Highland Dragon

by Kimberly Killion

“Tend to their husbands?” she choked out between giggles. “Think ye this is what women do? Tend to their husbands like a herd of sheep? I can almost see the image in your head. Buxom women filling a trough with slop and shoving it beneath their husbands’ noses just before shearing their beards off and plopping out a bairn or even two during the whole affair.”

  Akira swayed slightly in small circles then cocked her head as if in recollection. “Come to think of it, Auld Bessie birthed her last son while feedin’ the butcher his noontide meal.” Her laughter sailed through the air again. Though the description struck her more humorous than it did him, Calin shared in her contagious laughter—not a sweet giggle muffled behind her hand, but a booming cackle trickled with snorts. She laughed aloud for a longer period than he thought necessary before wiping streaming tears from her eyes. “Forgive me, m’laird. ’Tis really not that funny.”

  A few hearty quaffs of Scots whisky and the woman was completely blootered. The morrow would be taxing for her, and he didn’t want her afflicted with a pounding head on their wedding night. Much-needed rest would find her quickly, and he wanted her tucked into his side when sleep overcame her.

  He couldn’t quite shake this feeling of possessiveness she evoked in him. Putting one arm behind her knees and another behind her back, he lifted her up and cradled her against his chest.

  The smile disappeared from her face. Her eyes slowly focused on him. Just him. Women rarely looked at him and saw a man. They only saw the chieftain. The man with power and wealth. He’d spent a lifetime learning how cold and lonely those possessions were. He wanted Akira to see him, not his status. He attempted to read the emotions in her eyes, but the sheen glossing her sapphire irises was void of sensibility. Her lips parted, and he sorely wanted to suckle the moonlight off her full bottom lip.

  “Ye are a delicious-looking mon, Calin MacLeod.” She traced his brows, his nose, his lips. The tickle sent a flash of heat through his veins and straight to his groin.

  Her gaze followed the path of her finger. “Ye’ve a mouth that tempts me in ways I shouldnae admit.” She wrapped both arms around his neck then inexpertly pressed her mouth to his. Tilting her head, she grazed over the inside of his lips, his teeth, his tongue.

  Her assault caught him unguarded, but he eagerly returned her advances. An age-old hunger thrummed through him. He had to cage that beast, else it would devour him. Or mayhap her. When he pulled back, she continued to kiss his face, his chin, his sensitive earlobe, anything she could get her hot mouth on.

  “What are ye doing?”

  “I’m upholding my end of our contract,” she whispered in a breathy seductive voice that made his cock stiffen.

  “But ye wouldnae even let me sit next to ye by the fire.”

  “Ye were claiming me. Marking me as yours in front of your men. I dinnae want to be your prey or your property. I want…I want…”

  Her words ended on the pulse in his neck, taking possession of the life beating there. “What do ye want, my Akira? Ask, and it is yours.”

  “I want ye to kiss me.” She forced his chin lower and delved into his mouth once again. Her small fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. Pulling, tugging, tightening with the aggression of her kiss. But he wanted more. Much more.

  “I dinnae know why, but I cannae get close enough to ye,” she confessed on a breath. He knew the whisky made her audacious, but months had passed since he’d bedded a woman. He wanted her, and she wanted him. Neither could deny the passion igniting between them. She was innocent, yet spirited. He could feel her soul coming to life inside her.

  He dropped her legs. His free hands were everywhere—caressing her breasts, kneading her thighs, then he cupped her backside and pushed her pelvis into his. He wanted to throw her to the ground and taste every ounce of her naked flesh until she begged him to take her.

  By the saints! He had to get the lust out of his blood, else his mind would turn to mush. The whimpers escaping her throat were his undoing. He lifted her ankle-length skirt and squeezed the soft flesh of her shapely bottom in both hands. “Sweet, sweet Akira. What are ye doing to me?”

  She gasped. Her body tensed. A feeble resistance pushed against his chest.

  “Please stop.” Her words came out as a sad whisper.

  Their gazes locked. He saw regret pooling behind her eyes.

  “Forgive me, m’laird. Ye must think me wanton.” Akira pushed him away further and held her face between the palms of her hands. “Nay wonder ye dinnae let your women drink whisky.”

