An Allusive Love (A MacNaughton Castle Romance Book 2)

by Aubrey Wynne

  “I’ll meet ye up there,” he called back as he put his boots back on and jumped from the boulder.

  Scaling the hill, he found Kirstine under their tree, the plaid already spread on the damp earth. She smiled, the same smile he’d known for fifteen years but with an added question in her eyes. He’d have to remove that. Charlie thumped his tail where he lay several feet away.

  Brodie stepped onto the blanket and reached for her hand. She stared at the blanket, suddenly shy. He lifted her chin, but his smile faded when his eyes locked on her trembling lips. Brushing his mouth against hers, her sigh warmed his skin, and a thrum started low in his belly.

  He pulled her close, his arms around her waist, their bodies snug against each other. Her body molded to his as if they’d been two halves separated during another lifetime and finally found each other. He dipped his head again and pressed his lips to hers, his tongue sweeping the seam of her mouth. She tasted of heather tea and honey. His heart ached with the sweetness of her while his mind wondered why this had taken them so long. He pulled away reluctantly.

  “As ye can see, I havena changed my mind,” he murmured against her hair. “But we need to talk.”

  Kirstine nodded, her dark eyes bright. They sat down on the plaid, and he leaned back on his elbows with his ankles crossed. She did the same while they both studied the landscape. The waterfall gurgled and splashed. The sun peeked out from behind a cloud, and the spray glistened and sparkled as it hit the clear stream. The rays snaked between the dense cluster of branches and cast speckles of light across their bodies and the plaid. Birds chirped above them, and the earthy smell of pine and soil soothed his jumbled thoughts.

  “What’s going through yer head right now?” He tried to remember the speech he’d planned.

  “The truth?” she asked without her usual humor.

  “Of course. When have ye given me anything else?” His stomach tightened a bit at her tone. It didn’t sound like a woman who’d just been thoroughly kissed.

  “I see the same expression in yer eye now that I’ve seen a dozen times before. Each time ye find someone new, ye get that glazed look, like the stained glass of the church when the sun’s rays come through. All bright and hazy.”

  “That’s no’ true, Kirsty.” He stopped when she held up a hand.

  “I dinna want to be another one of yer cast-offs. So, I’m giving ye the chance to end this now before it ruins our friendship. We can forget this ever happened if I’m only to be yer next summer love.” Her words were harsh, but tears shimmered in her eyes. “I couldna bear it.”

  Her words punched him in the gut. “So ye have the same opinion of me as my grandfather and sister?”

  “I’m no’ sure what ye mean.” Her gaze was fixed ahead, watching a hawk perch on a spindly pine growing from the side of the cliff.

  “That I’m inconstant, my affection wanders easily.” A small knot replaced the punch.

  She shook her head. “I think ye love to fall in love. It’s the excitement of someone new that lures ye, the chase. And once it’s over, so are yer affections.”

  Brodie mulled this over. She was right, of course. The first flutters of new love were like a good scotch whisky. A slow, intoxicating burn that spread through his limbs and down the body. How could he explain to her that this was different?

  “If this doesna work out between us, we canna return to the way things were. Is that what ye’re saying?”

  When she nodded, he swallowed the lump in his throat. Losing Kirstine’s friendship was not a possibility. She was a part of his life, in his daily thoughts, his support. He needed her like roots needed soil. He hadn’t made an important decision without her since he was ten years old.

  “And if we stop now, we can continue as we have been?”

  Kirstine hesitated, then gave him another nod.

  “What will ye do then?” he asked, though he knew the answer.

  “I will consider courtship and marriage with another.”

  “To the likes of MacDougal?” The knot twisted and grew.

  “It doesna matter who, Brodie. I am almost one and twenty and must consider my future. My ma is right. I willna be happy without a family of my own.” She blew out a long breath. “Ye will always be in my heart, ye ken that, but I must move forward. This limbo I’ve put myself in is no’ working anymore.”

  Was this an ultimatum? It ruffled his pride that she would push him into a corner. That was what usually ended his dalliances. “So, I need to decide if I want to marry ye this very minute or forfeit the chance?”

