Highland Magic

by K. E. Saxon

  “You have, by far, the sharpest tongue of any lass I have ever met! And carnal bliss seems to hone it, rather than dull it—as ‘twould be the case with most people, I trow!” Callum couldn’t believe it, but he could actually feel himself becoming aroused again. He prayed she didn’t notice, else she’d no doubt make some acutely embarrassing comment about that as well.

  Branwenn shrugged again, pleased—and she couldn’t say why—that she’d gotten his hackles up. She settled back on the pillow once more and closed her eyes, a smug smile on her face.

  She heard him take in a few deep breaths, no doubt to calm his wrath. Then he said in a much more level voice, “Why say you ‘nay’ to wedding me, Branwenn?”

  She opened her eyes and looked at him, the smile falling from her lips. “Because,” she answered softly, “I do not want to endanger this clan as well.” This much was true, but the real, true, bottom of the heart reason was much more complicated. ‘Twas because he didn’t love her. And she wanted that, desperately. To have what Maryn and Daniel had. And Bao and Jesslyn. She’d seen for herself how strong the bond that kind of marriage could have and, with Callum, at least, ‘twas that or naught.

  “But, this clan is already involved, should the Norman come for you and attempt to take you from Bao and Daniel. You know the terms to which we agreed.”

  She sat up and the sheet dipped before she could catch hold of it, revealing her left breast. Callum’s gaze dropped. His lids widened slightly, his pupils dilated, and his nostrils flared in the brief instant it took for her to yank the sheet more snugly around herself, making sure to cover her nakedness. Had he seen the horrid freckle?

  “Well, what be your answer?”

  It took her a second to recall his last volley. Mayhap he hadn’t seen it, then? “Aye, I know the terms,” she replied at last, her eyes dropping down to study the soft wavy sworls in the draped blanket, “but, if he comes, he will come to Bao first. That holding will be the one to be laid siege to again—a thing that breaks my heart—not this one. I cannot be the cause of yet another clan’s fortress being attacked, another clan’s lives and livelihoods being threatened.”

  “Branwenn. I will protect you, fear not. My clan is strong, we’ll win the day, I swear it.”

  Her eyes misted and she forcefully blinked it away before turning them up to him. “Aye, but at what cost? After how many lives have been lost?” She sighed and shook her head. “Nay, ‘tis much better that we enjoy each other while we can and then agreeably part ways if the threat of a siege does occur.” She straightened her spine, and her resolve then. “I will go back to the Maclean holding and, if I must, I will return to Cambria with Gaiallard.”

  “Nay, you will not. You will wed me, and I, and your brothers, will keep you safe from Gaiallard’s clutches.”

  She shook her head.

  “Braanweennn.” ‘Twas a warning.

  Silence.

  * * *

  Callum threw his hands up in the air. “Aargh! You surely test even the most saintly of saints!” He grabbed his braies and quickly tied them on, then threw his shirt on over his head. He walked over to the door and opened it before turning back to her, saying, “Stay here.” ‘Twas a demand.

  He strode the several paces to the stairs and took them two at a time—thank heaven his ankle was no longer a problem—and then he pounded his fist against Bao’s door. When the door swung wide, and a grim-faced Bao answered, Callum said, “I’ve just bedded your sister, but she refuses my troth. Go tell her she must wed me.”

  Bao roared with laughter—a reaction even he was surprised he was having—and said, “So, ‘tis like that, is it?” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. “Why won’t she wed you—did you not please her well?” His words sinking in, he straightened and asked again much more seriously, “Did you not please her? You weren’t a brute with her were you?”

  Callum couldn’t find his voice, so shocked was he at the emotional pivots Bao was taking.

  Bao turned and stormed into his chamber and Callum followed, shutting the door behind him. “I should have known,” Bao continued, “you’d not know the first thing about pleasing a woman. You, with your pretty face and charming ways, the ladies no doubt care little whether you work for their pleasure or not!” He whirled around, facing Callum. “But, I will tell you this now: That is not how it will be with my sister! You will be gentle and kind to her, and never leave her wanting. Otherwise, I will not aid you in your cause.”