  “Had we known our women would react this way, we would serve whisky at every meal.” He reached for her, but she tottered backward.

  “This is not funny.”

  “Ye were laughing enough a moment ago.”

  “That was before I threw myself at ye. How are ye supposed to respect me if I act like this after two days in your presence?

  This is not me. I promise to be the decent, respectable, intelligent woman ye’ve chosen to be your lady wife. Forgive me, m’laird. I’ve acted a fool.” Akira tightened the pleats at her waist then smoothed wild black tendrils back into place. Her fingers shook with the task, after which she proceeded to fan her face with both hands.

  Calin didn’t know what to make of her erratic mood. Was the woman speaking in tongues again? “Why do ye think I am marrying ye?” he asked, even though he worried slightly over her answer.

  “I have asked myself that question repeatedly. Since I have nay tocher, nor land or title, I suspect ye are marrying me because I am smart. Ye are the one who paid for my education at the priory. I presume ye want me to manage the keep and bear your heirs—heirs who will be intelligent. If ye wanted more, ye would have chosen one of my sisters.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they are beautiful.”

  The nonchalant manner in which she made this statement angered him. “And ye are not?” Calin posed this as a question. Not a statement. But the dejected look on her face told him this is how she took it—as a cold, blunt statement. Somehow, her creamy skin looked paler beneath the gauzy light of the moon. She bowed her head, letting her raven hair hide her melancholy. “’Tis true. I am not.”

  “Damnation, woman! Have ye never seen yourself in a looking glass? How blind are ye that ye cannae see your own beauty?”

  Akira’s lids snapped open, her brow curled in denial. “Ye say this to please me. I know ’tis a lie. I look nothing like them. I barely look like a Scot. My own papa told me I was special. That my brain was so full of information it burnt the red out of my hair. My sisters say I have nay a freckle on my face because the angels dinnae sprinkle me with dust when I was born.”

  “Childish banter! Why would ye believe such foolishness, and from your own kin?” He reached for her, but she was nimble for a half-drunk woman with the wiles of a wildcat.

  “’Tis not foolishness. The devil marked me with his image at birth. ’Tis why Papa moved my family from the bailey and into the cot-house when I was just a child. Laird Kinnon burned three women for acts of heresy that year. He made the kinfolk watch. The bastard lit the fire before the accused had strangled beneath the noose.”

  Those living in Scotland knew the punishment for heresy was execution by fire. Of course, death only occurred after a merciful strangulation. Villagers flocked from far and wide to witness the horror with eager eyes. Calin frowned as the image of him branding her with his father’s signet ring came to life in his mind’s eye. The act of a stupid boy who placed the MacLeod crest on everything he owned. He couldn’t very well explain that folly to her now, but he was to blame for her feelings of inadequacy. The woman lived her entire life thinking her soul cursed because of him. Hell and damnation! How was he going to fix this? “Your father moved your family to protect ye from Laird Kinnon. Ye are not cursed.”

  Both hands swiped her eyes and a quavering sniffle followed that action. “Ye dinnae know what ’tis like to be different.

  ’Tis a verra lonely life for a
child.” Her voice cracked.

  He knew exactly how it felt to be different and lonely. From the night he lost his father, he’d felt imprisoned at Cànwyck Castle. Uncle Kerk may as well have shackled him in the dungeons. And when Aunt Wanda hadn’t been coddling his cousin, she’d managed the maids and maintained harmony among the kinswomen when the men were at battle.

  “I dinnae want to talk about this anymore. I shouldnae have told ye.” She whirled and scanned the brush-ridden forest, obviously desperate to be free of the conversation.

  When she tried to flee, he grabbed her and hauled her up against him. “Ye’ll not climb a tree. Ye will remain with me until ye are convinced ye are not cursed and not a witch.”

  He held her firmly and kissed the tip of her nose. “If ye were a witch, ye would have hairy moles and a crooked nose, and ye dinnae. Your skin is flawless.”

  He stroked her lips with his thumb and kissed her damp eyelids. “Your eyes would be colorless, and they are not. They are the color of Heaven.” Leaning her back, he pressed a kiss against the wool covering her heart. “And your heart would be made of stone. And I know ’tis not.”

