Highland Magic

by K. E. Saxon

  * * *

  Callum’s shoulder was hurting with a deep, burning ache now as he paced the floor of his bedchamber. He might have made it back here without re-injuring the thing, had that smart-tongued lass not provoked his temper so thoroughly with her gibes and insults to his manhood that he’d actually forgotten the state of his shoulder and given her lovely derrière the much needed ‘whack’ it deserved.

  He’d not spoken with his stepfather yet, but he knew that Bao would need to be sent word of his foster sister’s arrival forthwith. Why on earth was she here? That question had continued to plague him since he’d first recalled that ‘twas her lovely black-lashed, violet cat-eyes that he’d awakened to this morn past. And her gentle hands that had cooled his fevered brow. And her wide mouth, with those fleshy pink lips, that had felt like warm silk stroking and encasing him as it took him to heaven.... He forcibly turned his mind from that arousing memory, but his thoughts remained on the complicated puzzle of her.

  Lord, but she was such a tangled mix of vixen, virgin, and vexation. The treble V’s. He had no doubt that she should be branded thus, to warn any unsuspecting man before he attempted to woo her and got castrated by the sharp edge of her tongue. Her tongue.... Callum shook the image clear.

  Blood of Christ! He’d gone for so many moons without the touch of a feminine hand, and had managed quite well to keep his mind clear of such thoughts as he slowly, diligently, rebuilt his favorable repute amongst his clansmen. But now, after that incredible interlude, he couldn’t seem to stay focused on the task at hand: to get the lass to her foster brother’s keep as quickly as possible. Because his mind—his body—screamed for more of her. More of her mouth on him, but also, this time, more of his mouth, his hands, on her.

  God, what would she taste like? Her skin was soft, he’d noticed that already. And there was a faint smell of roses in her cropped hair. The pleasant scent had drifted to him as he’d hauled her over his shoulder back at the cave. Aye, the flower of her womanhood no doubt had the heady scent of roses and...woman....

  “Blood. Of. Christ! No more!” Callum yelled, lifting his good arm and scrubbing his hand across his eyes and face.

  * * *

  Branwenn’s eyelids drooped and her chin dropped to her chest. “What?” she cried out, instantly waking when she nearly teetered forward and fell flat on her face.

  “Lass, ‘tis time and past for you to take a rest. We are not such a staunch lot that we would have you sacrifice your health to keep the appearance of piety,” the young priest said.

  “But, Father, I must finish my prayers first.”

  With a gentle smile and a dip of his head, he moved away from the altar where she knelt.

  “Oh, Lord, just one more thing. Please do not allow my aunt and her husband to tell any of my brothers that I am alive, Lord. ‘Tis not truly such a terrible lie, Lord, is it? Not if it could save their lives?” No response. Well, she wasn’t exactly expecting one, but still. It would have been nice to know for sure that He was on her side in this matter. With a long sigh, she stood up and did a quick genuflection before scurrying from the MacGregor chapel.

  She took her time going back into the keep, for her thoughts had not settled, as she’d hoped they would, by doing a bit of praying for forgiveness for her less-than-ladylike behavior this day. And she wasn’t speaking of her arguments with that auburn-haired, too-handsome to look upon for long, devil-man, either—‘twas the other thing that happened between them that now weighed so heavily on her conscience.

  For, she’d not gone to the chapel originally to request aid from the Lord Almighty with her dilemma regarding her family. Nay, she’d gone there, contrite and filled with horror that she’d been so...so...well, so brazen with Callum—feelings that only recently took hold of her when she’d been obliged to sit beside the man at table and he’d remained so quiet, so indifferent toward her, that she had begun to suspect he was now disgusted by her. But she was not yet ready to reveal such a thing to the priest in order to do penance for it, so she’d decided upon a heart-felt prayer of forgiveness instead.

  A momentary flash of sense memory involving Callum—and the feel of his invitingly bare nether regions against her palm—invaded her thoughts just then, but she forcefully closed her mind to it. What was it about that man that—she begrudgingly admitted to herself now—appealed to her so? Her heart had actually skipped a beat when he had walked into the great hall to break his fast a bit ago. And why did she have to start feeling guilty now for making him so mad that he hurt his shoulder again when he spanked her bottom? Why should she care if he was now unable to hold his wee motherless daughter?

