His eyes grew distant as he rubbed a strand of her hair between his fingers. “It’d been longer then, windblown. I knew if I touched it…if I touched you, I wouldn’t be able to stop. So bloody beautiful.”
“You always made me feel that way.” She traced a small pattern on his chest. “Beautiful. Other men don’t do that. Not like you.”
“‘Tis a shame because you are.”
“Not like my cousins. Despite what you might think I’m pretty average in the looks department.”
A hint of amusement glinted in his eyes. “Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”
“Am not!” she said. “I’m too pixie-like. And these legs.” She shifted just enough to brush what was fast becoming his renewed arousal. “Like stubs so says Loch Nessa.”
He chuckled. “Like the monster? Clever.” He grabbed her beneath the knees and rolled her beneath him. “And these legs...are they not long enough to wrap around me? Because as far as I’m concerned, that’s the only requirement necessary.”
He held her leg up in the air, looking it over. “As to the pixie aspect, I dinnae ken. Aye, you’re a wee thing but it suits me well. “Tiny.” He thrust forward and she cried out. “Tight.” With a jerk of his hips, he had her against the headboard. “And all mine.”
She gasped sharply.
Eyes closed, he groaned deeply.
Ravenous, eager, their desire for one another consumed. Time fell away and McKayla was unable to do anything but feel…want. Their yearning and need was so great, so thorough. No words existed to describe the carnal sphere they entered. It wasn’t merely love but worship and something else, something that made one’s eyes water, heart flip, teeth clench, and jaw drop.
It was beyond bliss.
“Gods, I love you,” he whispered sharply when he pressed forward.
“Colin!” she cried when he brought her to another excruciatingly perfect orgasm.
Hours later, so spent she could barely move, McKayla stared at him while he slept. Lord, he was beautiful. And though she’d dozed on and off, the things they’d talked about weighed on her mind. Mostly how it seemed as if a very large part of her wanted to stay. Or so it seemed based on the amount of unprotected sex she’d been having. Even after discussing it!
Unlike Leslie, she’d always loved children. The idea of having them with Colin literally made her heart hurt. And would it be so bad raising them here, protected by a clan who would love them. True, the medicine in this time wasn’t nearly what it should be, but what if she had the ability to heal, wouldn’t that be something?
McKayla cuddled closer to him, more content than she’d been in a long time. Eyes drifting shut, she first thought the distant singing was merely the wind. Soon though, the sound found more clarity and she sat up. Drawn to the eerie tune she slipped into a dress and stepped into the hallway.
The castle was quiet. Only a few torches burned low leaving most of the long hall to shadows. She traveled to the end of the hallway then up a set of curved stairs. Yet the singing grew no louder. Still, she knew where to go. As she climbed she realized it was leading her up into one of the towers.
There was a lone room at the top and as she approached the doorway the singing stopped. Afraid to breathe, she put her back to the wall and sidled close enough that she could peer in unseen from the doorway.
A frail girl sat on a bench in the middle of the room rocking back and forth.
It was impossible to make out anything save her small frame and long streaming hair. Was she crying? When she inched forward the girl stopped rocking and her body went completely still.
“Are you all right?” McKayla asked.
Drizzle turned into a driving rain and pulled her attention to the window. Flat on the bottom and rounded on the top, she swore for a split second an old man stood there, his long white robes and hair blowing in the wind. But it must’ve been the mist from the rain because when she blinked there was nothing there.
Face still veiled by thick hair, the girl once more started to rock.
Concerned, McKayla took a step forward then froze when a fire flared to life on a hearth against the far wall. Trembling, the girl started to rock more adamantly. White knuckled, her slender hands grasped the bench and she began to moan.
Determined to go to her, McKayla took another step into the room.
This time the fire roared, angry, spitting sparks so high they sizzled across the ceiling. Petrified, she screamed, “Come, take my hand! We need to get out of here!”
But the girl didn’t listen. And no matter how scared, McKayla refused to leave her behind. Unwavering, she took another step then another.