  She smacked him playfully and bowed her head to hide her smile. Complimenting her seemed to cool her tongue, for she’d turned bashful. “Ye are the bonniest lass I have ever laid eyes on, and I cannae keep my hands from ye.”

  “This is because ye are a mon, not because ye think I am beautiful.”

  “Ye will stop this at once. I dinnae lie.”

  “And I dinnae drink whisky, nor do I cry, nor do I throw myself at men. I think we are verra bad for each other. Mayhap ye should choose another wife.” Even as she made this suggestion, her fingers held tight to the front of his léine shirt.

  “I’ll need Saints Peter and Paul to survive another night without ravishing ye. But tomorrow, Akira. Tomorrow I’ll make ye my wife in every sense of the word. And tomorrow ye will know what ’tis like to feel beautiful. I vow it.” Gripping both sides of her face between his palms, he kissed her with conviction. A kiss so laced with promise it scared him to death. Akira wanted to believe his words. Her mind denied his flattery, but her racing heart felt something different in his kiss. Or was she being foolish again? Calin could woo any maiden out of her kirtle. She wondered how many maidens there might have been, then scolded herself for adding jealousy to her emotions.

  Calin picked her up and carried her back to the fire. When he set her on her feet, the men meekly closed their flasks then tucked them inside their plaids.

  She stifled a shamed giggle behind her hand. “Dinnae worry, gentlemen. I’ve had my quota of your spirits this eve, but m’laird tells me ye might reconsider sharing your drink with your wives.” She smirked at Calin’s grin before returning her attentions back to the men sitting like stepping-stones on the log, all three covered with unruly tufts of golden-red hair. Gordon, who was easily the oldest, wore a surly frown. The skin beneath his eyes weighed heavily downward, which told her laughter didn’t find his face often. He would undoubtedly be the hardest to befriend. She stood before him, matching his scowl. “That is assuming ye have wives. One might think it a difficult task to find a wife when one does not speak.”

  Gordon didn’t respond, as she expected, nor did he return her look. Crossing her arms defiantly over her chest, she spoke to Calin, but never once removed her stare from Gordon. “M’laird, when I am your lady wife, will I have the authority to give your men permission to speak?”

  “Aye.”

  “For the nonce, I’d like ye to give them permission to speak to me.” Akira thought she caught the hint of a smile threatening Gordon’s face, but she doubted he would crack so easily.

  “Just because I give them permission does not mean they will exchange pleasantries with ye.”

  She spun around to glare at Calin, her long tresses whipped over her shoulder with the sharp action. Pain stabbed her temples. This did nothing to improve her temper. “Then order them to converse with me.”

  Calin’s eyebrow rose in that pleasingly wicked manner. “Men, Akira is to be my wife. Ye will address her as ‘m’lady’ and give her the same loyalty and respect ye’ve always given me. If she asks ye a question, ye will respond without raising your voice to her.”After smiling sweetly at Calin, she turned back to Gordon and raised both eyebrows triumphantly. “Have ye a wife?”

  “Aye.”

  “Are ye good to her?”

  Gordon frowned heavily, glanced around her, then answered under obvious duress. “Aye.”

  “I’d like to know her name, and the names and ages of all your bairns.”

  This line of questioning continued until she had Gordon talking in full sentences. He never offered more information than she demanded until he slipped into a memory of his grandson’s first brawl.

  Having squeezed between the first two brutes on the log, she redirected her attention to the warrior on her right. He licked his lips and swallowed repeatedly. The man appeared quite frightened of the forthcoming inquisition. “And what be your name, sir?”

  “My name is Alec, m’lady. My wife is Aileen. We’ve five bairns, Alec Og, Albert, Andrew, Alexina, and Anice, and another wee one on the way. I’m good to my wife as I am to my bairns.”

  She held Alec’s gaze as he answered each question with a tender smile. She liked Alec immediately. When she had no more inquiries, Alec reached for her hand to kiss her knuckles. “I’d like to be the first to welcome ye to our clan, and say that our laird is a verra lucky mon.”

  Gordon expelled a disgusted snort.

  Akira ignored his obvious disapproval of Alec’s congeniality then moved to sit next to the third man. “And ye. Have ye a name?”

