by K. E. Saxon
* * *
Callum’s steps grew quicker the nearer he got to the sea cave’s front chamber. Now that he was so close to his goal, he began to wonder how exactly to go about this ‘unveiling’ of the lovely, tho’ ever sharp-tongued, wee mite of a lass known as Branwenn. He had no desire to run her to ground—a thing he was sure to be forced to do should he boldly reveal that he knew her true identity. So he must tread lightly, give the impression that he believed her to be the fey creature she pretended to be.
But, what on earth was she doing so far from Cambria? She was supposed to be nearly wed by now to some relation of one of the Norman march lords. ‘Twas evident that she had fled her coming nuptials, that she was in hiding, but why? Hell, his cousins had already endured a siege of the Maclean fortress by Prince Llywelyn in order that he might force her to acknowledge the contract he’d made with the Norman lord. And ‘twas a siege that maimed, and nearly killed, her foster brother, Bao. Surely, she would not have forsaken her promise to fulfill the contract when she knew ‘twould only bring more Cambrian—and mayhap this time, Norman—armies to her foster brothers’ land. And, no doubt, her being here would be a bad omen for this fortress as well. So he must not dally in sending word to his cousin that Branwenn was back in the Highlands. They must begin to plan immediately for reprisal.
But first, he must get her back to the keep....
* * *
When Callum at last entered her cave chamber, Branwenn stopped breathing and stood poker-straight, hoping he’d not see her in the dark corner, as the light of his taper would not travel much further past the place he now stood.
But, ‘twas not to be, for the man must have the eyesight of a cat.
“Ah, ‘tis fey Mai, my rescuing sea faery,” he said, striding with clear purpose toward her hiding place. “I hoped I’d find you here, for you’ve something of mine I wish mightily to retrieve.”
“Oh? And what might that be?” she asked cheekily, lifting her chin a bit.
“Why, the key to the locks, of course.”
“‘Tis payment for services rendered, sir. Do not you know that?”
Callum guffawed and set the candlestick holding the lit taper on the ground beside him. “That be a good one. And—I think not. Hand it over, please.”
“Nay.”
“Pardon?”
Branwenn cupped the sides of her mouth with her hands. “I said, Nay!”
Callum, his arms akimbo now, stumped another step toward her. “Give me that...”—’twas clear he wanted to use a vulgar word, but managed to restrain himself—“key!”
Branwenn mimicked his stance and boldly met the big brute toe-to-toe. She had to cock her head back so far to see his countenance, her neck cracked. “Nay! ‘Tis mine.” She had no idea why she felt the need to provoke him so, but, ‘tis truth, the man had provoked her first with the arrogant way he’d called her ‘fey Mai’. And she was still a bit chafed by his initial scoffing remark this day past about the lovely name she’d chosen for herself.
A calculating look came into his devil-green eyes. He relaxed his stance and crossed his arms over his chest, the cane dangling from one hand as it rested against his side. “What recompense might I give you instead of the key?”
Branwenn wasn’t expecting him to give up the fight so quickly. It unbalanced her. But in the next moment, the wheels in her mind were turning once more. It didn’t take but another instant to come up with something so outrageous, so thoroughly unseemly, so devilishly, deliciously wrong, to tease the man with. And, if he actually met the challenge, ‘twould round out her sketchy knowledge and answer the questions she’d been dying to have answered ever since seeing Bao and Jesslyn together at the waterfall last year.
“You must tell me, leaving naught out, how you make love to a woman, as well as how it feels to you...and to her.” Her heart was pounding so hard, she felt her throat close up.
His voice thundered in clear shock and disbelief. “Are you insane?”
* * *
Callum couldn’t believe he was giving Branwenn his secret carnal fancy. Telling this virginal lass—his cousin’s, make that behemoth cousin’s, adored wee foster sister—the sexual imaginings he’d coveted lo’ these many years. But he was. And he was so hard now, he ached. But, the words continued to tumble from his lips as if he were under the spell of the mystical creature the lass pretended to be.
“And then, when I feel you come—”
“Come?” she asked softly, a little out of breath.
