Highland Dragon

by Kimberly Killion

  Akira nodded, and hooked her legs around his waist, no longer embarrassed by her nudity.

  “There is grass on the bank.” He pointed. “Its texture, soft as silk. My lady wife is lying naked in those grasses, warming her skin beneath the sun.”

  Akira laughed aloud at his vision. “And where are ye in this fantasy, husband?”

  “I am trying to heal her.” Not only was his answer wicked, so were his hands. They rounded her backside to find their way into her most intimate of crevices.

  She sucked in an audible breath at his swiftness and slapped him on the shoulder. “Ye promised to be a gentleman.”

  “But the vision of ye brings out the devil in me.”

  Crawling up his shoulders, she pushed him under with both hands. He resurfaced a few feet away. “Swim with me. I’ll resist ye for the moment,” he hollered over his shoulder, and then broke into a vigorous glide toward the pounding fall. She followed, matching him stroke for stroke. They emerged behind a curtain of white water. The waterfall created a booming echo inside the cavelike hollow. Calin stabilized his footing on a projecting rock then reached for her. When he raised her up, she stood waist deep out of the water, her erect nipples a testament to the frigid temperature. The narrow space of the rock left little distance between them.

  “Ye swim like a selkie, and ye are as enchanting as a mermaid, my Akira,” he said in a husky voice then bent to suckle the fresh water from her lips. He raised her up by her bottom, forcing her legs to wrap around his waist. The intensity of his fevered kiss contradicted the icy gooseflesh sprouting from her skin. He wove his fingers into her heavy mane and drew her back, exposing the flitting pulse in her throat. His lips grazed her flesh just before his hot mouth found her breast.

  Twisting her rigid nipple between his teeth, he moaned.

  “Och, Calin.” His name came out as a squeak. Though tender, the craving to have him inside her returned with a vengeance. “’Tis too soon. Ye are too much for me to take so quickly,” she whined, yet rubbed herself against him. Calin laughed. “The water is far too brisk for me to ravish ye. I only want to bathe ye with kisses.” As he spoke, he did just that. She dipped her head back, surrendering beneath his lips. Her body responded to him in ways that made her question her morals. “Ye make me wanton, husband. Nay mon wants this quality in a wife. I fear your clan will accuse me of behaving like a whore.”

  Calin stopped abruptly and dropped her to her feet with a splash. Brown eyes darkened to burnt anger. His strong nose flared. His lips thinned. Akira confessed to not knowing all his moods, but the face he wore now was one she never cared to see again.

  For the first time, she feared him.

  Looking down his nose at her, he delivered his words in a harsh clipped tone. “Ye will never refer to yourself as a whore again. I dinnae lay with whores. I am faithful as my father was to my mother. Ye are my wife, and ye may act as wanton in my presence as ye desire. If anyone in my clan dares to name ye a whore, they will be exiled. Is this understood?”

  Akira nodded and bowed her head like a reprimanded child. Embarrassment doused the flame inside her, causing her teeth to chatter. “Forgive me, m’laird,” she murmured and hugged herself to cover her breasts.

  “Ye need not apologize. There are some matters in which I’ll not yield. This being one of them. Whores are not faithful. Ye’ve vowed faithfulness to me. Ye’ll not break the vows ye spoke before God and the kirk. Ye’ve said ye are mine and mine alone. ’Tis all I need.”

  Dumbfounded by this outburst, she found herself lost for words. She’d asked him not to take a mistress until after she had borne their fifth child, but she never thought for a moment he’d think she would lay with another man. He obviously had a streak of possessiveness running through his veins. She tried to move away from him.

  “Dinnae cower before me.” He raised her trembling chin and kissed her cold lips. “Ye are forgiven. Now…I believe ye were acting wanton.” The last of his words were delivered in a tone that flirted with her. Peeking up at him, Akira watched his eyebrow arch above a wink he snapped her. Inspired by his wicked grin, she pushed him off the ledge then plunged out in front, racing him back to the water’s edge. Calin retrieved soap from his saddlebag and sprawled out beneath the rising sun on a bed of lush green grasses. “Come, lie with me. I’ll behave. I vow it.”

  Crawling up beside him, she tucked herself partially beneath him on the slope. She followed a trickle of water over his broad shoulder and studied the battle marks circling his thick arm. The wide top ring was near gray with age compared to the other three, which were sharp thin blue lines. “Did ye go to war young?”