  Kirstine stood and brushed off her wool skirt. His eyes lingered on her backside.

  “I never said anything about betrothals today, but this is about commitment. Let’s meet again tomorrow, and ye can reflect on what I’ve said.” She moved off the plaid.

  He was on his feet quicker than a frog on a fly. The sudden motion brought Charlie to his feet, watching Brodie with narrowed golden eyes. He snorted at the hound’s possessiveness. Well, that made two of them.

  “I dinna need a day to consider my life without ye.” He caught her arm and turned her to face him.

  “Ye tend to be impulsive when it comes to love, Brodie. It’s the only time yer brain doesna mull a subject over to see every viewpoint and implication.” She threw her hands in the air. “It’s as if ye’re blind on the matter. Ye leap first and see where ye land after ye’ve fallen.”

  “I ken where I’m falling right now. Exactly where fate has wanted me to be these past ten years.” Brodie cupped her face, his thumb brushing away a tear. “My grandfather and sister have the same worries, so I’m no’ hearing these sentiments for the first time. But this is different. Ye fill a void no other can. It just took me a wee longer to figure it out.”

  An image of MacDougal filled his mind, his hand on Kirstine’s lower back as he led her to the May pole. Brodie’s gentleness vanished. His mouth claimed hers hungrily; he parted her lips with his tongue and swept inside. When her arms draped around his neck, his fingers threaded into her silky tresses, one hand moving down her back to cup her buttocks. He feathered kisses across her jaw, hard with desire as her head fell back, exposing her neck. His lips worked their way down, paused at the hollow in her throat, then traced along her collarbone with his tongue.

  Her gasp brought him from the fog. For the love of saints, he wanted to take her right here. He stepped back, grasped her arms, but kept a space between their bodies. They stood panting, their eyes locked.

  “I love ye, Brodie MacNaughton.” Her fingers dug into his forearms, her chest heaving. “Promise me ye willna break my heart.” Her eyes were dark and pleading, her voice breaking.

  He tucked a burnished red strand behind her ear. She’d never looked so lovely. “I promise no’ to break yer heart, Kirsty.” He gathered her in a tight hug. She clung to him, and he marveled at the certainty that invaded his soul. “Can we still meet tomorrow?”

  She giggled into his chest, but her head moved in agreement. Then she pushed at his chest until he was off the blanket. From years of habit, they each took an end of the plaid, shook it, and came together, then repeated the actions until it was folded in a tight square. Brodie wrapped the cover around it and tucked it back into its hiding place in the branch. They descended the hill and left the wood together, Charlie loping in front.

  When he got back to the castle, his mother called for him. As usual, Glynnis was busy sewing… something. The woman was never idle. It seemed to be a MacNaughton trait.

  “Ian will be home in a few days,” she announced, beaming. “Lissie has already started baking in the kitchen. The mon will have a stomach the size of a sow by the time he returns to Glasgow.”

  Ian’s wife, Lissie, retreated to her culinary sanctuary whenever she needed to take her mind off a worry. Or was angry and needed to punch some dough. Or bored. Or happy that her husband was coming home. It had taken their cook, Enid, a bit of adjustment to have another female in and out of her kitchen. One who
wasn’t there to do her bidding.

  Brodie paused, his hand to his ear. “Och, I can hear Enid mumbling under her breath from here. I should go keep the peace.”

  “Stop, now. Dinna cause trouble where there’s no’ any,” his mother admonished good-naturedly. “Besides, ye only want to see what ye can swipe.”

  “It’s worth it when I dinna get caught.” He rubbed his belly. “I’m as starved as a lost sheep in winter.”

  “Aye, ye look a bit scrawny. Where have ye been?” Her needle paused mid-air to give him a sideways glance, then she chuckled. “Ah, I see.”

  Brodie opened his mouth to argue but knew it was pointless. He wasn’t sure what irritated him more—that his mother assumed she knew his mind or that she was almost always right in her assumptions.