Now the girl was shaking her head, back and forth, back and forth.
The fire curled over the ceiling and heated her face.
“Now!” McKayla yelled. “Come on!”
Still no acknowledgement from the girl.
This was crazy! What was wrong with her?
“McKayla. You owe me a debt.”
Ice water trickled through her veins when the voice rumbled out from the fire. A raspy, broken sound made up of crackling flames.
The girl froze. Her head turned in the direction of the fire.
McKayla shook her head and stared wide-eyed as the flames ever so slowly crawled over both the ceiling and floor toward her. Entranced, lulled, she heard the voice change, became more masculine. “Dinnae you know who I am?”
Again she shook her head, eager to understand, compelled to drift closer.
A face formed, once made of flame and eyes so dark they seemed to cut right through her. “‘Tis me, lass. It has always been me. Colin MacLeod.”
Confused yet caught up in whatever spell he weaved, McKayla reached out her hand. On cue, he did as well, one of fiery hotness.
A roar rose up so loud and screeching it rumbled the floor. Stumbling back, she looked at the girl...but not a girl at all. What came at her was ferocious, fierce and impossible to look away from. Terrified, McKayla screamed at the top of her lungs.
Eyes squeezed shut she screamed again and again.
Even after she fell to the floor and was scooped up by Colin, her Colin, she screamed.
“Nay, lass.” He sat and pulled her head to his chest. “You are well. ‘Twas just a nightmare.”
The screams turned to gasps and she blinked against the harsh but dull light coming in through their chamber windows.
“What the bloody hell?” came a voice from the doorway. Bradon, sword in hand, stood both groggy yet alert. Right behind him were Malcolm and Ilisa, daggers in hand.
Ilisa sidled past the men and stood, legs splayed, sharp eyes scanning their chambers. “What happened?”
Still shaking uncontrollably, McKayla struggled to take a deep breath, more than mortified they were here to witness this.
Colin ran his hands over her back and arms, trying to comfort her. “Just a nightmare.”
Malcolm frowned. “Och.”
That’s all it took for her to pull herself away from the stark terror she’d felt moments before. Though wobbly, she pulled back from Colin but didn’t dare stand. Not quite yet. “It was more than that. Had to be.” When she looked at the others she wasn’t surprised to find Malcolm scowling, Bradon compassionate and Ilisa dubious but relenting.
“There was a girl in the tower,” McKayla started to explain. “She had long, dark hair, very slender.”
This got their attention.
So she stood, grateful for Colin’s steadying hand. McKayla grasped the material of the dress, more sure by the moment it had been no nightmare. “I put this dress on then walked up there when I heard singing. It was the girl. Possibly an old man in white robes. But most importantly there was a face in the fire.”
Bradon’s eyes grew very curious, though his expression was guarded. “A girl in a tower?”
“Yes, here, just down the hall.”
She didn’t miss the look Bradon and Colin exchanged.
Even Ilisa now wore a
pensive frown.
“What scared you so?” Colin asked. “Was it the face in the fire?”
“No.” She shook her head, unable to look him in the eyes. Petrified by how drawn she’d been to the otherworldly visage. “Though that in itself was strange.”
“How so?” Malcolm asked, his eyes flickering to Loch Nessa, who drifted up beside him.
“It…he seemed to know me.” She wrapped her arms around her midsection. “Stranger than that, he called himself by the name of the hero I wrote about.” Her wary eyes met Colin’s. “Colin MacLeod.”
“‘Tis impossible,” Loch Nessa gasped.
Everyone looked her way. Malcolm took her hand, concerned. “What?”
Loch Nessa pulled her hand away and crossed her arms over her chest. “‘Twas nothing.”
“‘Twas clearly something,” Ilisa bit back.
McKayla was surprised at the animosity between the two. Loch Nessa, chin notched up a fraction repeated, “‘Twas nothing.”
But a shiver raked over the picturesque woman. One not unnoticed by Colin. “Out with it, lass. If there’s yet another threat, we need to know about it.”
