Rogue Highlander: Played Like a Fiddle

by Sondra Grey

  “I don’t like the water either,” I said.

  He opened his mouth to respond, but a cry split the air. We turned in time to see Glenna throw up again, but this time all over the deck.

  Glenna was too ill to perform that night, and I was surprised at the kindness of the MacDonalds. I’d never been to Dunscaith before, and I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t the dreary, almost depressive edifice of stone. And the unsmiling clansmen who greeted us.

  “There are not many folk come to Dunscaith,” said Ned. “Not in a long while, since the King defeated the MacDonalds and took their land. I expect they’ve have little to smile about in the last decade.”

  “Why did we come here, then?” I asked. If the clan was decimated they might not have money enough to pay for our music.

  “Brandon suggested it,” said Ned, rubbing at his chin. “He said they might be grateful for the entertainment, and I think he might be right.”

  I wasn’t so sure, but was proven slightly wrong by the warmth in which we were received after the initial surprise. Upon seeing Glenna, the housekeeper took Glenna to lie down in one of the guest rooms, and the laird of the keep welcomed us and negotiated a fair price for our services.

  As Glenna disappeared into the dim hallway of the keep, and we went about setting up in the hall, Ned asked “Are you okay to take her spot, tonight?”

  We weren’t playing for villagers. We were playing for The MacDonalds. That meant that Robin would play my harp, and I’d be singing all of the songs. I nodded. I’m not sure if it was the bleakness of the castle or the gratefulness of the laird, but I was going to do my best to lighten the mood. If anyone needed music, it was the MacDondalds.

  Chapter 16

  B randon’s mind was whirling with ways to gain information, his eyes scanning every single clan member that entered and exited the hall. At one point, he’d even put down his fiddle and slid into the back wings, keeping to the shadows and strolling the halls of the keep, trying to keep his ears and eyes open.

  When there was nothing more to be gained from wandering, he came back to the hall to tune his fiddle. Without Glenna, he had a feeling they’d be playing the body of their instrumental pieces. The players had a few in their repertoire that didn’t require singing. As he tuned his violin, he watched as Robin came on and picked up Meg’s harp. Curious he leaned over.

  “Are you playing harp tonight?” he asked.

  “If ever Glenna can’t sing, I do,” Robin responded, tuning up the harp with the same deftness that Meg showed. Brandon had a feeling that, if he gave the young man his fiddle, Robin would be able to play that too.

  “What then happens to…”

  He didn’t need to finish the question, Meg swept into the hall and – from the looks of it – she’d been cleaning herself up. Her soft brown hair was now in curls about her shoulders. She wore the same gown she’d worn in Kilchurn, the gown she’d said was her “Castle Gown.” It was dark blue wool, simple, but well fitted to show off the soft slope of her curves. Though it was modestly cut, it emphasized the slender column of her neck. Meg usually wore her hair up, but in that dress, belted at the waist, with her hair down and curling she looked arresting.

  Brandon hadn’t realized he’d stopped breathing until he became slightly lightheaded.

  “Oh yes,” said Babette besides him. “She’s beautiful, our Meg. She lets Glenna do most of the shining. But she polishes up well herself.”

  Brandon realized, too, that Meg had timed her entrance perfectly. That the men of Clan Macdonald were cheering her as she strode through their ranks, beaming. Brandon found himself silently horrified at the display. But as Meg stood in front of the crowd, and Robin played the opening notes to a song, that horror soon transformed into something else entirely.

  Meg had a beautiful voice. Lower than Glenna’s soprano, Meg’s voice had a rich strength to it that bounced merrily along the more rollicking songs, and rolled longingly over the lower melodies. Glenna’s voice may have had a bit more control, but Meg sang with her entire body and, especially on the ballads, seemed to thrum with a lonely sadness that pulled at Brandon’s own.

  Ned seemed to sense the power that Meg was having over the crowd, for he leaned in and said to them, “Maid and the Mill.”

  Brandon blanched, horrified and, for a moment, missed coming in when the pipes began. Meg’s smile was bright, her hands gripped her skirts and twitched them in a way that Glenna might, if she sang this song.