  “Aye, m’lady. The name’s Jaime.” He, too, pressed his lips to her knuckles, but didn’t release her hand as Alec had. “I have nay wife, but if ye’ve any sisters as bonnie as ye, I’m sure to be lookin’.”

  A blush heated her cheeks beneath Jaime’s flattery. Calin’s kin certainly excelled in the art of wooing. She fell into a trance under the dreamy hue of aqua-blue eyes. Jaime had a hint more blond streaked through his beard, and she knew he would be strikingly handsome beneath his whiskers. Certainly, he would have no trouble finding a wife with his face.

  “I’m cousin to m’laird. Our aunt Wanda raised us as brothers since both our mams died birthing us.”

  Akira glanced at Calin and felt a pang of sympathy for him, along with a twinge of guilt for having called his mother such horrible names at Tigh Diabhail. “I’m sorry,” she said more to Calin than to Jaime.

  “’Tis the past.” Jaime brushed his thumb in circles over her hand. “Aunt Wanda has been a verra good mother to us.”

  Calin glared at Jaime. “Had Aunt Wanda been a wee bit harder on ye, ye may not be lacking so much discipline.”

  “I’ve discipline,” Jaime argued.

  “Ye call downing a buck in the middle o’ mating season, discipline?”

  “Are ye still sore my kill was bigger?”

  Calin rolled his eyes, but Akira could tell Jaime heated his blood, and she knew all too well the emotions that simmered from being provoked by kin.

  “We didn’t even need the meat, else to feed that big head o’ yours.”

  Jaime smiled at her and winked. Did he instigate Calin on purpose or did they always converse with such derision? She spoke similarly to her sisters, but Calin didn’t seem to enjoy Jaime’s banter. Just as she was about to divert the topic, Jaime perked up.

  “Ye see the laird and I have always enjoyed a challenge. Truth is, Uncle Kerk started us sparring against each other with wooden swords when we were but laddies. We fought together in Ross where I slaughtered more Lowlanders than he.” He raised his sleeve to proudly display two blue battle rings.

  “Those men were your Scots countrymen,” Calin said. “I wouldnae be a braggart about such a feat.”

  “Ye fought with the royalists?” Her question, directed at Calin, came with a frown she couldn’t control. Calin
opened his mouth to answer, but Jaime cut him off. “Aye, we did at that. With the Donalds at our side, we were sure to regain the Earldom of Ross back from the crown. I believe one of the Donalds is still being harbored on MacLeod soil.”

  Jaime proceeded to boast of his battles, but Akira’s mind lingered on the fact Calin had fought against his king in the same war that killed her papa.

  With every word Jaime spoke, he inched closer until she thought he might kiss her. This MacLeod breed was undoubtedly an arrogant lusty bunch of men.

  “Then there was the deer,” Jaime continued. “And what was it, cousin, that got ye so riled last year?” Jaime stared at her, but his question slithered disrespect. “Och, I remember. I took cat—”

  “Jaime, if ye move an inch closer to her or speak another word, I swear I’ll gut ye like a swine where ye sit.” Calin’s tone held no humor when he delivered the threat.

  Akira didn’t know what the cat had to do with Calin’s ferocious look, but it stopped Jaime cold. Jaime jerked back with a devilish grin. “Have ye more questions for me, lass?”

  “Nay, she does not,” Calin snapped with the edge of jealousy hanging from his words. She didn’t like him speaking for her, but the angry wrinkles on his forehead warned her not to test him. She pulled free from Jaime’s hand then walked to stand in front of Calin. “Dinnae frown so, m’laird. ’Tis not becoming.” She smoothed the sulky expression from his face with her fingertips.

  Calin glared at Jaime and forcefully yanked her down beside him. Akira’s bum protested the impact. Moments later, the fire’s dance hypnotized her mind. She hugged herself, yawned like a nursed kitten, and allowed herself to rest heavily against his strong arm. Would it be so bad being the laird’s wife? Akira asked herself the same question he posed the eve before, only this time she wondered if the prospect would be so horrible. She was certainly smart enough to manage the keep, and she relished the thought of being surrounded by kin who wouldn’t see her as different.

  Unwillingly to move, she watched Kendrick, Jaime, and Alec settle beneath fur pelts for the night. Her eyes then locked with Gordon’s from overtop the low-burning fire. He made no effort to hide his dislike of her.