  Callum grinned. He’d aid him in his cause? Wonderful. For, it hadn’t taken but a moment or two after his initial words to Bao, for him to realize this might not be the best person to ask for assistance. “‘Tis no problem, there,” he said, at last finding his voice. He coughed into his fist and cleared his throat. “I assure you.”

  Bao actually threw his hands over his ears. “Nay! I don’t want to hear it!”

  ‘Twas Callum’s turn to laugh now. “Worry not, I have no intention of telling you more than that!” He sobered. “But, you will help me to change her mind?”

  Bao gave him a slow nod. A question in his eye, he asked, “What reason does she give for her refusal?”

  Callum crossed his arms over his chest. “She says she will not put yet another clan—meaning my clan, the MacGregors—in danger. I’ve tried to explain to her that we are already involved in the plans to aid with a siege, should there be one, but this has not appeased her. She’s got it in her head that we will remain lovers”—he paused for the explosion those words would engender, but, surprisingly, it never came—“until she returns to the Maclean holding and then, if the worst happens, departs with Gaiallard de Montfort for Cambria.”

  Bao worked that out in his own mind. He knew Branwenn very well and, though he had no doubt that this reason she gave Callum played some part in her refusal of his troth, there was something more behind it than that. Else, why would she not remain his lover after returning to the Maclean holding, if she was safe from harm? Suddenly, he knew. He just knew what it was. And Callum, poor man, was clearly a bit lackwitted where Branwenn was concerned. He watched Callum very carefully as he said, “So...the two of you have spoken of your feelings for each other?”

  Callum’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. Bao watched the man’s adam’s apple rise and fall in the long column of his neck as he swallowed hard before replying, “Uhh, not exactly.”

  That was it then. The lass wanted to know Callum loved her before she wed him. ‘Twas as simple—and as complicated—as that. Well, this was something Callum and Branwenn needed to work out for themselves. He nodded. “Hmmm. Well. I’ll talk to her on the morrow. Will that do?”

  Callum’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Aye. My thanks.” He turned and opened the door, as he was stepping across the portal, Bao said, “Do not mistake my earlier amusement as approval of continued physical relation between the two of you. Branwenn sleeps in her own chamber this night. Understood?”

  With a sharp nod, Callum closed the door behind him and went back to his own room.

  * * *

  Bao’s worry was groundless, Callum discovered quickly upon entering his room. For, his bed, and his chamber, were empty of her.

  He strode over and stood staring down at the rumpled blankets, at the unexpected love-alter of his most vivid contentment. He bent down and grabbed hold of the blankets and tossed them back. Several red streaks, lovely curved brush strokes of scarlet, made an abstract design on the white linen sheet. Proof of her innocence. Proof of the gift she’d so generously bestowed upon him.

  He tore the sheet from the bed and reverently held it up to his face a moment. Then, slowly, methodically, he folded the material and walked over to the chest that held his most prized possessions; his knight’s mail, his father’s knight’s ring, and his grandfather Maclean’s badge. Lifting the lid, he gazed inside a moment before gently laying the linen cloth atop the other contents. ‘Twould go to the grave with him, he swore then.<
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  * * *

  Branwenn closed the door to her chamber and leaned against it with a sigh. She’d been surprised, when she scurried out of Callum’s bed a few moments ago, by the soreness...down there. But, Lord, hadn’t the pleasure he’d given her been worth the pain? Aye. Aye, aye, aye, aye, aye! She wondered when they could do it again. Mayhap the morrow? After the chimes at midnight had tolled? She wandered over to the washstand and lit several candles. After undressing, she stood naked and looked down at herself. A bit of her virgin’s blood still streaked her thighs. She wet a cloth and shivered a bit at the coldness of it as she cleansed herself. “No man will want you once he sees that mark of the devil you wear, ken me well.” She forcefully ignored the oft-repeated words of the drunken nurse who took care of her while Bao was away on campaigns, but her gaze still skittered over the ugly mark on her thigh, as it usually did, refusing to pause, as she continued her ablutions. Her womanhood was quite tender, so it took a bit more time to get that portion of herself clean.

