The Chieftain Needs an Heir - a Highland ménage novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions) (9 page)

She wondered how long it would be before Oona started the remedy. 
Her toes were still tingling on the Venus Star, and now the heat from the fire was fevering her for Niall's touch.

Niall looked to the fresco of a man's hands holding a babe
, and the babe holding the single eagle feather in his wee fist.  Trained by his father to quickly interpret any scene he burst in upon, he'd taken in the general theme when first he emerged from the passage.  This would be the wee lad who grew to Chief near the end of the paintings' story, and conceived at its beginning at the arch.  This would be the babe he saw in his vision of victory.  Time was an odd thing.  Always ye could look back, and whiles ye got to see forward.     

And that damnable Mirren was trying to spoil it for him and Sorcha.  A
wily minx, she was, flirting with him and his friends.  His brother never could see past her buxom tits to her devious ways.  It would bother her none for Ruaridh to take part in this – and they had all witnessed Traditions far stranger.

Sorcha had fussed over their
two bairns and loved them like the ones she didna have, and Mirren couldna stand to have her own bairns second best when the Heir's Cradle came to be filled.  Ruaridh was different, giving him sensible advice on keeping his ballocks cooled and never wearing breeches instead o' his kilt.  A good brother.  He didna mind him being wi' Sorcha if it helped fill that cradle, and he knew it would take more than a misbehaving wife to put Ruaridh MacKrannan off his stroke.

And that thought took him to Sorcha's daily companion until the preparations for this Tradition.  Mirren.  If she was willing to risk banishment from the clan to stop Sorcha
having bairns, what else had she been up to before this?  His gut told him there was more to find beyond the many insults in her words.  He'd ask the Wisewomen, the best spies he'd ever had. 

Niall took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  He must focus now on what
would be lying ahead for him… or standing upright for him, according to the Rules.  Right glad he was o' the experience his Coupling of the Chieftain Tradition had given him in being witnessed in the act.  Right proud he was that Sorcha was no' going to be skittish about his brother and cousin's involvement.  A chieftain's wife, ever brave and up for anything.  He hungered to Spend inside her.  One bliss she could have wi' him?  He'd make her clench so tight…

And what in hell's name had the Wisewomen done to her?  He'd never seen her bonnier!
  The fire toasting her lovely backside was no' enough to explain the smoulder coming out her eyes when first he'd espied her this night.  Those flaxen locks fairly glinted in the candlelight, and her skin looked as if lit by a thousand more candles inside her.  It was a long, long time since he'd seen Sorcha look this happy.  And so pleased to see him that his ballocks ached along with his heart.

Niall went deep inside himself, to the silent place of his
warrior spirit, and prepared to win for the clan.  Their son would be conceived this night.  He looked to the fresco of the man's hand holding the babe, and
knew
the single eagle feather would soon be needed.  Victory was right there in front o' him.

Mirren looked to the fresco of MacKrannan Castle.  Damned if the Bard would banish her from here!

She had one chance left this night.  And it would be a fine way to punish Ruaridh for not defending her.  When he asked her to rouse him, she would no' be very good at it – just this once.

Ruaridh
looked to the fresco of the MacKrannan village and the cottages and all the clansfolk and felt swamped with responsibility and failure.

What if Niall was killed?  After what Mirren had done, the clan would more likely call Hector home
to be chieftain – and Ruaridh would be the first to agree with them.  For all he'd done right in his life, the one thing he'd done hellishly wrong was to wed Mirren.  She was fine wi' him, giving him bairns and playing the good wife but he'd fooled himself too long on how she treated other folk.  Was there anyone left for her to insult this day?

To hell with her. 
She'd made herself the centre o' attention for no good reason.  This was nothing to do wi' her.  He must put her out his mind and focus on what had to be done for his brother and the clan. 

B
eing told he was to couple wi' Sorcha had near knocked him flat.  He could feel his face reddening yet at the news. It was short-lived.  He'd remembered being a young untried lad, and their father sending a couple of wenches to teach him and Niall the business.  But one of the wenches didna show up, so they'd shared the other atween them.

He'd never minded
coming second to Niall in anything until then.

And he remembered describing the feeling
in fair detail to his father, who laughed fit to burst and hollered to his mother to come hear about it, and them sending him another two wenches all to himself to make up for it.

Any minute now the Grandam Wisewoman would be reconvening this Tradition
and he'd never felt less in the mood.  Again his failings overwhelmed him.  Even the thought of being inside his fantasy goddess did naught to help.  Maybe his wayward thoughts about his brother's wife had come back to bite him.  But he had a duty to Niall now, and to Sorcha, and to the clan.  His only hope of carrying it out was to use that Rule of having a woman rouse him.

There in front of him was the painting of the clansfolk.  Maybe it was a sign.

Hilde looked to the fresco of the arch and wished she were Sorcha, only because Sorcha would have Ruaridh fill her this night.  Such thoughts were impure, and would not help this Tradition, but the Chamber of the Green Man was built for such dreams of love.  Even the painting of the man's bare shoulder looked a bit like Ruaridh, for she'd seen him many times partly-bared for combat and swimming.  It had taken all her willpower and Wisewoman training to focus on the purpose of his cleansing when she saw him naked.  Having to wash his manhood with Cecily was a torture.  She was sure her tongue was near half out her mouth, and scared he'd see her wanton longing.

It worried her h
ow she would bear watching him couple with Sorcha.  But Cecily and Oona both knew where her heart's secret lay, and had promised to compensate for her third share of Wisewoman work if they saw her distracted.

Humming the bees' song helped
.  It took her mind to a higher plane where the sun might shine on star-crossed lovers, and Ruaridh was still available, and would want a Wisewoman instead of a Mirren.

And when she came back to herself, she focussed her mind onto
the chieftain's wife, and the arch, and the next fresco along where Sorcha was early with child.  Despite all the trials to reach this point, Hilde still had a good feeling that this would work out well.  Sorcha was just lovely and the time in her bedchamber had flown past.  And she liked to think that the time with the Wisewomen had made a difference to Sorcha's life already, far beyond keeping Mirren's seedcakes away.

Hector was so used to fresco
es decorating the royal palaces and castles around Scotland that he didn't notice what was in front of him.  His mind was back on his job as Captain o' the Queen's Bodyguard – not the guard rotas and suchlike, but in the mind-set of identifying motives and detecting crime.

Sorch
a was the queen here this night.  Mirren had been out to sabotage this Tradition since the Vault, and maybe before.  He'd see what showed in her face when the chieftain made love to his wife.  He was good at reading faces.  Had to be, in his job.

Was it
because Ruaridh would be wi' another woman?  Nay.  She put up with his wenching.  Encouraged it, by all accounts, except when she'd wanted another bairn, and that was no' way to keep a man.  There was something she'd said…
'three men on the one barren wife'. 
A resentment was there – and maybe a fear the Tall Wife remedy would work? 

What benefit would it be to Mirren if
Sorcha had no bairns?  Her own son would become chieftain – and there was a fine motive for a woman whose face showed her bad thoughts from sunrise on.  Or worse, for he was trained to imagine the worst just in case, how would she benefit if Sorcha was gone?  …Had she a notion for Niall?

And that thought pulled him back fast to his predicament.  Niall and
Ruaridh had once nicknamed him The Tripod when they were all daft young lads and showing off.  But he'd been lonely here as he grew, for none o' the lassies would have him without a wedding first, and he'd preferred to try it out in a less complicated manner beforehand.  One o' the wenches that refused him was honest enough to say it was because none o' the clansmen would take her after.  He'd gone into the royal army and found plenty young widows at court were pleased to have him, and that got him by.