Highland Magic

by K. E. Saxon

  He released her legs and collapsed down onto his forearms, his breathing ragged, the sweat from his brow running down over his temple and into his eye. He pressed it absently into his bicep until the sting went away. When he’d recovered enough to speak, he said against Branwenn’s ear, “Worry not, I brought cloths this time—and there is an urn of water I left here earlier for us to wash with.”

  Branwenn was so completely dazed from the number of climaxes he’d given her that it took her a very long minute to comprehend his words. When she did, at last, ken them, she replied lazily, “Good.”

  Callum chuckled and rolled off of her. Tho’ he was still a bit weak from the pleasurable exercise and release he’d just experienced, he knew she must be far, far weaker than he. So, he set about obtaining the cloth and the urn so that he might give her the bath she deserved after the delightful experience he’d just had between her thighs. Lord, he could taste her still, and ‘twas a flavor he’d never grow tired of. What a treasure he had in her. He did not take it for granted.

  Tho’ Branwenn could hear the rustling sounds of Callum’s movements around the cavern chamber, she had not the strength, nor the will, to open her eyes to see what he was about. ‘Twas not until she felt the cool, damp cloth on her belly that her eyes flew open and her head jerked up. “‘Tis cold!” she scolded.

  But Callum’s hand had stilled and his eyes, she saw, were at last settled upon that horrible, horrid, disgusting, revolting, thing on her thigh. “Oh, God!” she said as her hand flew to cover the offending mark.

  Callum stopped her movement by taking hold of her wrist and bringing her hand back down to her side. “Nay, love, hide it not from me, for ‘tis lovely.” He reached out and traced the rather large patch with his finger. Some of it was a bit obscured by the black curls of her labia lips as the design came up into the soft flesh where her inner thigh joined her torso. “‘Tis the shape and color of a raspberry. Which reminds me”—he looked at her and grinned—“quite pleasantly, of that day in the stairwell. Remember?”

  Branwenn felt her cheeks flush with heat. “Aye.”

  “You tasted of them and, I must say, ‘twas quite arousing. I wonder...” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the mark before tasting it with his tongue. “Mmm. Rosy.” He turned his head and looked at her. “Just as are you.”

  “Do you not find it ugly? Even a bit?”

  Callum smiled and shook his head. “Nay, not even a wee bit. Not even by one tittle, in fact.” He sat up and absently tossed the damp rag to the floor next to them before resettling on his side facing her. He lightly slung his arm over her waist and moved her closer into him. “What a shame that all that kept me from seeing this beautiful body of yours all these sennights was that sweet, wee raspberry mark on your pale, white thigh. In truth, it only makes me want you more.” He leaned down and gave her a quick, gentle kiss on her lips before saying, “Why ever did you think it so unsightly that I would not want you after gazing upon it?”

  Branwenn turned her head away. Shrugging, she said, “My old nurse—she said ‘twas the mark of the devil. ‘Twas hideous and foul and I’d best not let my husband e’er see it, else he’d n’er put a babe in my belly.”

  Callum growled. “What a...” he bit his tongue to keep from saying aloud the base epithet he had for such a one as she. He took hold of Branwenn’s chin and gently tugged until she at last turned her countenance to him. Looking into her eyes he said, “‘Tis no devil’s mark you hold, Branwenn. If anything, ‘tis the mark of a heavenly cherub, deeming you one of their own. But they cannot have you, for you are mine.”

  “Caa-lum.” Her eyes misted a bit at his sweet words.

  He leaned down and nuzzled her ear, lightly kissing its fleshy lobe before continuing, “And I swear this to you: I will put as many babes in your belly as you will allow, after this trial is done. For I’ll have no other as the mother of my bairns, whether they be of my loins or otherwise. Who else, besides the nurse, knows of the mark?”

  Branwenn shrugged. “Only Bao. He raised me, as you recall. And I want no others to ever know of it!”

  Callum raised up and touched his finger to the corner of her eye, moistening the tip of the digit with a stray tear that hung suspended on one of her lower lashes. “Nay, love, ‘tis beautiful. In fact, I pray that all our future bairns carry that same mark upon them.”

  Branwenn brought her arms around his neck and hauled him down on top of her as she attacked his mouth with her own in the most joyous, ravenous kiss she’d ever bestowed upon him. She ignored the twinge of guilt and the voice in her head which chided her to tell him now that he’d already put a babe in her. For she was still set on not risking his life even further by giving him such tidings that could muddle his thoughts during the joust.