  Inside, she felt so...different now. So complete. A woman, full-grown. And it had been Callum who’d led her, oh so sweetly, oh so skillfully, over that last hill in her journey from young lass to young lady. She lifted her head and straightened, dropping the water-and-blood-pinkened cloth into the washbowl. Mayhap—did she look different as well? Her heart did a little flip in her chest. She prayed not, for Bao and Daniel would surely spank her behind and—she didn’t even want to think about what they’d do to Callum, if they found out.

  * * *

  Laird Gordon’s nephew, David, arrived early the next morn. Callum watched the lad as he settled on the stool next to the hearth in the great hall, facing Callum’s stepfather.

  So, this was the page who’d given him the pig offal. He was a bit lanky for his age, his legs longer than his torso. And long arms as well. That would serve him well when he became a warrior. His hair was the color of finely sanded oak. He didn’t look familiar to Callum, which surprised him. He thought he paid more attention to the lads who served his meals. He’d have to be more careful in future.

  As if the lad felt the weight of Callum’s stare, he turned his head and looked at him briefly, before returning his gaze to the older man sitting across from him.

  The lad’s eyes were large and almond-shaped, with brows, a bit darker than the hair on his head, that slashed in a straight line over them. The shade of his eyes, Callum had noticed immediately, was a stormy blue-gray.

  * * *

  Laird MacGregor glared long and hard at the lad, not saying a word. Let’s see just how much mettle the wee one had. For ‘twas not the fact that the bairn had not wanted to go out on the glen that proved his cowardliness, ‘twas his lack of courage in the face of pressure from the other pages that gave him pause. For a lad must learn early to do the right thing—even if ‘twas against the common opinion—if he’s to grow to be the best warrior he can be.

  “I’m only seven summers! Must you lock me in the dungeon, Laird?” David said at last. He was never going to see his mother again—or any of his friends—or his hunting dog, Jasper, either. And this mean old man would no doubt put him away and give him only gruel to eat for evermore, just because he did that thing to the red-haired warrior now standing over by the buttery. He had felt bad afterward, tho’, when he saw how red the man’s skin got on his face. He’d just thought it wouldn’t taste good and the man would make an amusing face and then all the pages would clap him on the back for making them laugh real hard. He didn’t know he could make the man sick with the pig stuff. And his mama had cried all last night, saying that she’d not see her babe ever again, once the MacGregor got his hands on him. Which made him remember that Lairds liked to punish people by locking ‘em away in tower dungeons.

  Laird MacGregor crossed his arms over his chest and sat back a bit, peering down his nose at him. “And why should that make a difference? The outcome of your deed was the same for my stepson, whether the perpetrator was seven or seventy.”

  David’s shoulders slumped. Well, mayhap they’d at least let him out after he was seventy.

  * * *

  Callum took mercy on the lad. “Nay, I think a better punishment would be for him to be my personal page.”

  David straightened on his stool and swiveled his head around, giving Callum a look that held equal parts hope and dread.

  “He can sleep on the cot in the tower chamber attached to my own bedchamber,” Callum continued, “and learn to take care of my clothes and armor.” He pierced the lad with a sharp gaze, saying, “But you will not be allowed to serve my meals until you have proved your loyalty to me.”

  The lad gave him a slow nod, “Aye, sir.”

  His new page had a bit of the same nature as Jesslyn’s lad, Alleck, Callum thought. Recalling his somewhat strained relationship with that lad, he made the decision to begin with this one in a better manner. “In the meantime, I’ve a hankering for a game of knucklebones. Do you play?” This time, he’d not win the games, as he’d done with Alleck. Time enough later to use the game as a tool to teach. For now, let it be a bridge to, if not friendship, then at least finding common ground.

  The lad grinned then. “Aye, I play.”

  * * *

  An hour later, Callum was hard-pressed to figure out who could teach whom the better strategy. The long-limbed mite had the lithe fingers of a true expert.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and studied the lad as he made his next move. His brow was puckered in concentration and his tongue was stuck out and tipped up at the corner of his mouth.

  This was the position that Branwenn found the two in when she walked through the door of the solar a second later. “Oops! My pardon. I knew not that anyone was in here.”

