Laird of the Mist (25 page)

“Are ye sufferin’ from some ailment we should know aboot?” Brodie asked him quite seriously and went back to studying him.

Callum turned to Graham, seeking some interpretation. When none came, he slid his gaze back to Brodie. “Do I appear ill to ye?”

“Aye.” Brodie nodded. “Ye do.” The corners of his eyes crinkled from his continued scrutiny. “Yer a bit flushed aroond the ears, and the way ye were howlin’ ootside we figgered ye must be ill . . . or goin’ daft.” He sat back and added a low mumble.

Graham moved farther away in his chair, taking his cup with him. But the reaction he expected never came. Callum did not throw his chair back and yank Brodie to him by the scruff of his neck. He simply sat there, a wry quirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Brodie, where’s yer wife?”

His cousin looked around the great hall, then shrugged. “She’s aroond here somewhere.”

“Ye should be with her.”

“I should?”

Callum nodded, “Aye, ye should.”

“Why?”

“Ye love her, dinna ye?”

“Eh? What the hell has that got to do wi’ anythin’?” Brodie asked him, sincerely confounded.

Before Callum could answer him, or, heaven forbid it, laugh again, Angus threw himself down into the seat nearest Brodie. “I think I broke me finger on yer face.”

Jamie appeared and took his place at Callum’s left. “Speakin’ of faces.” He reached for a hunk of bread on the table. “What happened after ye saved Kate from her attackers?”

Callum scowled at him, then went back to eating, ignoring the lad’s eager eyes.

“He recited a saintly prayer over her bonny head and raced her back here, where he would have nae time alone w’ her.” Brodie shook his head at Jamie. “What the hell do ye think happened after that, ye whiskerless pup?”

Realization finally dawned on the youngest of Callum’s warriors, and he blushed a fresh shade of scarlet. “Are ye claimin’ her, then?”

Callum downed the rest of his ale, then looked up at them. “Aye, I am.”

The smirk Brodie wore on his face vanished suddenly and he dropped his mutton back into his trencher. “That’s why ye asked me if I loved Netta. Christ, Callum, ye dinna love the lass d’ye?”

“Should I send fer Faither Lachlan, then?” Jamie asked eagerly.

“Dinna bother,” Callum said as he stood from his seat. “Our sacraments are no’ recognized by the church. But I dinna need a priest to approve our union. She’s mine, and I’ll protect her from the law.” He swept his gaze over each of them. “Do any of ye take issue with my decision?” His men shook their heads. “Good, then I’ll be goin’ to bed.”

“Bed?” Jamie asked incredulously. “But ’tis still light oot.”

Angus threw his head back and bellowed with laughter, but Callum barely heard as he picked up his pace heading for the stairs. When he was sure he was out of his men’s vision, he took the stairs three at a time. Kate was in his chambers, and he’d been eager to get there since she left him for a bath. She did not need one, he reasoned. She smelled fine already.

He stopped on the stairs, lifted his arm, and took a sniff. No’ too bad, he thought. At least he smelled like a man. Damnation, is this what love did to a man? Was he destined to become a smiling, blithering fool, so concerned with his odor that he would forget how refreshing fighting felt? By the time he reached the second landing his scowl turned into full-blown brooding.

His men had already noticed the change in him. Why, Brodie even thought he looked ill. With that thought souring his mood further, Callum ran his hand over his jaw, feeling for any sign of softness. He cursed under his breath and set his hard gaze on his chamber door. Kate was probably in there neatly arranging pink lilies in delicate little vases. He kicked an empty bucket out of his path. Now that she was his, she’d be staying in his chambers. Hell, he was going to have to get used to having a woman loitering around in his things. He stopped and paled as an even more horrid thought came to him. Mayhap she was polishing his bloodstained swords. God’s blood! He picked up his steps and almost sprinted the rest of the way.

The door to his chambers was slightly ajar when he reached it. He was about to plunge inside and stop Kate from whatever she was doing when he heard her voice.

“Umm, does that not feel good?”

Her silky groan of delight pricked his ears and froze his blood. Heart pounding, he splayed his palms on either side of the doorframe and moved closer to the opening.

“It feels like silk. It is so smooth. I can scarcely wait until it grows.”

Callum ground his teeth together, thinking of the slowest and most painful way of killing the rogue bastard in there with his woman. With his bare hands, he decided.

