by K. E. Saxon
Branwenn opened her eyes and regarded him. His brow was beaded with sweat and his eyes were glazed. In the next instant, he was kissing her on the mouth, thrusting his tongue between her teeth and simulating the same action with it that he was doing inside her canal with his manhood. Lord, but how he could make every rational thought in her head scatter to the four winds. Suddenly she shattered, splintered into a thousand pointed shards of bliss.
* * *
Branwenn’s slick inner walls pulled at Callum, begging him to give up his seed. A hot/cold chill ran straight from his manhood, to his groin, down his legs, and up his spine. But somehow, somehow, he managed to free himself from the siren’s tight grip just before he crested. Unfortunately, the semen spewed all over the lower front of her ugly gown.
But neither of them was in any condition at the time to realize the blunder. ‘Twas not until a few minutes later, after the two of them had stood in each other’s arms as they waited for their breathing to return to a normal meter, and after Callum stepped back and resettled the gown around Branwenn’s legs that it was discovered. But not by him.
“Callum! You’ve ruined my gown!” Branwenn chided. She fisted her hands in the material and brought it up for his inspection, making what looked like a half-collapsed tent of the thing. “How am I ever to explain this to someone, should they see me in this state before I can change? And the wash maids will surely know what the source is.” Her face crinkled in humiliation. “Oh, God!” she whimpered.
Callum quickly tied his braies before turning his gaze to the front of the gown. Damn! She’d made him blush like a lass. Again! “Well, they might not.... It looks like...I know not...cream or something. Just say you spilled cream on your dress.”
Branwenn’s eyes burned into him. “I? I spilled cream on my dress? So, I must take the blame as well as wear the pith of your loins, is that it?”
Callum shrugged, but his cheeks burned like fire. “Say I spilled cream on you then.”
“This is only one of two gowns I have to wear until the others arrive, and now ‘tis stained! Why will you not put that seed of yours where it belongs instead of everywhere it doesn’t?!”
This reminded him of why he had not found completion inside his lovely, generous, soft-hearted, but sharp-tongued lover. “I assure you, I’m quite willing to do just that—once we are wed.” He eyed her closely then. “Did your brother, Bao, speak to you this morn?”
“Aye,” she said, not meeting his eye.
“And?”
“And what?”
Callum gritted his teeth and growled low in his throat. “Did he tell you to accept my troth?”
Branwenn tossed her head, her hand fluttering in the air. “Oh. Aye.” She still had not met his eye.
“Aaand?”
She lifted her brows and gave a little shake of her head. With a seemingly disinterested sigh, she said, “I told him nay.”
With a low rumble, Callum crowded into her, placing his hands on her cheeks and squeezing ever so slightly, causing her lips to pucker. His eyes settled on them for long moments as carnal images leapt into his mind. Her tongue darted out and licked her lower lip. Callum lost whatever thread of thought he’d had and dived into her, devouring that lush, ruby mouth for the second time in only minutes. He was out of control. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of her any longer. Not since he’d partaken of the delightful bounty of her twice now.
‘Twas Branwenn that broke the kiss. Turning her face away, she said urgently, “Callum, we cannot do this here! Not again. We shall surely get caught.”
With a nod, he rested his brow against hers. His breathing was harsh and he still held her face in his palms, though more lightly now. “Wed me, Branwenn.” ‘Twas a plea.
Branwenn’s eyes misted. Oh, if only she could! But she would not—not, at least, until he’d given her his heart. “Nay,” she whispered sadly, “I cannot.”
* * *
“We shouldn’t allow it, you know,” Daniel said to Bao a fortnight later as they walked toward the training field to meet Callum.
Bao nodded. “Aye, I know. But, in my mind the two are already wed. ‘Tis just the reciting of the vows that is lacking.”
“But it cannot go on much longer in that state.” He turned his gaze to Bao’s. “You agree, do you not?”