  “Not ’til I was one and twenty. Uncle Kerk wouldnae allow it.”

  She traced the top ring with the tip of her finger. “This mark is older than that.”

  “The rings dinnae signify the number of battles a warrior has fought. They represent a mon’s losses.”

  “Ye lost many men when ye were young?”

  “Nay. I lost my father when I was ten. I had the blacksmith mark me to remind me of my father’s aspirations.”

  She met his tormented eyes and saw an age-old longing there she hadn’t intended to uncover. “I’m sorry. I know what ’tis like to lose someone ye love,” she whispered, overcome with the desire to comfort him.

  “’Twas a long time ago.” He lowered his eyes, but not before she saw how much pain her last statement caused him. She desperately wanted to fill that void.

  She reached up and caressed his bristled chin. “Calin?”

  “Aye?”

  Could ye ever love me like that? The words dangled so loosely on her tongue, she felt all she had to do was open her mouth and they would come out. But the fear that his answer would crush her made her swallow the question and instead ask, “Will ye shave while we are here?”

  His eyes flashed back open with the abrupt change in subject, and the air of humor returned to his grin. “Aye, but not until I bathe ye.” He ran the soap over her wet skin. Lathering her neck, her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. He set the soap atop its leather satchel and finished the job with his hand.

  Though she enjoyed his touch, she couldn’t help but throw barbs at him. “I told ye I dinnae need your services to bathe. I can clean myself ye know.”

  “As I am certain ye can, I thought ye might return the service.” He picked up the small cake of soap and placed it in her hand. Rolling onto his back, he cradled his head in his laced fingers and grinned. “I fear I need a stringent scrubbing. Would ye oblige me?”

  Lusty barbarian. Her husband proved to be very wolfish with his seductions. A playful trait she intended to learn, practice, and then master. She explored his body with the intrigue of a curious innocent. Her teasing fingers slicked over his shoulders, down his stomach, and around his corded thighs.

  Then she stroked his cock—twice.

  A robust moan rumbled from his throat. Hooded lids flickered over his rolling eyes. Intrigued by his response, she studied the pained expression on his face. She chewed her bottom lip wanting to touch him again. She did.

  She swirled her index finger around the tip of his cock, learning its smooth texture. She became bold in her perusal and gripped him firmly, unable to touch her fingertips to her thumb.

  “Ye are being wicked, wife. Verra, verra wicked.”

  Feeling her insides crackle with desire, Akira crawled overtop him, sliding her slick body over his. She brushed her breasts up and down his arousal then kissed him wildly. She pulled back. “Do ye want me, husband?”

  Calin growled into her mouth, roughly pinched both her nipples, then spanked her bare arse with a whack. Throwing her off him, he jumped to his feet. “Hell and damnation! Of course I do, but I’ll not hurt ye. I swear ye are the devil in angel’s skin. Ye will pay for your wickedness, wife.” He dove headlong into the frigid water. Laughing aloud, she sat up, curled her arms around her bent legs and watched her husband’s graceful dance in the rippling water. A sense o
f pride swirled behind her breast, warming her. She would make Calin proud to call her wife, and somehow she intended to find a way into her husband’s heart.

  “Enjoy your merriment, you Scottish whore. ’Twill not last long,” Catriona murmured to herself behind the thick cover of gorse. Her nails sliced into her palms while a jealous fury erupted within her. “Calin belongs to me.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Brycen Castle had never been so quiet. No squawking bairns running amok. No young maids scurrying with duties. The simple tapping of his guest’s fingertips on the stone council table sounded like a drum in his ear. The silence pecked at Laird Kinnon’s brain like a vulture on a rotting corpse.

  It was cold enough to chill wine in the hearth. A hearth that hadn’t held a fire in nigh twenty years. Thick moisture slicked the stone table and dripped in black rivulets down the once smoke-tinted walls of the council chamber. He felt the end of summer in his bones. Or was the ice passing through his soul the spirit of his late wife taunting him again?

  He hated this chamber. The chill was worse here than any other room in Brycen Castle. Laird Kinnon itched for upheaval. Something to heat his blood and set his mind free of this haunted place. And Kendrick Neish would soon provide what he hungered for.

  A war.