“Convulse with pleasure, feel as if you’re going to burst into a thousand points of flaming joy,” he explained and then repeated, “When I feel you come against my mouth, taste the honeydew that drips from your sex, that prepares you for my invasion, then, only then, will I cover you with my body and push myself into you.”
“And how will that feel to me? Will I like it?”
“Aye. But not at first. Nay, at first you shall feel the pain of the slender covering of inner skin that keeps you a virgin being ripped wide by my sex. And your canal will burn, sting from being stretched wide and forced to take something larger than itself inside it, from being plowed into and forced to accommodate me as I move in and out of it.
“But it won’t hurt for long, I give you my promise. Only a few moments and then, suddenly, it will feel so good, just as my tongue had felt on it, in it. And before very long...you shall experience heaven once more. But this time, it will be so much more intense.”
Branwenn’s breath came harshly now; she heard the sound of her ragged breath echo in the cave and it shamed her. She tried to calm herself, tried to force her breathing to a more natural meter, but could not. “And how will it feel to you? Will it hurt at first for you as well?”
Callum chuckled. “Nay, it won’t hurt. ‘Twill feel perfect. Hot, juicy, so narrow it tugs the skin of my manhood. I’ll have trouble keeping myself from finding release before you do. But when your new-tried canal’s muscles begin to milk me of my seed, I’ll fuck”—he couldn’t believe he was using such course language with her, but something inside him impelled him to it—“you so hard, the head of my cock will pound against your womb. And by this time, you’ll be so hot, so ready for release again, it will feel quite pleasing to you.”
He shook his head and repeated, “Nay, ‘twill not hurt me. What hurts a man is being as ready as I am right now and not finding release.”
Branwenn, now past the point of rational thought, acted purely on instinct and reached out in the darkness to find his leg.
“What do you?” he asked sharply, anxiously.
“Sshh” she admonished, moving her hand up to the junction of his thighs.
“Branwenn,” Callum croaked, but ‘twas too late, she’d already grasped his manhood in her hand and begun to stroke him. ‘Twas bigger, harder, than she’d expected. She could see now why it would hurt her at first to take him inside of her. The fact that he’d used her name, not that of the fey creature’s, didn’t dawn on her until much later.
Callum lay back and rested on his elbows, his head thrown back in ecstasy, without any cognizant thought. The feel of her tiny hands on his engorged manhood was the sweetest feeling he’d had in the longest time. Too long. Since...well, since before the night of his marriage to Lara. “That feels good,” he ground out. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew this was not right, that he would regret this later. But he had neither the will, nor the strength to stop this madness before ‘twas too late.
Branwenn needed to touch his skin, feel the bare weight of him without the thin cloth of his braies in the way. She rose above him and quickly loosened the ties of the garment that covered his loins. When he was laid bare to her ministrations, she continued her manipulation of him; learning him, imagining what it looked like by the feel of it in her hand. For, he’d not allowed the taper to remain lit for this frank talk.
His sex was muscular she discovered, and smooth, the skin hot to the touch. And there was a pouch beneath it, covered in
wiry hair, that she held for a moment in the palm of her other hand. There were strange orbs that seemed to float inside it.
Callum moaned and ground his hips. “Stroke me, up and down, in quick motions. And hold tight,” he ordered, out of his mind now with the need to find release. “Suck me,” he thought, not realizing he’d said it aloud, until he felt her lips on him. He jerked so hard, his hips came a foot off the ground. “Arghh!”
Branwenn smiled, a sense of pure feminine satisfaction invading her psyche. Now she knew what truly pleased him. She eased onto her knees between his thighs and took him in earnest with her mouth, licking and sucking him as she continued to caress and coddle him in her hands. She was determined to make him “come,” as he called it.
A slightly salty musk-flavored substance gently emerged from the rounded head as she stroked upwards and she realized it must be the “seed” of which he’d just spoken.
Curious. And extremely heady. Was he coming now? She didn’t think so, for he didn’t seem to be in that final state of ultimate delight he’d spoken of so baldly before.