With a gruff sigh, Bao nodded. “Aye, agreed. But why does Callum not tell her he loves her—is he that dense? He, who Grandmother Maclean swears always knows the exact words to give a lass to make her turn her eye to him, has even had every lass—and lady—in the shire ready to do his slightest bidding since he was old enough to tie his own braies.”
Daniel shrugged, his head shaking. “I ken it not. He’s either lost this much-admired ability—or simply has lost his senses, and his heart, to our sister so fully that his silver tongue has turned to lead with her.”
“Aye, ‘tis the latter that sounds the surest.”
“So...how much longer do we allow these not-so-secret trysts before we put a halt to them?” Daniel asked.
“I cannot help but feel sorry for Callum—and I do want my sister well-wed to another, should the Norman show his ugly face. So...let us give Callum a fortnight more to either give the lass the words, or convince her to wed him without them.”
“Aye—or, if fortune is with us—the decision will be taken out of our hands by the beginning of a babe growing in her belly.”
“Aye, but I tell you truly, I like not that thought. ‘Twould suit me better to have her wed first.” Bao looked at Daniel and shook his head in wonder. “I never would have thought, a year ago, that I would be so calm in the face of my sister’s loss of virtue outside the bounds of a wedded union.”
Daniel slapped him on the shoulder and gave it a shake. “‘Tis not so hard to understand, brother. The lass and her swain—no matter how simple-mindedly foolish we believe he’s behaving—are deeply in love. And there is no real choice for either of them—as you and I both know from experience—than to wed.
* * *
The next day, trouble arrived.
But not in the form of a Norman. ‘Twas David’s mother who showed up on the MacGregor doorstep, her clothing chests in tow.
“I must speak to Laird MacGregor in all haste,” she said to the steward once she had gained entrance to the keep.
“Aye, my lady,” the steward replied and walked out, presumably to fetch the laird of the keep.
Isobail Gordon settled on one of the stools by the hearth. She knew she should remain standing, at least until Laird MacGregor arrived and asked her to take a seat, but she was simply too weary from the journey here. Her weak heart had not grown stronger over these past days, as the physician had confidently supposed was possible, and she was almost certain now that the remainder of the time left to her in this world was short. So, she must spend these last days near her son. And try to find a permanent home for him, since his godfather—her brother—Robert MacVie, had neither the coin, nor the time, to take her son now that he was dealing with the possible loss of their clan’s holding.
A sound of shuffling footsteps coming from behind brought her out of her reverie. She stood and turned, then performed a quick courtesy.
“Lady Gordon? You are David’s mother?”
“Aye, Laird,” she replied softly, smiling gently.
“Well, I can surely see where the lad gets his coloring. Why, he’s the same hair and eyes as you.”
Isobail relaxed. Laird MacGregor was quite good-humored, naught like her vexing uncle-in-law, Laird Gordon. “Aye, ‘tis truth, the lad looks the image of my father.” Her smile brightened, revealing a dimple in her left cheek. “Tho’ my brother, Robert, got his dark looks from my mother. You’d never know the two of us were kin, were we standing side-by-side, if you knew naught of the relation beforehand.”
Laird MacGregor chuckled. With lifted brows, he asked, “Have you a need to quench your thirst, my lady? I could have some ale—or wine—po
ured for us.”
Isobail nodded. “Ale, please. I find it quenches the thirst more than wine.”
“Aye, I’ve found that to be true, myself. But please,”—he swept his arm in the direction of the stools—“have a seat, for you must be tired after the journey.”
After the two were settled and the ale was poured, Laird MacGregor asked, “Now, my lady—”
“You must call me Isobail.”
“And you must call me Chalmers. Now, Isobail, what brings you here so soon after your son’s arrival? You do not think to coddle the lad, do you? For, I must be firm in this; the lad must be weaned from such in order to prepare for the knighthood.”