  But she did care. A lot.

  * * *

  “She’s such a lovely, wee thing, Grandmother Maclean,” Branwenn said softly the next day as she turned from side to side with Laire cradled and cooing quietly in her arms. “Aren’t you, my wee apple blossom?”

  Laire cackled, her arms and legs flailing wildly as her bright blue eyes twinkled up at Branwenn with delight.

  “Aye, she’s got her mother’s look, but blessed be, not her temperament.”

  “Hmm. Even with all I know of Lara’s behavior last Hogmanay at the Maclean holding, still I cannot believe that she actually ran from Callum—ran from this precious babe—‘tis unpardonable in my estimation.”

  Lady Maclean sighed. “Aye, she was not a good match for our Callum, and would not have been a good mother to our Laire. Even so, ‘twas a tragic end to her, which I would not have wished on her in any event.”

  “Mmm.”

  A glob of slobber trailed down the side of Laire’s cheek, but Branwenn managed to catch it with the edge of the swaddling cloth she held in her hand before it made its way onto the sleeve of the borrowed—and rather cavernous—gown she wore. She brushed a kiss across the babe’s warm brow and rested her lips there a moment as she breathed in the sweet babe-smell of the lass’s skin. After a moment, she turned her head and said to Lady Maclean, “Must we swaddle her again? Surely, her limbs are not so fragile now that we must keep them bound to prevent deformity.” She turned her eye back to the babe in her arms. “Just look, Grandmother, how happy Laire is to be free of those restraints!”

  “Aye, but ‘tis not my decision to make—‘tis her father’s. And my grandson is so careful with his daughter, making sure he follows every rule regarding the proper care of a babe, that I doubt he’ll allow us to unswaddle her until she’s another moon or more older.”

  “Well, I’m not going to do it. If he wants her bound up like a shank of mutton, then ‘twill be he who can do the deed.”

  Callum, who’d been silently watching the exchange regarding the swaddlings from the opened doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and his good shoulder leaning against the jam, straightened and took a few steps into the chamber, saying, “Hand her to me.”

  Branwenn nearly jumped out of her skin. Whirling, she faced him, but held the babe tightly to her chest. “Not if you’re going to do what I think you are going to do.”

  “And, what, pray, do you believe I’m going to do to the lass?”

  “Roll her in this”—she waved the swaddling cloth in the air—“like some silkworm’s casing.”

  “And, by what right do you take this stance with me—the babe’s father?”

  Her chin tilted high, she responded dryly, “By the right of all women, for ‘tis well-known that we are born with the instincts for mothering.”

  “You call yourself ‘woman’? Why, you’re merely a lass. You know naught of the ways of tending bairns.” Callum had no desire to swaddle his wee one again either, but the lass didn’t have to know that, did she? “As I said, hand her to me.”

  Hot color washed over Branwenn’s cheeks. He believed her callow, ‘twas clear. Callow, but too brazen by far. Traits not highly regarded when looking for potential mates. “I am not, and I do, too,” she mumbled, momentarily confounded for more cutting words to throw at him. In the next instant, the decision o
f the swaddlings was taken from her when the babe turned her head in Callum’s direction and, clearly recognizing him, gave him a gummy, wet grin and squealed, “Da!”

  A stunned, euphoric expression moved over Callum’s countenance and, in a hitch-stepped rush, he strode up and took the babe from Branwenn’s numb arms.

  “Callum! Your shoulder!” Lady Maclean exclaimed, taking a step forward with her arms out as if to catch the babe should he drop her.

  “Worry not, Grandmother, the shoulder’s better this day.”

  Lady Maclean nodded and said, a bit doubtfully, “Aye, well be careful.”

  Callum nodded and turned his eye back to his grinning daughter. “‘Tis the first time she’s called me that,” he said softly, a matching wide-mouthed grin moving across his own countenance. Until this very instant, he’d only understood in the vaguest sense how deep the emotion must have gone for his cousin, Bao, to have done all that he’d done to keep Branwenn safe all those years as he’d raised her. But now as he gazed down at Laire, he fully perceived the depth of that feeling; the reason why there had truly been no other choice for his cousin but to do as he’d done.