All at once, he yelled out as his hips surged up, jamming his manhood deeper into her mouth. In the next instant, he violently erupted, the turgid muscles under the skin of his sex rippling against her tongue. Her eyes teared and she began to choke on the hot seed he spewed as it hit the back of her throat. She swallowed convulsively. That was unexpected. Afterward, when he’d settled, his breathing still harsh, but his body as limp as a damp cloth, she lifted her head and studied him. Gorgeous, pompous, Callum MacGregor.
Check-mate.
* * *
Callum sighed and opened one eye. Branwenn had the smile of a very satisfied feline plastered across her countenance. As well she should. For what she’d lacked in skill, he thought dazedly, she’d more than made up for in enthusiasm.
“You want me to do it again?” she asked. Surprisingly, there was eagerness in her voice.
He actually felt his manhood stir in response. This brought him up short and his sex-fogged brain instantly cleared. He had to get out of here. In seconds he was on his feet, sore ankle and bruised shoulder bedamned—besides, after the pleasuring he’d just received from this mite of a lass, he’d not be feeling pain for some time to come. “I’ll return later this morn for the key,” he said, stumbling away from her and re-tying his braies at the same time. Abashed and horrified at his own lack of self-restraint, he rushed from the cave chamber, without his cane and with nary a backward glance.
He was not more than twenty paces down the passage when he realized that this was not the best course of action where Branwenn was concerned. He had little doubt that she would be gone by morn, to who knew where, should he leave her to her own devices for long, especially after their lurid, erotic interlude.
He turned and aggressively moved in the direction he’d just come from. Hell, he’d no doubt find the chamber empty even now. What a fool he was! First to allow her to talk him into such a dangerously tempting dialogue and then to allow her to...to...well, to take him in that way. God! She was such an innocent! Even with all of his experience with the gentler sex—and he’d had a lot—he’d yet to meet one with so avid a curiosity and appetite to bring delight to him. ‘Twas usually the other way around—and that was fine with him, for, as his erotic imagery he’d shared with her had shown, ‘twas he who liked to do the pleasuring.
He’d just stumbled back into the front chamber when a blow landed with a harsh ‘thwack’ across his cheek. “Ow! What the hell...?”
“You called me ‘Branwenn’!” his lively, sharp-tongued tormentor accused loudly.
Callum rubbed his abused cheek and sighed. Damn. This—this was why he was an idiot. “Aye, and you were in my room—nay, in my bed—this morn when I awakened.” He hoped that tidbit of a memory would startle her enough to give him time to come up with a way of getting her back to the keep without using manly force—a thing he was sadly, and shamefully, lacking ability in at the moment. For, tho’ she was a wee thing, she had strength, and she’d no doubt claw and bite, kick and wriggle, the entire time he tried to keep her in his arms, were he to do the most efficient thing by heaving her over his shoulder and trudging back through the cave passage to the keep.
Nay, with his unstable walk and his sore shoulder—he still couldn’t lift his arm very far—he’d drop her for sure. Or worse, fall on top of her and kill her with his weight.
“I was bathing your unworthy brow, you thankless, pompous curdog!” Branwenn said, at last finding her voice. “And, by the way, you’re welcome for the clearly violently pleasurable ‘release’ I gave you a few minutes ago! And you forced me to swallow your seed—that can’t be good for me! My stomach is all burble-y now.”
Callum felt his cheeks burn. He’d never met another lass like this one. Such a bold tongue, but still so young, so innocent of men. She could get him riled and spitting iron nails within seconds of being in her presence. How could this be? He didn’t even recognize himself when he was with her. For, ‘twas a well-known fact, was it not, that he was the charming one, he was the affable one, he was the one all the ladies wanted to share company with? “I...ahem...I...uhhh...” Through gritted teeth, he released a very long sigh—and growl—of frustration. “Damnit, Branwenn, enough. You’re coming back to the keep with me right now.”
“Nay!” That silky, short-cropped, black-haired head of hers adamantly shook a negative.
“You can either gather your belongings now or get them later, I care not which.” He guessed he’d be carrying her after all. And he would not drop her, he told his much abused body. Christ’s Bones, but the lass was a menace.