“Yer efforts are fer naught.”

His stomach twisted when he heard his sister in there, as well, her voice pensive and soft. “It does not seem to be working. He has not tried to kiss me yet.”

Kate giggled. “That’s because he’s afraid of your brother.”

And well he should be,
Callum thought, plunging into the room. He looked around, ready to remove someone’s head. His sister offered him a grin from where she sat while Kate meticulously brushed her hair.

“What’s . . . what’s goin’ on here?” he asked rather weakly, all the wind blowing out of his sails.

Kate offered him a smile that knotted his pitiful guts. “Your sister agreed to let me brush her hair. She is quite bonny, aye?”

Callum’s gaze dipped to Maggie. “Aye.” It sounded to his ears like a squeak, and hell, he would have scowled if he could stop the damn grin that insisted on curling his lips.

“Callum,” his sister inquired. “Are ye ill?”

There. His scowl returned to him full force. He almost sighed with relief, fearing it had abandoned him altogether. Maggie laughed and he melted all over again. Was this his sister sitting here with bows in her hair where crickets had once roamed? She was clean! She was wearing a fresh gown! And all at once, before Callum could stop them, his eyes misted. He blinked a few times as if some flying mote had landed in his eyes, then went to her.

“Ye’re a bonny lass.” He slipped two fingers under Maggie’s chin and lifted her face to his. “Who woulda thought it?”

“Och, go on with ye.” Maggie waved him away. “Ye knew I was bonny all along.”

He laughed, and his gaze was involuntarily drawn back to Kate. Their eyes met. For a moment Callum lost all thought. His laughter faded into a heart-wrenching smile of intimacy that sent Kate’s pulse racing.

Suddenly there was a hand waving before his eyes. Callum wrenched his gaze away from Kate’s and looked down at his sister. She grinned up at him, her teeth flashing. “Thank ye fer bringing her back.”

Callum kissed his sister’s clean head and sent her on her way. He followed her to the door and bolted it when she was gone.

Watching him, Kate was not sure if it was the mere sight of him that made her breath fail, or the smoldering intent in his gaze when he turned back to her. Her eyes glided over his form. There was so much of him, and all of it so wonderfully defined. Beneath his plaid of dyed wool, his shirt stretched across the broad flare of his shoulders. His belt hung low on his lean hips. The tattered edge of his plaid reached just above his knees, revealing a few inches of his bare muscular calves, encased in his hide boots. She searched her mind but couldn’t seem to remember any man in her father’s or uncle’s guard who was as handsome as Callum.

“Ye didna bathe yet.” The husky timbre of his voice heated Kate’s blood. He stepped forward, unbuckling the belt at his waist.

“I was tending to Maggie and have not had the chance.” She didn’t know she was holding her breath until Callum reached her and she sighed. Hands that killed with great skill closed around hers.

His powerful fingers feathered over her flesh like a butterfly’s wings, once more astounding her that he could be so gentle.

Somewhere in the back of her thoughts, Kate realized that she should be, at the very least, apprehensive about the pure male power he exuded. She had been a virgin who had never even been kissed up until a few weeks ago. She should be frightened, coy, demure, anxious—something. But she could not pretend. Not when she was standing so close to the man she had waited for all her life. He bent his head to her and she looked up, too weak to stand. What were those breathtaking eyes trying to tell her? Or was it simply the inky darkness of his lashes that made his eyes appear to glimmer like firelight?

He lifted both of her hands to his lips and kissed them, sending currents of heat throughout her body. Without a word, he unfastened the laces of her kirtle. His breath against her cheek thrilled her; the tender touch of his fingers and the intoxicating heat from his body made her ache for him. He tunneled his fingers through the thick curls at her temples, then traced a deliciously sweet path down the sides of her face, all the while his eyes tracing her features, worshipping what he saw. She arched her head back, exposing her throat to his silken touch and then to his hungry mouth. She was barely aware of her skirts and shift falling away from her body, mindful only of the full impact this man had on her.

“Have I told you, Callum MacGregor, how right it feels when you hold me?”

“Ye dinna have to tell me,” he whispered to her and carried her to his bed.

Setting her down within his fur blankets, he stepped back and simply reveled in her beauty. And then he shed his garments, and the last stone that made up the wall around his heart.