  Ned had judged the crowd right, they perked up and started hollering with laughter as Meg belted out the bawdy lyrics. Brandon’s heart was in his throat as Meg sang about a young woman giving her maidenhead to the miller so he might grind her flour for her.

  The MacDonalds, who’d seemed so staid when the troupe had first arrived, were now singing and hollering in hysterics, and when the song was over Meg offered everyone a wink and a low, low curtsy. Brandon had to bite back anger as several of the MacDonalds elbowed each other and winked.

  When the set was over, the players were offered drinks. Ned ordered Brandon to keep fiddling so everyone could dance and Brandon had to watch and bite his tongue as MacDonald after MacDonald spun Meg around the room. Finally, Meg managed to decline any further offers, saying that her feet hurt, and a gallant MacDonald escorted her back to the makeshift stage.

  Meg tucked feet up, and looked up at Brandon. Her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks were flushed, and she held his gaze, the flush spread down her neck. His eyes tracked it, following it down the neck of her gown. Lust, fierce and unstoppable, coursed through him.

  Brandon looked across the room, making eye contact with Robin. The young man stood up and bounded over.

  “Do you play?” he asked, finishing the song with a flourish of his bow against the strings. The crowd applauded and called for more.

  Robin grinned and held out his hands. “Treat her nicely,” said Brandon, handing his fiddle over.

  Stooping, he said to Meg. “Let’s go.”

  He heard it in his own voice – a rough rawness. There was something about seeing her sing, about hearing her sing that song, watching her dance with other men. It was undoing him.

  Chapter 16

  I couldn’t quite read the expression in his eyes. It was somewhere between anger and urgency, but I found myself responding, my chest squeezing in anticipation as I took his hand.

  Though my feet were sore, I let him lead me quietly out of the hall, down past the gatehouse where he stopped and turned. There were sconces on the gatehouse, but his face was in shadow, I couldn’t see the expression in his eyes as he pressed me, gently, against the gatehouse wall.

  I caught my breath as he swooped down, lips hovering just above mine. “May I kiss you Meg?” he said, his breath warm and sweet against my lips. I felt a strange heaviness come over me, his arm, which had swooped around my waist and trapped me to him, was the only thing keeping me up. My knees trembled with fear as much as anxiety.

  “Tell me what to do,” I said. In the distance, I could hear that Thamas had picked up the song. The pipes and the fiddle wove an almost eerie harmony.

  “Do what I do,” said Brandon, and his lips came down. Light as leaves on the wind, they teased mine. He lifted a hand, cupping my face, his thumb pressed gently against my bottom lip, opening my mouth so that he deepened the kiss, our lips fitting together.

  I tried to breathe, but my heart was hammering. His lips coaxed a response. I tried to kiss as he was kissing and he moaned and kissed me back, harder.

  And then suddenly we were fused. His tongue swept in, tangling with mine and I met it, sucking him deep, needing to be devoured by him. This was kissing. This was what it was supposed to be. A strange and achy burning had come over me and I could hear myself whimpering against his mouth, pressing into him, my body seeking something it knew he could give.

  We kissed and kissed and kissed. His hands were everywhere: in my hair, holding my head to his, at my waist, and then cupping
my breast. His fingers brushed over the rough wool, and my breasts responded, growing heavier, more tender. “Come on,” he said, turning and tugging my hand until we were all but running into the woods.

  Once we made the tree line, he whirled me around, swinging me to him and capturing my lips with his in another brutal, searing kiss. Heat flooded my body, centering at my very core. I squirmed against him, needing something.

  He groaned against my lips and, before I knew it, I was in his arms and he was kneeling, setting me gently on the ground, unfastening his plaid and laying the fabric down. Then I was back in his arms. We were kissing and falling backwards onto the scratchy cloth, the hard ground.

  Nervousness flooded and mingled with the need, making me sensitive to his every touch. “Brandon, please,” I panted.

  “Shhh,” he said against my lips. “Don’t tempt me anymore, siren. I’m trying to be gentle.”