* * *
An hour and a half later, just past dawn, Branwenn sat by the hearth in the solar with her Grandmother Maclean and Aunt Maggie. Though she was of no true relation to the two ladies, they’d taken her into their hearts and under their wings last summer and winter, and had insisted upon her calling them by those familiar epithets.
“And your brother Reys knows not where you are?” Lady Maclean asked, her brow furrowed in worry.
Branwenn shrugged. “I know not—I think not. For, ‘twas only by the grace of God that I managed to stay afloat long enough to find land.” She dipped her head and studied her tightly clasped hands, pressed deeply into her lap. “He no doubt believes me dead—if he knows of the wreck at all.”
Maggie reached over and softly patted Branwenn’s knee. “There, there, lass. You mustn’t fret so, for we shall send a missive forthwith to inform him that you are safe and sound and living here with us.”
Branwenn’s head snapped up. Her eyes as round as saucers, she quickly shook her head. “Nay, you mustn’t!”
“But, why ever not? Never tell me you wish to let your poor brother mourn you for one moment longer than is necessary!” Maggie replied.
Lady Maclean, who had been silently watching and listening these past moments, interjected, “Maggie, let the lass get settled first before you hare off and send missives hither and thither. ‘Twill be no great sin to wait another day or two, surely.”
“Well...I suppose that is so,” Maggie replied.
Branwenn relaxed. Thank heaven for Grandmother Maclean!
Maggie cleared her throat and resettled herself more comfortably on her stool. Picking up the discarded piece of embroidery she’d been working on until a few minutes past, she put another stitch in the cloth before lifting her head and drilling Branwenn with a penetrating stare as she asked, “So...’twas you who found my son in the cave this day past? You who helped him get back to the keep?”
“Aye, tho’ ‘tis truth, he did most of the work himself. I only got the locks and doors open.”
“And you bathed his brow, forget not.” Maggie reminded.
Branwenn sat forward, sure that that handsome devil of a son of Aunt Maggie’s had opened his big gob and told the lady that she, the brazen Branwenn, had invaded his manly sanctuary the night before and gotten in bed with him. She now
tried valiantly to explain. “I only wanted to see how he fared, Aunt Maggie,” she said in a rush. “He was quite ill when I left him in the tower chamber. ‘Tis only that I got weary from leaning over him as I cooled his skin with the damp cloth, that’s why I rested beside him on the bed. I swear.” Branwenn didn’t realize it, but she thrust her lower lip out a bit when she continued in a mumble, “And anyway, that old Physician did naught but sleep the whole time I was there.”
A cold chill crept up the back of her neck, making her scalp tingle as she at last noticed the stunned expressions on the faces of the two women who sat before her. Damnation, Callum MacGregor, I hate your lily-livered, toad-eyed, bird-beaked, simple-minded self! You are the bane—the bane of my existence! Branwenn couldn’t help it, she squirmed. “Ahem...umm... Well, ‘tis good that he recovered so quickly, do you not agree, Grandmother Maclean?”
The two ladies flashed a quick glance at each other, but thankfully must have decided to allow the change in topic, for Lady Maclean answered lightly. “Aye, lass. And God be praised ‘twas not a poisoning plot of Laird Gordon’s, as Callum first thought.”
Branwenn’s brows arched. “Truly? But who did the deed then?”
Maggie chuckled and Lady Maclean joined in. “‘Twas the doing of a wee lad—one of the new pages in Laird Gordon’s household—his nephew, in fact,” Maggie told her.
“Why on earth would the lad have done such a horribly vile thing?”
“No, you misunderstand, Branwenn. ‘Twas naught more than a wee—very, very wee—bit of pig offal”—
Branwenn slapped her hand over her mouth and laughed so hard she snorted.
—“that got stirred in Callum’s wine which laid him so low.”
Feeling much better now that she knew her nemesis had had such a fine blow to his overweening pride—especially after the way he’d manhandled her, slapped her on her bottom as he carried her here earlier, and never thanked her for the services rendered—she settled back with a sigh and calmly began a new set of stitches in the tapestry she was helping Grandmother Maclean to make.