Not bothering to look at Colin but at Malcolm instead, she sighed when he nodded.
“Fine then.” She looked toward the window, out at the dismal sky. “I have an older brother. He’s in line to take the position of chieftain when ‘tis time. Or at least he was.” Her dark gaze then settled on Colin. “But like you, he abandoned his clan years ago. As you all might have guessed, his name is Colin MacLeod.”
Chapter Eleven
Less than an hour later, all but Malcolm and Nessa sat down in the great hall. The celebrations had lasted far into the wee hours, so very few were meandering about and those that were didn’t seem at their best. As he stood before the fire, hands clasped behind his back, Colin stared up at the faces in the mantle and tried to assimilate all he’d learned.
The most daunting by far was that a Colin MacLeod really did exist.
Then there was McKayla’s exchange with his sister, Torra.
If all that was not enough, what his wife said Torra changed into kept him frowning.
“You never told her we had a sister?” Bradon asked quietly so that McKayla and Ilisa would not overhear.
“Nay, I’d not had the chance.”
“You’ve had nothing but chances,” Bradon said. “But for some reason you kept her a secret.”
Colin frowned. “McKayla had enough to deal with.”
“Or you had enough to deal with.”
“Or I had enough to deal with,” he conceded with a sigh. “What do you make of all this?”
“Many things. Some good. Some bad.”
They received goblets of mead from a passing servant, and Colin took a long swallow before he said, “Nothing good can come of a Colin MacLeod existing. Especially since Mckayla wrote about him. I think ‘tis good that Torra allowed McKayla to get near her. But what do you make of what she said our sister became?”
Colin watched his brother’s face closely and saw what he expected, secrets.
“I think she saw our sister as a beast only because she was pinned beneath a spell, one of MacLeod’s making. As to there being another Colin out there, ‘tis something worth paying attention to. I dinnae like how he parallels your circumstances,” Bradon said. “What are the odds that both you and he would abandon your clan? And both of you tied together through marriage?”
“‘Tis a strange coincidence and I dinnae believe much in those,” Colin said. “I did notice one strange thing though and I’ve not the heart to tell McKayla how becoming I find it.”
Bradon’s unwavering eyes met his. “Aye?”
“Aye, did you not notice?”
Guileless, Bradon shrugged. “She’s as bonnie as ever, brother. That I noticed.”
Colin sipped his mead, amused and ever more curious. “The white streak in her hair was not there hours ago. ‘Twas not there until she awoke on my floor screaming.”
Bradon, much of his old charm and mischief surfacing, grinned. “Must have been a bloody good night of rollicking.”
“Better than ever,” he acknowledged easily. “But that’s not my point and well you know it.”
“Do I?” Bradon shrugged. “A lass can age quickly when met with enough stress.”
Colin eyed his hair. “As you so obviously did.”
A look of relief was evident on Bradon’s face when Ilisa and McKayla joined them.
With a tepid glance upward, Ilisa said, “Nessa knows more about all this than she’s saying.” She put a hand over her chest and issued a mock gasp. “I have a brother named Colin MacLeod and it’s just occurred to me to mention him!”
Bradon chuckled. Colin and McKayla did not.
“I never did ken what Malcolm saw in her,” Ilisa said.
“Something he saw the moment she arrived,” Bradon reminded.
Colin frowned. What was he talking about?
“What, you didnae know?” Ilisa asked, her eyes cutting.
“Nay, it seems not,” Bradon said.
Apparently even McKayla would not let this topic rest. “What am I missing?”
Colin looked at his brother. “Pray tell?”
Bradon’s brows lowered. “You didnae know Malcolm loved Nessa the minute he laid eyes on her?” Now he frowned, but the expression bespoke deviousness. “Even I could see it and God knows I dinnae often notice such things.”
The very idea that his cousin loved his betrothed upon first sight nearly made him laugh. Were they serious? “Impossible.”
Ilisa shook her head. “Just like a lad not to see what was right in front of him.”
McKayla looked at Colin. “He does seem pretty into her. Any chance you missed that?”