  *

  Brodie balanced his weight against the roof and the ladder. The sun beat down on them, and he blinked at the sweat stinging his eye. He wiped a forearm over his face, clearing away the straw dust mixed with perspiration that covered his bared chest and arms. It had been a long week, but the re-thatch on the blacksmith’s cottage was almost finished. Below, one man bundled straw while MacDougal met Brodie halfway up the ladder with a finished bunch. Brodie fixed it next to the others, completing the last section, and pushed a large V-shaped peg over the bundle to hold it in place. MacDougal tossed up a long stick to secure the row of bundles. The snip of shears sounded as the thatcher trimmed the edges of the roof that had been completed.

  The first couple days had been awkward as Brodie tried to avoid MacDougal. Not sure how the widower felt about Kirstine, he hadn’t wanted to appear smug. But the man was congenial and a hard worker. At the end of the second workday, they’d had a nip together, and the unease had disappeared. Brodie liked the man and his son, though the boy tended to be constantly underfoot.

  By the third day, Glynnis took pity on the men and asked Liam to help her with some very important chores. Giving the boy her full attention, she would take his hand and listen patiently to his endless questions and narrative on life. Brodie remembered that same attentiveness when he used to regale her with the number of types of insects he’d found in the wood. Or why a tadpole down his sister’s shirt was an experiment to see how high she could jump rather than a devious plot to watch her rant.

  He glanced at his brother, Ian, who was wiping his face with his shirttail. Aye, his mother would welcome a grandchild.

  “Is anyone hungry?” Glynnis called from the yard. “I’ve brought some cold meat pies and strawberries.”

  “And I sliced bread and cut cheese, and I carried one of the baskets,” spouted Liam.

  “Ye’re a saint, Ma,” called Brodie as he descended the ladder and kissed her on the cheek. She handed him a mug of water, which he promptly poured over his head. The cool liquid streamed down his face and back, then trickled under his kilt. He leaned over and shook his hair, spraying everything and everyone within his vicinity.

  “Ye’ve been doing that since ye were a lad.” Glynnis laughed.

  “He’s got the manners of Da’s hound,” groused Ian, coming from the other side of the cottage. He stood next to Brodie, a taller and leaner version of his younger brother.

  “Speaking of beasties,” Brodie mused, “didn’t I hear Brownie’s howl earlier?” Their oldest brother’s deerhound had put up quite a fuss when Lachlan left her behind. His mother said the hound’s wails had been unbearable. She’d slept in Brigid’s room the first night and had not left the girl’s side since.

  “I’ll take a cup, too, please. I’m parched.” Ian tipped back his head, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he finished off the water in one long drink. “Aye, that was Brownie. Brigid tried to leave her here and go down to the stream for more water, but the yowls began. If only Lachlan could find a woman as devoted as his canine.”

  Brodie laughed. “I dinna see that happening in the near future.”

  “Perhaps no’ in Lachlan’s future.” Ian wiggled his dark brows. “But I hear there’s been a wee romance blooming with our Kirsty.”

  Brodie thanked the sun for already turning his face red. He opened his mouth to make a clever retort, but his sister yelled from the edge of the wood.

  Brownie loped in front, Brigid trailing behind with a long thin branch bowed across her shoulders and two buckets balanced on either end. Strands of auburn locks had fallen from her bun, streaked red by the afternoon light as she trudged across the grass. Water sloshed over the sides, and Brodie could hear Brigid’s mumbled curse.

  “Brigid Mary!” yelled Glynnis, putting her hands over the younger MacDougal’s ears. “I canna believe ye’d eat with the same mouth.”

  Little Liam pulled the older woman’s hands away. “Och, ma’am, I’ve heard worse from my da.”

  All eyes turned to MacDougal, who had just finished a drink and wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve. “Son, be still. The ladies will assume we have no decorum.”

  “But Da, when the hen got yer finger yesterday, ye called her a worthless piece of fe—”

  “Go help Miss Brigid with those buckets. They look a wee heavy for the poor lass.” MacDougal stared at his cup, then peeked up at Glynnis. “My apologies to the lady present.”

  “Och, none needed,” she said with a smile. “Two men alone have no reason to guard their tongue. I think ye’re doing a fine job with the boy.”