  “’Tis more likely just wee babe sounds, as she’s yet too young to speak in truth,” Lady Maclean advised. When Callum only continued to grin down at his daughter, she continued, “Well, ‘tis call for a feast in any case!” Her own smile beaming so brightly, it could have lit the darkest chamber, she said, “We must tell your mother and stepfather; they shall be thrilled.”

  Branwenn could not take her eyes from Callum. He was, without any doubt, the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. And what woman could resist a man who loved his bairn so much? She was in deep, deep, deep trouble. Is this what Bao feels for Jesslyn? What Daniel, her other foster brother, feels for Maryn, his wife? She was beginning to believe it was. God’s Blood! ‘Twas true! She loved the charming, green-eyed devil! And he, it had become clear to her these past two days—at least, since the morning meal this day past—wanted naught more to do with her. Ever again.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 4

  Over the next sennight, Branwenn managed to keep her distance from Callum, for her bruised heart could not take the coldness, the angry silence, of him. And not one of Branwenn’s brothers had arrived, a thing she was exceedingly grateful for. Evidently, Grandmother Maclean had prevailed upon Laird and Lady MacGregor to give her a bit more time before her location was revealed to any of them.

  Taking a nice, juicy chomp out of one of the apples she carried in her arm basket, she walked toward the training field. She was on a mission; one that, if she could have avoided it, she would rather have perished than do. But, ‘twas Grandmother Maclean who had asked this of her and, after all that that fine lady had done for her these past moons, she could not say her ‘nay’.

  So, here she was, at the mouth of the lion’s den—the training field where Callum now practiced—about to beard the lion.

  As she scanned the field, she took another bite. Lord, but these apples were good. Many she’d eaten were rather sour—used mostly for cider—but these had a rather sweet, tho’ still tart, flavor. Her eyes at last landed on the object of her errand and a slow, lethargic, heat moved through her veins, across her skin, weakening her knees. Her mouth’s cavern, which still held the partially chewed bite of fruit, became as dry as the Holy Land desert.

  Had he always been this large? Her mind scanned back to that first day they’d ever met, the day almost exactly a year ago, when Callum had come to the Maclean keep to request aid in mitigating a feud with the Gordons. Nay, while he’d certainly not been without muscle, his chest and shoulders had not seemed this broad. And although she’d noted some physical difference in him since she’d last seen him even this past Hogmanay, she’d had no notion just how much breadth he’d actually gained. Until now. For, who could miss the change in him with the man standing as he was, bare-chested, with only his braies between him and her—and full nakedness.

  She only allowed herself one more fleeting moment of sensual enjoyment before she quickly finished consuming the bite of now-dry apple and waved to the man who’d been the other player in all her carnal daydreams—now that she knew, in detail, what to dream about—these past days, since their last encounter in the cave.

  It took a minute, but she finally got Callum’s attention. He nodded to her and then turned and spoke to the man who’d been giving him direction as he carefully exercised his shoulder, before grabbing his shirt and tunic from the squire who’d been holding it and jogging over to where she stood.

  He pulled his shirt on. “Aye?” he said, but with little inflection. The tunic came next. What a shame.

  “Umm, Lady Maclean would like for you to”—she ran her tongue over her lower lip—Was there still some apple there? Why was he staring at her mouth, for heaven’s sake?—“meet with her and your parents in the solar in a quarter-hour’s time.”

  His eyes lifted to hers, but she could read no emotion in them. “All right.”

  They both turned and headed, in awkward silence, toward the keep. After a moment, Branwenn, all too aware of the man beside her, decided to take another bite of the apple she still held in her hand. Surely, this should make her seem unmoved by his nearness.

  Callum watched her eat from the corner of his eye. He truly did not know how much longer he could keep up the pretense of indifference. When the hell was Bao going to get here, for Christ’s sake? They’d sent the missive the day after he’d brought the lass here, but there was still no sign of her foster brother. Granted, it would have taken the messenger two days to get there, and even if Bao had waited to depart until the next day, he should have arrived no later than this day past.