Her question made him feel stupid. Besides, how could Malcolm possibly have felt that way after everything he’d told him? “I dinnae miss much so I’d have to say no. Nessa is contriving. Could she have reeled Malcolm in without him ever having seen it coming? Aye.”
“Reeled him in?” Ilisa guffawed. “Nay. She didnae have to try in the least with our lad. She had him long before you even left. Not physically but certainly mentally. Are you so daft that you truly didnae see it?”
“Clearly.” Bradon’s eyes narrowed on his brother. “But those were troubling times for you, were they not?”
“I left her at the altar and abandoned my clan,” he replied dryly. “So, aye, they were clearly troubling times.”
“Well, she recovered soon enough after you left and everyone is with who they want to be with,” Ilisa said. “So why dinnae we skip the old news and get to what really weighs on my mind.”
“Because what weighs on your mind matters most,” Bradon offered.
“Exactly.” Ilisa looked at Colin. “What will the clan’s next move be?”
“Oh no,” McKayla said softly. “While that might certainly weigh on your mind it’s not what’s weighing on mine.”
Colin wasn’t sure he wanted to continue with either conversation.
“You have a sister. When did you plan on telling me that?”
Even as he cleared his throat she shook her head and continued. “I want to meet her. Please.”
“Oh, nay,” Bradon said. “‘Tis impossible. Torra will see none of us. Not since Colin left.”
“Why not?” She looked at them all. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it. Has to be. Aren’t any of you worried about her especially after what happened to me last night?”
“As Bradon said, she willnae let us see her,” Ilisa said. “But aye, we will always worry about her.”
“What if she’s up there fried by fire as seemed the case?” McKayla crossed her arms over her chest. “I think you’re all nuts for not running up there right now.” Wide eyed, she looked at Colin. “For not running up there the minute I told you!”
“We dinnae disrespect her,” Bradon said, sterner than he’d ever heard him.
“Disrespect her?”
Unconvinced, McKayla looked at Ilisa. “Really? And you agree with this?”
Ilisa’s lashes might’ve issued an uncharacteristic flutter but her direct brown eyes and the unyielding reserve in them didn’t. “You dinnae ken the way of the MacLomains. We dinnae question the actions of our kin. We trust them.” Her eyes went to Colin then back to McKayla. “That should be clear by now.”
While he would have been surprised by her actions a scant forty-eight hours earlier, Colin wasn’t now. His wife spun on her heels and proceeded to walk up the stairs. He swigged down the last of his drink and watched her go.
“Where’s she going?” Ilisa asked. “Off to have a temper tantrum?”
Colin shook his head and opted for a mug of ale. “Nay, she’s off to find Torra.”
Just as he suspected, Ilisa and Bradon went wide eyed then scrambled after her. Good. If he couldn’t learn from their words, he fully intended to learn from their actions. He followed them up the stairs. McKayla had barely made it down the first hallway before they caught up.
Bradon on one side, Ilisa on the other, they tried to stop her first with words.
“‘Tis never good to disturb her,” Bradon said.
“She is ill, lass. For some time now,” Ilisa added.
McKayla shook her head and plowed on, head held high. “She’s afraid and alone.” She glanced at them both. “And way too overprotected.”
Though both might’ve slowed a bit in response neither let up when she reached the stairs leading to Torra’s chamber. Bradon barred her progress with an arm against the wall, a solid gate keeping her from going up. “I willnae allow it.”
“Nor I,” Ilisa agreed, leaning against the wall on the opposite side. “You dinnae have the right.”
“Yes I do,” McKayla said firmly, looking between them. “Am I not a MacLomain now?”
Colin leaned against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest and watched.
“‘Tis not as simple as that,” Bradon argued.
“He has the right of it,” Ilisa assured. “‘Tis complicated really.”
“Apparently nothing about this is simple,” McKayla said, then slipped beneath Bradon’s arm and ran up the stairs.
Mark of the Highlander (The MacLomain Series: Next Generation, Book 1) Page 18