  “I appreciate that, ma’am. And thank ye again for yer help with him this week while we worked.” He nodded at Glynnis, and she smiled in return, her eyes crinkling with pleasure.

  Brodie watched the exchange between the two of them. For a moment, his mother looked years younger. Then Liam shouted, catching the attention of all the adults.

  The boy jumped and tried to tap one of the buckets. It teetered for a moment, splashing the excited child. He squealed and jumped again, ignoring Brigid’s thunderous words of caution and the vigorous shake of her head. On the second try, his fingers hooked the top of the bucket. Brigid tried to pull down on the opposite side of the stick to balance the weight of both boy and pail, but the first bucket slid off. The group froze, mouths open, as the second pail slid down the pole and dumped its contents over Brigid. She gasped, tripped, and stumbled forward, taking Liam down with her.

  Sprawled out on the grass with a pole on top of her back, a boy doubled over with laughter next to her, and a hound licking at her face, Brigid let out a torrent of unintelligible words. Brodie clamped his mouth shut, holding back his guffaws as he locked eyes with his little sister. Och, it was good that boy wasn’t related to her, or she’d have a piece of his hide.

  Liam looked back at the group and waved at Glynnis. “Not to worry, ma’am. Still nothing I’ve no’ heard before.”

  Chapter Eight

  The Courtship Commences

  Kirstine heard the happy shriek of a child, followed by loud female cursing. She cringed, recognizing Brigid’s voice, and wondered what kind of mischief the young MacDougal had caused. When she came out of the wood, giggles bubbled up her throat.

  Brigid lay flat on the grass, her skirts hitched above her ankle. A long, crooked branch trapped her and Liam to the ground. The older needed to be rescued. The younger was having a tremendous time laughing and poking at the victim next to him. Brownie hunched over both of them, licking one face and then another. Two buckets were scattered on either side, and as Kirstine drew closer, she could see they once held water. Much of the liquid now appeared to be worn by the two struggling bodies trapped beneath the furry hound.

  A group from the cottage ran to help, but the three MacNaughtons stopped short and leaned on each other while they clutched their bellies. Snorts and cackles filled the air. A cautious MacDougal braved the ire of Brigid and extricated her from the pole, the dog, and the boy.

  “Saints and sinners,” grumbled Brigid. “Does the entire glen need to witness my downfall?”

  Glynnis rolled her eyes. “Only yer pride is hurt, lass. And the sun will dry those clothes in th
e blink of an eye.” She narrowed her eyes at the youth. “As far as ye’re concerned, Mr. MacDougal, I’m fairly certain ye’ll no’ be laughing soon enough.”

  The boy looked up at his father, then back at Glynnis. His eyes grew wide as he realized he was the Mr. MacDougal is question, not his father. With his hands clasped behind his back and a whistle on his lips, he took one step back. As he turned on his heel, Liam caught the boy by his collar and pulled him up. Bare feet kicked at the air and his high-pitched yelp sent Brownie into a howling frenzy.

  “I believe it’s time to take our leave before ye create another catastrophe.” MacDougal set his son down. “Now apologize to the lady, and the rest of the group, for yer mischief. And we’ll finish this conversation at home.”

  Liam hung his head, toes digging into the grass, and mumbled, “I’m verra sorry, Miss Brigid. I didna mean to cause ye to fall.”

  “I accept yer apology. Next time, listen to an adult’s warning.” Brigid ruffled his hair. “The water did feel fine on such a hot day.”

  He looked up with a grin, his tongue showing through a missing front tooth. “Happy to oblige.”

  The two MacDougals climbed in their wagon, and Brodie moved beside Kirstine as they waved goodbye. She tried not to look at the bare chest next to her, but her eyes didn’t obey. He’d tossed a towel over his shoulder, evidently to dry himself off. Her gaze tracked a drop of water making its way down the center of his stomach. Her finger itched to stop it, taste the salt from his skin.

  Ye’re a wanton woman, Kirstine MacDunn, she scolded herself.

  “What have ye been up to, my bonny Kirsty?” asked Brodie in a husky voice.

  His breath was hot against her skin, and the flush on her cheeks had nothing to do with the sun.