  Her eyes, while she’d spoken, had traveled from the lad to Callum, to the lad, and then finally settled on Callum. Her deep purple gaze warmed then, heating his blood to boiling surprisingly quickly. Ahhh. She remembered what they’d been about the last time they saw each other—that was good. He rose from his stool and strode to stand in front of her, their bodies only a whisper apart. “Good morn, fey Mai,” he teased, giving her a crooked, smug smile, “how do you this fine day?” And then, before she could answer, he realized something critical must be learnt. “Are you very sore? Did I hurt you too badly?”

  Branwenn’s entire face and neck flushed a fire-red scarlet in under a second. She shook her head nervously, her head and eye darting quickly around his shoulder to look at the lad, before returning to his...chin? She wouldn’t look him in the eye. How adorable. “Nay...nay,” she whispered, “I’m fine, worry you not.”

  Lord, but she was so sweet. Without a clear plan, Callum took her by her upper arm and, turning to David, said, “Stay here, I’ll be back in a while,” before quickly hustling her out of the chamber.

  * * *

  “Where are we going?” Branwenn asked breathlessly. Would he make love to her now? In broad daylight? With Grandmother Maclean, his mother, her brothers and Lord knew who else wandering around the keep?

  “Not far,” he said cryptically, leading her down the hall and up to the next landing of the stair. He turned and placed his hands under her arms and lifted her up and settled her against the stone wall behind her before molding his own frame to hers and kissing her lips, oh so softly. “I see you are back to wearing this old rag of my mother’s,” he murmured against her lips before taking the lower one between his teeth and rolling it back and forth, gently tugging.

  “Aye,” she managed to respond, though ‘twas difficult, for her brain was now mush.

  * * *

  Callum’s tongue darted out and did a slow glide over the lip he’d just been teasing. “Mmm. You taste so good. Like raspberries. Did you have more of them this morn, then?” ‘Twas driving him mad to know what lay beneath this oversized, drab gown of hers and not be able to see, to feel, to taste, the bounty of her. But ‘twas much too early to disappear with her. Bao had made it clear, and no doubt Dani
el would be of the same opinion, that this affair could not continue before vows were spoken. Aye, they’d skin him alive for sure if he flaunted his affair with their sister in their faces—even with his sworn intention of wedding her. But tonight, tonight he’d have her again, no matter their opinion. Nay, he’d not enter her—‘twas much too soon for that type of contact, but, there were other things he wished to do with her, to her that were just as—if not more—enjoyable.

  He nuzzled her cheek and trailed kisses down her jaw to her neck, sucking and biting the soft, succulent skin as he traveled.

  * * *

  Branwenn’s body was on fire. Her limbs were weak and her womb ached for him to fill it, take her to heaven again and again. “Callum, please,” she whimpered.

  “Nay, not yet,” he whispered against her ear. “But tonight. Tonight. Meet me in my chamber when the midnight bell chimes.” He stroked his tongue around the shell of her ear before taking the lobe into his mouth and gently suckling it.

  Branwenn stiffened, her canal siezing in delight, “Ohhh, ohhh, ohhh, G-aw—awwwd!” she moaned.

  * * *

  Callum recognized the sound and his erection jerked in reaction. Trembling now with need, knowing that he’d just made her come with very little effort—a highly arousing occurrence—one that, in all his experience, he’d never had happen, he dragged the hem of her dress up and clamped his palm over her mons, pushing his fingers over and between her labia lips. God, she was soaking wet. So ready for him, surely ‘twould not hurt her to take him.

  Cognizant thought halted in that highly charged erotic moment and his body took over. He ripped at the ties of his braies and, opening her thighs a bit wider, pushed himself into her waiting womb.

  * * *

  “Ahhh, Oh, God!” Branwenn gasped, thrashing her head from side to side. It only hurt at the first entry this time. Now, ‘twas perfect, exactly what she’d been craving.

  “Aye, aye,” he ground out, his face a mask of tortured pleasure as he stroked—not gently—into her. “Put your arms around my neck,” he said. When she did, he slid his hands down her inner thighs to her knees and lifted them, spreading them wide. He thrust up, deep. So deep, he touched the mouth of her womb. He threw his head back. “Oh, God, oh, God, this is too good...too good.”