  He hovered over me, eyes finding mine in the dark. I felt, more than saw his hand, reach down my thigh and slide my skirt slowly up to my knees, my hips. Embarrassment flooded me but Brandon kissed it away. I felt his hands on the inside of my thigh, massaging. I sucked in a breath as his fingers found the thicket at the apex of my thighs and tangled there a moment.

  “You know how this works?” he asked me, roughly.

  I bit my lip and nodded. He kissed me again, deep, drugging kisses, until I was moaning against his mouth. Then I felt his fingers slide down. He caressed something sensitive and feeling shot through me. I shuddered against him as he did it again and then again.

  “Brandon,” I whimpered against his mouth, confused, hot, needy, aching.

  “I’ll take care of you, little love,” he whispered against my mouth. “Relax.”

  His finger kept teasing that spot, and then I felt another at my entrance, parting me, slowly sinking in and then withdrawing, in, and then withdrawing, deeper and deeper.

  Something was building inside me, something I’d never felt before, couldn’t describe, but it was consuming me until all I knew was need. I reached out blindly. I knew how this worked, I knew how men worked. Glenna had described it often enough. I caught a hold of him without even meaning to. He was thick, hot through the kilt and he stilled all over, his finger inside me, his lips on my mouth.

  “Meg,” he said, hoarsely. Then he kissed me again, wildly, and I felt him move against my grip, his fingers thrusting in a bit harder. I gasped as he slid another one in after the first. It was almost painful and I whined. But he persisted, and so did the pressure, building up and up.

  “Brandon!” I cried. “I don’t understand.” And it was as if the words unlocked the release my body seemed to spasm, seemed to buck into his hand, taking him deeper. He knew what was happening, stroked inside me until I was sobbing with the intensity of the feelings that crashed through me.

  He withdrew his fingers, and took my hand off his manhood.

  He was hovering over me, my chest taking his weight a moment as he fumbled with his kilt.

  “Brandon, I can’t possibly!” I sobbed, still aching with the sensations of what had just happened. But he reached down and bent my knees, tilted my hips up until I could feel the thick head of him butt up against my opening.

  He rubbed against me, coating himself in the slick moisture between my thighs. “Shhh,” he whispered into my hair, his hand coming up and stroking my hair off my face. “Relax, I promise it will be okay.” He worked himself into my opening, pressing in until I whimpered with discomfort, then pulling out. He worked himself in and a bit further, and then out. When he pressed in this time he whispered into my hair, “this will hurt a moment.” And thrust deep. His lips caught my cries as the sharp, tearing pain surprised me. We stilled, both of us, neither daring to move.

  I felt tears prick my eyes, the emotions swirling through me too much to handle. “Did I hurt you?” he asked.

  I shook my head for the pain was already subsiding. Brandon moved again, gasping as he pulled out and pushed back in. With each thrust, my body seemed to adjust to him. His lips pulled at mine, our breaths mingling, and then he was all the way in. I cried out at the sensation, at the fullness of it - so intimate, and unlike anything I’d ever felt before.

  Gasping, he began to move in earnest, pulling out and pressing back in slowly, rocking me until I understood the rhythm I was supposed to find, then I moved with him. “Oh god,” I cried, as the pressure began to build again, each stroke bringing me back to that place of pure sensation. He cupped my head, pressing it to his chest as he surged into me, as our hips ground together. I exploded, the sensations that shot through me so much more powerful this time, wringing spasms from my body.

  I felt Brandon gasp and tense above me, but was too gone to notice, lost in my own delirium of sensations.

  I felt the strength leave his arms, his weight collapse atop me, and I acted out of instinct, wrapping my legs about him, holding him to me, my hand tangling in his hair. I was crying in silent earnest, the whole thing was overwhelming.

  Brandon’s pulse was hard against my cheek and gradually it slowed. He rose up, eyes finding mine once more. We stared at each other wordless, both of us trying to process what had just happened.

  My head was swimming. No wonder Glenna did this so often. But with so many men… my mind was swimming with Brandon. Love, I thought. This is love.