Should she tell him the truth? Would he allow her to stay, knowing she was ill and would no doubt become a burden to them? But, to lie to this man, as she’d originally conceived doing, suddenly just seemed too wrong a thing to do. Her mind made up, she straightened on her stool and said, “I’m not long for this world, Chalmers.” The man’s brows shot up, then furrowed in a frown of concern. He sat forward slightly on his stool. “‘Tis something with my heart. It started several sennights past with a sudden aching, and has now progressed to a point where I sometimes cannot catch my breath. I’m quite weak. Tired, most of the time.”
“And you want to spend these last days with your son.”
“Aye.”
“Have you brought your sundries with you? If not, I shall send someone to retrieve them for you.”
Isobail smiled. “Aye—”
The sound of male footsteps came from the direction of the doorway. Isobail turned and, in the next moment, Callum MacGregor came through the door. A thrill ran across her nerve endings and she smiled to herself. Lord, the man could always gain that reaction from her, even tho’ there had never been anything other than friendship, however carnal it had eventually become, between them.
“Isobail MacVie!” Callum was beside her in three long strides. Taking her hands in his, he settled a brief kiss on her knuckles before bending and kissing her cheek as well. “‘Tis been too long since last we saw each other. How is your husband—what is his name?”
Isobail swallowed past the lump in her throat. “William is dead. He died just before Bealltainn last.”
A shadow crossed Callem’s face. “I’m sorry, Isobail. I know how deeply you cared for him.” He shook his head sadly. “‘Twas not a good time for me, either. My own wife died near to two moons after that very celebration.”
“Isobail,” Laird MacGregor interjected, “Do I send for your sundries?”
She turned to him. “Nay, no need. I brought them with me.”
“Are you staying here with us?” Callum asked.
Her eyes settled on Callum’s face once more. “Aye, Laird MacGregor has been so kind to allow me to do so.”
“For how long will you stay? I hope ‘twill be for at least several sennights, as we’ve much to catch up on.”
Laird MacGregor cleared his throat. “Would you like me to send for your son now?”
Isobail nodded.
“Son?” Callum said, his eyes following his stepfather as he gave the directive to his steward. “You’ve a son?” he asked in a stunned voice.
She grinned. “Aye. David Gordon? Your new page?”
Callum’s eyes widened and flew to her face, then he grinned. “David is your son? He’s talked so much of his mother these past days as we’ve gotten to know each other, but never once did I suspicion that I knew the lady!”
“Oh, Lord! I just realized! Was it you my lad played that horrid trick upon?”
A look of chagrin settled on Callum’s countenance. “Aye.” His smile returned, however, as he continued, “But the two of us have worked that out between ourselves, fear not.”
“Mama!” David said gleefully, walking with a definite skip in his stride toward her. “You’re here!”
“Aye.” Isobail said, turning to her son and holding out her arms for an embrace. As he moved into them, she rested her cheek on his pale blond head, saying, “And I intend to stay here for a while.”
* * *
CHAPTER 7
Branwenn wanted to squirm on the stool she was settled upon before the hearth that night in the great hall. Her heart felt as if Callum had taken it into his large, long-fingered, warrior hands and wrung it as tight as he could, over and over again.
And he hadn’t even noticed her new gown! ‘Twas similar to the crimson one, but of a different color. ‘Twas purple—like her eyes, Grandmother Maclean had told her. And the saffron colored chemise that rose above its neckline was lovely as well, tho’ it did not have the delicate embroidery around the edges, as the other did. She’d hoped she’d gain a much more pleasing reaction from Callum with this gown, than she had with the last, even tho’ she still felt awkward in such finery. But, nay, his eyes had rarely strayed from their lovely guest, Isobail. The two had known each other for years, she’d just learned. But how well? Had they been lovers? And, more importantly, now that Isobail was staying with them, would they be so again?
That question had been tormenting her for long minutes now as she watched the couple closely. She blinked away the sudden dew that came into her eyes—for at least the thousandth time that eve—and swallowed hard, holding her breath to keep the whimper from sounding that kept rising up in her throat every time she turned her eye in the direction where Callum and Isobail now stood.