  Branwenn took a really big bite out of her apple, angry now at both herself and the vexing man beside her. A drop of juice ran over her lip and onto her chin and she swiped it away.

  “You seem to be enjoying that apple,” Callum said the words before he even realized he had opened his mouth.

  Branwenn gave him a sour look, expecting him to make some snide comment about the mess she was making. When she discovered the pleasant smile on his face—a thing she’d not seen aimed at her since way before ‘the interlude’—she relaxed and pulled another one out of her basket. Holding it out to him, she asked, “Would you like to try one? They are very good.” ‘Twas not much of a peace offering, but ‘twas a start, she thought hopefully.

  He laughed. “Nay, I much prefer watching you enjoy them.”

  Branwenn shrugged and, since she was still hungry and she’d finished the other one already, took a bite of her proffered fruit. Unfortunately, this one was even juicier than the first, and the sticky substance once more left drops on her lower lip. She hurriedly consumed the bite and then ran her tongue over her mouth to clean it.

  “Damn it to hell! ‘Tis too much!” Callum said under his breath.

  In the next instant, she was crowded against the shadowed side of a stone wall—were they already to the chapel?—and jailed between Callum’s massive arms as he rested his palms on the cool stone to either side of her head. Without any further warning than that, he kissed her. And, Good Lord in Heaven, what a kiss it was! There was little gentleness in it, only hunger. He wouldn’t allow her to keep her lips closed. His tongue invaded her, ran over her teeth, delved deep—like he said he’d do to her...down there? He took her bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled before soothing it with the most erotic suction she’d ever imagined.

  At some point, her limbs had gone numb and she vaguely realized that the basket of apples had dropped to the ground. Tentatively, she put her arms around this so-handsome, massive man that now boldly kissed her, testing the feel of him there.

  He lifted his mouth a fraction from hers and murmured, “God, I shouldn’t be doing this.” But he didn’t step away. Nay, instead, he answered her action with one of his own. He brought his arms down and wrapped them tightly around her shoulder and waist, lifting her up until her pelvi
s was fused with his. Good Lord, he was as ‘ready’ as he had been the other day! Did that mean he wanted to mate with her now? The thought both frightened and excited her. “Branwenn,” he whispered, his lips, his warm, moist breath, fluttering like dove’s wings against her cheek. A thrill ran down her spine. He’d said her name as if it were a benediction. Her womanhood spasmed. She turned her head and brushed her lips across Callum’s, not really sure what she was doing.

  But he knew. And in seconds, he was ravishing her mouth again with his lips, with his teeth and his tongue.

  Her thoughts became fragmented as an aching need infused the apex of her torpid lower limbs. She wanted...she wanted...her hand traveled down between them and began to caress the long, turgid, length of him.

  He froze, his muscles taught, and then he let go of her as if he’d been burned, stumbling back a pace. His eyes were dilated to such a degree, they looked like black agates instead of green emeralds, and his breathing now was so harsh that his shoulders bobbed like waves with the struggle to put air in his lungs. “Stay as far away from me as you are able until your brother comes to get you,” he demanded darkly.

  There was anger in his voice—at her? This brought her own hackles up. “Pardon me, Your Highness, but ‘twas not I who did the shoving-up-against-a-wall and kissing just now, if you recall! And I have been staying away from you, you bleating goat! I only spoke to you this day because that fine lady in there,”—she jabbed her finger in the direction of the keep—“your grandmother, asked me to do this favor for her and, after all she’s done for me, I could not refuse.”

  * * *

  “Do you think our ploy worked, Mama?” Maggie asked. The two of them were sitting in the solar, waiting for Callum to arrive.

  A calculating gleam came into the older woman’s eye as she nodded and said, “Aye, and mayhap a bit better than we had hoped. For you know your son well, and only one thing could keep him from arriving on time when he’s in the company of a female.” Her brow furrowed. “Tho’ I do hope he doesn’t take advantage of Branwenn’s rather bold, inquisitive nature.”