  “Come on,” Brandon said quietly, after a moment. “Let’s get back before they miss us.”

  I expected him to take my hand, to help me up, but he stood and seemed to stare off into the night, leaving me to get up myself, to brush myself off and try and finger-comb my hair. I expected him to reach out and take my hand, but once he’d picked all the needles from his plaid and wrapped it back around himself, he turned towards the castle.

  Brandon was silent on our walk back. I don’t know what I expected him to say, but to say nothing at all…

  I felt suddenly lonely, lonely and foolish. As if I’d given him something I maybe should not have given. I felt as though he’d given himself wholly to me, only to take it all back a moment later. My head was spinning. Was this a repeat of the other night? Had I done it wrong? Was he regretting lying with me?

  Once we passed through the inner gate, he seemed to put distance between us and headed straight over to take the fiddle back from Robin. I was hurt by his retreat. I could still feel his seed, sticky on the inside of my thigh. I stared after him. Realizing that if I kept staring, I’d cause a scene, I turned and went off to find Glenna.

  Glenna, it seemed, wasn’t doing very well. The MacDonalds had a castle healer, who was trying to coax Glenna to drink some ginger tea when I entered the small room.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked Glenna, who looked waxy and irritable.

  “Awfully,” she said.

  “But she hasn’t been sick for a few hours,” said the healer, a reed-thin man of indeterminate age and a balding pate. “Which I take as a good sign. I’ll leave you with your friend dearie.” He pressed a hand to Glenna’s head and gave me a smile on the way out.

  “They’re nice, these Macdonalds,” I said as the door closed behind me. Though Ned, Babette, Thamas, and Glenna had toured the islands before, this was my first time.

  “Handsome too,” murmured Glenna, sitting up and taking a sip of the tea, pulling a face, and then setting it down. “It’s a shame to miss it.”

  I bit my tongue, lest I tell her ‘I told you so.’ This was not the first time she’d gotten sick eating oysters.

  “You seem to be feeling better,” Glenna said, looking at me with suspicion. “Since you’re speaking to me again.”

  I shrugged, feeling self-conscious, incredibly aware of the ache between my thighs, of the wetness still lingering. I didn’t want to tell her the reason for my sudden forgiveness. So instead I said only, “I’m sorry.”

  Glenna shrugged. “No matter. And it’s okay if I miss out on a few MacDonalds. There’s always Brandon to fall back on.”

  I felt m
yself stiffen. “There is?”

  Glenna yawned and pressed herself back into her pillows. “Of course. He’s more handsome than any MacDonald out there, I’d reckon. And he’s interested in me, though he pretends he’s not,” she winked at me, and though it was a weak version of her usual, saucy wink, I had the sudden image of the two of them leaving the hall together the other night.

  Just like he’d left the hall with me tonight.

  My heart dropped into my toes and I felt my smile turn brittle. I could all but hear Babette’s voice in my head, You don’t want to lose a most precious gift to a man who won’t cherish it. Brandon Sorely is not a man who can treasure it… And to look at him – handsome, tall, capable – he’s a man who’s been with many women.

  I’d been a total idiot. A complete idiot. Oh not about giving him my virginity. I couldn’t regret that. What was done was done. But to think, I’d clutched him tight and loved him with all my heart. I shook my head. I was no different to him than was Glenna. In fact, the only reason he’d been interested in me was probably because I’d been Glenna tonight. I’d tried on her confident persona, I’d swung my hips like she had, I sang the bawdy songs like she would have…

  “I hope you feel better,” I said. “I don’t think I’m as good at being you as you are.”

  “Well I would hope not,” Glenna sniffed, closing her eyes and settling into the pillows.

  Chapter 17

  I t was only after Brandon had come back to himself that he’d realized what he’d done. He’d put his mission aside. He hadn’t thought twice about laying claim to Meg. And that was what he’d done. He’d seen those men ogling her and decided to lay claim to her before anyone else could.

  He was disgusted with himself. He was no better than his brother, as black as his name entailed. He knew how she felt about him. He could see it when she looked at him. And he’d let his need get the better of him.