  As of late, his training field reeked of male sweat and fresh blood. Every lad in Dalkirth who could wield a sword trained alongside their fathers, uncles, and brothers. Just yestereve he sent missives to his brethren in the Lowlands. The survival of Clan Kinnon resided in the loyalty of its kin. That loyalty didn’t extend to Kendrick. Laird Kinnon knew why Kendrick failed to train with his kinsmen. The traitor sold one of his bitches to the MacLeod. It took the blood of a prized warrior to gain that information.

  The Kinnon garrison was strong, but not strong enough. His warriors would lose a battle against the MacLeods even with the aid of his Lowlander cousins. Which is why he now stood in his council chamber staring into the pitch-black orbs of Logan Donald’s eyes.

  Laird Kinnon needed an ally.

  He pulled at the loose-fitting woolen trews beneath his plaid as he paced around the stone table where Logan sat in apparent boredom. Long, dense fingers propped up his black-bearded chin and clouds of mist swirled evenly out his nose. A pile of cats by the empty hearth held his interest. Four in all. And every one as scrawny as the next. Laird Kinnon hated the mangy creatures, but had never been able to rid the castle of their presence. He’d tried to poison them, but the damned things wouldn’t die.

  Lena had coddled them like bairns.

  Logan brushed a piece of lint from the pleated wool draped over his shoulder. His nonchalant demeanor infuriated Laird Kinnon, but he tempered that anger and feigned interest in Logan’s personal affairs. “Your wife is about to deliver your first bairn, is she not?”

  “Aye. Our midwife has confined my Maggie to a bed as her time draws near. Methinks she may be carrying bairns o’ two.”

  “I have not seen Maggie’s brother among my warriors. Kendrick bears my name and lives on my lands, yet finds nay time to train with the Kinnon brethren to protect the verra ground he reaps.”

  “Our country is at peace with England for the nonce,” Logan offered congenially. “Ye train your warriors as if war awaits ye on the morrow. There is really nay need to deplete your men’s endurance during such times as these. Kendrick devotes his time to tending to his herd and his womenfolk. Now I know ye have not dragged me away from my wife on the Sabbath to speak to me about the absence o’ my brother-in-law. What do ye want from me?” Logan’s brows drew tight as he rose from the table, towering two heads over Laird Kinnon. The trestle bench scraped across the floor and echoed off the empty walls. The cats scattered.

  Laird Kinnon looked up at him and swallowed his pride. “I have asked ye here to propose an alliance.”

  A treacherous smile played at Logan’s lips. “The chieftain o’ Clan Donald would sooner dig his own grave afore aligning with ye.”

  Angered by Logan’s sardonic tone, Laird Kinnon’s pulse tripped a beat. “But your father would unite his clan with a shepherd’s son. A peasant who holds nay status and is disloyal to his chieftain.”

  Logan bent over the stone table and looked Kinnon straight in the eyes—not a trace of fear could be found in his expression. “Kendrick dinnae sell his borders to the English for a bride and enough siller to fill the caverns beneath Brycen Castle. Ye would do weel to remember that ye did.”

  Laird Kinnon spat in the empty hearth and paced the chamber in frustration. That English bitch hadn’t been worth the gold attached to her name. The same gold which had prevented him from aligning with either of his neighbors. The same gold that was now gone.

  He gripped the dried ox hide from the chamber’s sole window and tore it from its fastenings. He searched the bailey. Smoke swirled in wisps from the cot-houses. Matrons herded their bairns down a path to the kirk. A woman’s weeping echoed in the corridor behind him. His head snapped in the direction. Logan’s head cocked with intrigue, but Laird Kinnon knew that cry all too well. The strong fragrance of lavender suddenly filled the chamber. Despite himself, he shivered. “I fear ye leave me nay choice then. I have need for an audience with Kendrick. Ye are wed to his sister and can bring him to me. I have a proposition for the mon.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “As laird of Clan Kinnon, I wish for naught more than the same peace King James provides. Peace among my clan and the Isles. Kendrick has conveniently bound the Isles together for me by marrying his sisters off to my neighboring clans. ’Tis my intention for my son to marry Kendrick’s twin sisters and strengthen the loyalty within our clans.”

  “’Tis bigamy and punishable by death according to the kirk. Kendrick will not allow it, nor will King James. Now, if ye have nay further need o’ me, I’ve a wife to tend to.” Without waiting for a dismissal, Logan scuffled through the molded rushes stirring up the stench of cat piss.