Their heads were so close together as they shared some jest or another that Branwenn was certain Callum could brush his lips across her brow with no one noticing. For, ‘twas a thing he’d done to her as they stood in just that manner only last eve.
* * *
Callum’s eyes strayed once more to Branwenn. Lord, but how he wished this night would be over, so he could meet her, as they’d planned, in her bedchamber. And, by the gloom-filled look on her countenance, ‘twas no doubt, she was of the same mind. But, they must stay the prescribed time with the family after the meal, else eyebrows would certainly lift. And the last thing he wanted for Branwenn—or himself, for that matter—was rumor and scandal surrounding their reasons for wedding.
She lifted her hand to her hair and brushed a bit of the cropped, shiny black mass away from her face. Those small, silky-soft hands. Lovely. And, God! What they did to him. Their time together just kept getting better and better. He’d never known that making love—for that was what ‘twas for him, he was sure now, not simply a pleasurable diversion, as it had been since the first time he’d bedded a woman lo’ these many years past—could affect him so deeply. Make him crave not only the physical closeness of her, but the spiritual as well. She just filled him with so much joy. More joy than he’d ever felt and, certainly, more joy than he’d felt since the utter loss of pride he’d endured after losing the Maclean lairdship almost two years past.
But...did she love him? He knew not for sure. Some days he had no doubt of it, but others...he wondered if he was mistaken. And the not knowing was killing him. But, why else would she have given him her virtue? No matter how unusually she’d been raised, he knew that Bao had instilled in her an understanding of how disappointed—even angry—he would be should she not remain innocent until she was wed—and he knew how much she craved to please her brother, do as Bao bade.
Callum scrubbed a finger over his brow. But then, if she did love him, why would she not wed him? Aye, there was the rub. ‘Twas enough to drive him mad!
And, ‘twas the reason he’d not revealed how deeply his own feelings for her went. For, what if she did not love him yet? What if, as he hoped, his carnal wooing of her was softening her heart to him, but the confession of his love frightened her away? As it had Maryn.
Branwenn resettled on her stool and his eyes traveled, for at least the thousandth time that eve, to the creamy rise of her bosom above the neckline of her gown. His mouth watered. Godamercy! That gown! It scooped down so low over her breasts, he was sure, ‘twould take only the merest tug on his part to release them from their
anchoring. And the color of it. Crushed violets. Just the same hue as her eyes when he was deep inside her, when she was spinning through the heavens on the shooting star of his passion. He’d wanted to rip the gown from that wee gorgeous frame of hers and take her right here, where they stood, from the moment she entered the great hall earlier.
A hand squeezed his arm, bringing him out of his impure musings. He turned to his companion. “Aye?” His voice was craggy.
“So, ‘tis like that, is it?” Isobail said, a teasing smile bringing the dimple in her cheek into full prominence.
Callum grinned sheepishly. “Aye. ‘Tis like that.”
* * *
A shadow crossed Branwenn’s vision directly before she felt someone settle beside her on the next stool. A big, beefy, calloused hand took hold of one of hers that lay in her lap and she turned to its source. Daniel.
“What ails you, sis? Feel you not well this eve?”
She forced a cheerful smile—or, at least, she prayed ‘twas cheerful—and replied, “Nay, I feel quite well. Worry not.”
“You’ve not been yourself all eve. You’ve said no more than a few words since you came into the hall two hours past. Something is wrong. What is it?”
‘Twas hard to keep looking at Daniel, he reminded her so much of Callum. Well, Callum’s face was much more beautiful. And, tho’ Callum was a very muscular, tall man, Daniel and Bao stood a few inches taller than him, and their muscles would be better described as massive. But Daniel’s coloring was nearly the same as Callum’s. Same auburn hair, same—well almost the same green eyes. Daniel’s were a bit bluer, more of a sea green than an emerald green. She dropped her gaze to their intertwined hands. “I fear Callum has found another lady to admire,” she said in a small voice, almost a whisper.