-by-side, if you knew naught
of the relation beforehand.”

Laird MacGregor chuckled. With lifted brows,
he asked, “Have you a need to quench your thirst, my lady? I could
have some ale—or wine—poured for us.”

Isobail nodded. “Ale, please. I find it
quenches the thirst more than wine.”

“Aye, I’ve found that to be true, myself. But
please,”—he swept his arm in the direction of the stools—“have a
seat, for you must be tired after the journey.”

After the two were settled and the ale was
poured, Laird MacGregor asked, “Now, my lady—”

“You must call me Isobail.”

“And you must call me Chalmers. Now, Isobail,
what brings you here so soon after your son’s arrival? You do not
think to coddle the lad, do you? For, I must be firm in this; the
lad must be weaned from such in order to prepare for the
knighthood.”

Should she tell him the truth? Would he allow
her to stay, knowing she was ill and would no doubt become a burden
to them? But, to lie to this man, as she’d originally conceived
doing, suddenly just seemed too wrong a thing to do. Her mind made
up, she straightened on her stool and said, “I’m not long for this
world, Chalmers.” The man’s brows shot up, then furrowed in a frown
of concern. He sat forward slightly on his stool. “‘Tis something
with my heart. It started several sennights past with a sudden
aching, and has now progressed to a point where I sometimes cannot
catch my breath. I’m quite weak. Tired, most of the time.”

“And you want to spend these last days with
your son.”

“Aye.”

“Have you brought your sundries with you? If
not, I shall send someone to retrieve them for you.”

Isobail smiled. “Aye—”

The sound of male footsteps came from the
direction of the doorway. Isobail turned and, in the next moment,
Callum MacGregor came through the door. A thrill ran across her
nerve endings and she smiled to herself. Lord, the man could always
gain that reaction from her, even tho’ there had never been
anything other than friendship, however carnal it had eventually
become, between them.

“
Isobail MacVie!
” Callum was beside
her in three long strides. Taking her hands in his, he settled a
brief kiss on her knuckles before bending and kissing her cheek as
well. “‘Tis been too long since last we saw each other. How is your
husband—what is his name?”

Isobail swallowed past the
lump in her throat. “William is dead. He died just before
Bealltainn
last.”

A shadow crossed Callem’s face. “I’m sorry,
Isobail. I know how deeply you cared for him.” He shook his head
sadly. “‘Twas not a good time for me, either. My own wife died near
to two moons after that very celebration.”

“Isobail,” Laird MacGregor interjected, “Do I
send for your sundries?”

She turned to him. “Nay, no need. I brought
them with me.”

“Are you staying here with us?” Callum
asked.

Her eyes settled on Callum’s face once more.
“Aye, Laird MacGregor has been so kind to allow me to do so.”

“For how long will you stay? I hope ‘twill be
for at least several sennights, as we’ve much to catch up on.”

Laird MacGregor cleared his throat. “Would
you like me to send for your son now?”

Isobail nodded.

“Son?” Callum said, his eyes following his
stepfather as he gave the directive to his steward. “You’ve a son?”
he asked in a stunned voice.

She grinned. “Aye. David Gordon? Your new
page?”

Callum’s eyes widened and
flew to her face, then he grinned. “David is
your
son? He’s talked so much of his
mother these past days as we’ve gotten to know each other, but
never once did I suspicion that I knew the lady!”

“Oh, Lord! I just realized! Was it you my lad
played that horrid trick upon?”

A look of chagrin settled on Callum’s
countenance. “Aye.” His smile returned, however, as he continued,
“But the two of us have worked that out between ourselves, fear
not.”

“Mama!” David said gleefully, walking with a
definite skip in his stride toward her. “You’re here!”

“Aye.” Isobail said, turning to her son and
holding out her arms for an embrace. As he moved into them, she
rested her cheek on his pale blond head, saying, “And I intend to
stay here for a while.”

* * *