  It infuriated Laird Kinnon that he held no status with this man. The Donalds had never been his enemy, but neither were they allies. For him to remain in power, he would have to get to Kendrick. “Darach will choose. One for his wife, the other for his leman. Ye will send Kendrick and his sisters to me, or I’ll send for your Maggie.”

  Logan swiveled on his heel. The broadsword hanging from his hip swung wide with the action. A surge of trepidation flushed through Laird Kinnon, warming his skin. He poised his palm over the hilt of his sgian dubh in preparation. Logan’s black eyes bore into him. “Ye cannae threaten me, auld mon. Ye may seek loyalty among your warriors by threatening their women, but ye have nay reign over my person or my Maggie. Touch my wife, and I can promise ye a slow and painful death. Kill me and suffer the fury o’ Clan Donald.”

  Laird Kinnon would not be swayed by the obstinacy exuding from Logan’s eyes. These bastards had been after him for years to unite. Now that he makes one of them an offer, he is threatened for his generosity. After Logan turned beneath the doorframe, Kinnon unsheathed the sgian dubh from beneath his right arm. Darach would have Kendrick’s sisters and Kendrick would regret he’d ever crossed Laird Baen Kinnon. Pinching the blade between thumb and forefinger, he flung the sgian dubh into Logan’s upper arm.

  The man didn’t flinch, nor did he cry out. He simply pulled the blade from his arm as if removing a splinter. Laird Kinnon’s pulse skidded when Logan donned a broad smile from over his bleeding shoulder.

  “Ye waste my time, auld mon, but I’ll give Kendrick your message. He has awaited your summons too long and will relish an audience with ye.” Logan wiped the dark blood from the blade then sheathed it next to his own in his wool stocking just before he left.

  Alone in the chamber, Laird Kinnon tried to ignore the woman’s laughter.

  Heat flushed through him. Perspiration slicked his skin beneath his fur vest. The walls instantly bled streams of black. He drew a breath of lavender.

  A feather-light weight brushed over his shoulder.
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  Hair prickled at his neck.

  Laird Kinnon rushed from the chamber and headed for the training field.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I swear when my sister returns, she will have ye drawn and quartered, Jaime MacLeod.”

  Calin heard the futile threat just as he passed beneath the archway with his wife at his side. Jaime spun Isobel in circles, clearing a path through the chaos of the Great Hall. Two matrons sweeping out the old rushes reared back to avoid a foot in the face. Isobel shrieked and wrapped both hands tightly around Jaime’s neck. His cousin’s eyes were alight with mischief, while Isobel’s cheeks stained a rosy red.

  Isobel thwarted Jaime’s advances in much the same way Akira had. Most women went willy-nilly beneath Jaime’s charms, but Calin concluded Isobel, like Akira, wasn’t most women. Untamed and obstinate, Isobel was just what his cousin deserved. The sight of their feuding struck him as comical. Feeling no need to keep his merriment contained, Calin’s boisterous laugh echoed into the tall ceiling above him, bouncing off the carvings of cherubs. When he stole a glance at Akira’s stunned expression, he knew she didn’t share his opinion. Wide blue eyes and a gaping mouth verbalized her opinion more than words. He couldn’t determine if she was appalled or angry. He decided both. Akira rushed around a man rolling a wooden barrel of heather ale, then tore Isobel out of Jaime’s arms with possessive force. Even though they were the same height and proportion, she carried Isobel at an alarming pace up the stone stairwell. Calin followed and tried to pry Isobel from Akira’s arms, assuming she would have difficulty with her sister’s weight. Akira glared at his interference. “I’d like a moment alone with my sister.”

  “Of course, but let me assist ye. ’Tis not fitting for—”

  “I’ve been carrying Isobel for a decade. Ye insult me by implying she’s a burden to me.” Her firm countenance didn’t invite argument.

  Calin backed away, nearly toppling over Jaime, who stood on the step below him. He swiveled to shoot Jaime a warning look. “I dinnae treat her unkind in any way, m’laird,” Jaime defended, even though no verbal threat had been given. He crawled around Calin in the narrow space of the tower stairwell. Standing in front of Akira, he halted her steps. Calin glimpsed the troubled glint in Jaime’s eyes when he touched Isobel’s cheek. Furthermore, he recognized the victorious expression on Isobel’s face when she drew her finger across her throat. Jaime turned to Akira. “M’lady, dinnae believe what Isobel tells ye. I’ve been a perfect gentleman in her presence.”