Kate held her arms out to the glorious man standing over her. She beckoned and he came to her, giving her power she never thought to possess. Though his dominating weight covered her from toe to crown, she experimented liberally, using her lips, her tongue, and her teeth over all the hard planes of his body. She was fascinated to find that she could control every deep groan this warrior uttered.

The power shifted when he grasped her hands and held them over her head. Her surrender was swift. His deft attack of warm, sultry kisses down her neck, between the satiny hollow of her breasts, and then over each milky mound conquered the arrogant victory she so fleetingly possessed. His tongue, more deadly than any sword forged, traced a heathen path over her belly, pausing to allow his lips to kiss the tingling muscles of her abdomen. Her heart went still for just a moment when she realized the destination his tongue sought. But then his face dipped, and, using a beguiling combination of tenderness and mastery, he partook of the passion’s nectar she offered him. Her back arched, and violent jolts of sheer pleasure coursed through her and made her quiver to her toes.

Her tormented groans snapped Callum’s control. He rose up like a languid god after devouring a bountiful feast. He lowered his hips to hers, and the touch of his rigid manhood between the crux of her thighs was so primal, so arousing, it shuddered Kate to her soul. He surged against her once, almost driving her to the brink of madness, then impaled himself in her as deeply as she could take him.

Pleasure so replete, so raw and ruthlessly erotic, rushed through Kate’s blood like a deluge. Her senses ignited until his ragged breath became her own. The scent of his desire clinging to his skin was as intoxicating as a field of bursting heather blossoms. The feel of his sculpted arms encasing her was more magical than any dream of being held in the arms of a knight could ever be.

He ground his hips against hers, withdrew slowly, then sank deep within her again. She curved her back, tempting him to suckle the ripe nipples stretching toward his hungry mouth. His appetite ripped a fevered moan from the back of her throat. Slipping his hand beneath her, his strong fingers spread over her buttocks, pressing her upward. He angled his hips to stroke the crest of her passion. His gaze fastened on her, taking in the pure beauty of her climax, and the sight of her was his undoing. He tried to wait, for he wanted to watch her like this forever, but the pleasure she took in him, the hot sheath convulsing around him, drove him wild, and finally he closed his eyes, lifted his head, and released the scalding bounty of his seed deep inside her.

Drifting off her body, Callum pulled her close against him and held her, kissing the damp curls at her forehead while she gasped with spent energy.

Later he bathed her, and it was the single most sensuous experience of Kate’s life. He reveled in each wonderful inch of her body with his soapy hands and feral gaze. He scrubbed her hair and massaged her scalp with titillating thoroughness, then playfully dunked her and kissed the droplets of water off her mouth and the breath clean out of her body.

Chapter Thirty-Three

T
WO DAYS LATER
, Brodie, Angus, and Jamie stood outside their laird’s chamber door. Brodie leaned against the far wall, crossed his ankles, and scratched his rough face with the tip of his dagger. Jamie paced a worn path across the threshold.

“Graham said to tell him posthaste.”

Angus dragged his rapt attention from the door and cast Jamie a sharp glance. “Then go ahead and knock, lad.”

Jamie’s pacing paused and he looked up. “I will.” He resumed his fretful trek without knocking. “Callum needs to know the MacLeod is comin’.”

Angus shrugged his hefty shoulders. “It ain’t like MacLeod’s at the doors. What’s the hurry in tellin’ Callum? Yer gonna get yer arse thrashed good.”

“Graham said to tell him.” Finally, Jamie raised his hand to knock, but a low, sensuous groan drifted through the door. Jamie’s fist stopped in midair.

“I wouldna knock just yet, were I ye,” Brodie said with a laugh.

“Hell, this could take all day,” Jamie mumbled, eyeing the door.

“Pity Brodie isna the laird,” Angus quipped. “We wouldna have to wait longer than a dozen breaths before ’twas over.”

“And I’d still have ye beat by ten,” Brodie returned with a grin.

“I’m knockin’,” Jamie said, ignoring them both. “He’ll want to know aboot the MacLeod.”

Angus grinned harder and folded his arms across his brawny chest. “Ye have much to learn, pup. Nae man wants to be interrupted while he’s enjoyin’ a woman. As ye’re aboot to find oot.”

“I’m no’—” They all heard the door open, but it was too late for Jamie. “—afraid of him.”