  Long minutes later, both out of breath, but grinning like two madmen, they collapsed onto their backs and stared up at the ceiling of the cave.

  A vagrant thought flashed into Branwenn’s mind and caught, circling and whirling about until finally she sat up. “Callum! The apple skin. Godamercy!” She looked down at him. “‘Twas a ‘G’!”

  Callum chuckled and rolled slightly onto his side. He lifted his hand and lightly touched her chin with his fingertips. “Nay, ‘twas a ‘C’—you were quite adamant on that score, as I recall.”

  “And you were just as set that ‘twas a ‘G’ the peel had made.”

  “Well, even if ‘twas, you cannot truly believe that such a thing could foretell whom you will wed. Have you forgot? You wedded me just this afternoon on the steps of the chapel.”

  Branwenn worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “Aye, but if he kills you....”

  “Then Bao, Daniel, and Reys will fight the man. No matter what happens, you will not be Gaiallard de Montfort’s bride.” He sighed loudly. “What is it in you that will not believe me when I tell you this? Have I not said similar words to you before? And yet, the doubts keep rising in your mind.” He squeezed her chin between his fingers and thumb and jiggled her head slightly, “Will you let those doubts fly? For, I vow, you worry needlessly.”

  She rolled to her side, turning her back to him, and bringing her knees up close to her chest. “This is what I feared—one of the reasons I would not agree to wed you. All of you will risk your lives for me—for ME! I cannot abide it; I truly cannot. Not again.” But what could she do? She carried Callum’s babe, and she would never, never allow that vile Norman within miles of the young one. Should she flee? Nay, for the challenge had already been given, the trial set. But after. After. If Callum was killed. Then she would flee. Flee so far, so quickly, and with much greater stealth than she’d used prior, that none would ever find her. Mayhap, she should go north, to Northvegia. ‘Twas not as far in miles as she wanted to go, but ‘twas far in custom, and as far from what Gaiallard would consider civilized as she could get. He’d never look for her there.

  Callum curled on his side behind her and, wrapping his arm tightly around her, he rested his chin in the curve of her shoulder, then brought his knees up behind her own. “Branwenn, I pray you, do not fret so. For there are none among your champions who would think twice about doing what is necessary to keep you safe.”

  “Aye, but what of their wives? Their bairns?”

  Callum was silent for long seconds. “Even they, I believe, would do all they could to see you safe from the Norman’s clutches.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER 15

  They’d made love twice more between intervals of dozing sleep, but when they’d stood together just outside the entrance of the cave and seen the sun’s pink and orange rays barely visibly emerging from below the horizon, they’d known ‘twas time for them to part. And when they’d said what might be their final farewell—tho’ neither had dared utter such aloud—they’d held tight to one another, neither wanting to be the first to break the embrace.

  And to Branwenn, ‘twas an added blessing that the illness that had been overtaking her these past morns had not occ
urred on this one.

  Callum had urged her to exit first, and when she had, ‘twas as if a vital part of her being were being ripped from her body. She’d cried her heart out the entire journey back to her chamber.

  And now she stood at the window in the solar, nibbling at her thumbnail, blindly looking out toward the garden in the north bailey. ‘Twas naught she could do about Callum’s challenge on the morrow, but there was much that could be done to keep her brothers from issuing the same challenge to Gaiallard, should Callum not survive. Please, Lord, let him live! she prayed once more—‘twas now an habitual incantation.

  Since thinking of the idea of escaping to Northvegia last night, she’d been ruminating and scheming in her mind to devise an unfailing plan to do just that. After her experience traveling by sea vessel, as well as the ease with which she’d journeyed along the coast, she was sure ‘twould not be such a trial to find another ship to purchase passage upon. After all, there were merchant ships traveling north through the isles of the Hebrides nearly each sennight.

  With a nervous flip of her hand, she tugged at the ends of her hair. She took in a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. ‘Twould mean cutting it. Again. Lord, but would she ever be able to let it grow out? When she thought of how long it had been, only a bit over sixteen moons prior, her throat clogged with unshed tears. For the loss of it just seemed to underscore the twisting, turning route her life had been forced down.

  But this would be the last time she cut it, she vowed. The very last time.

  And, she’d need to obtain a few more items of clothing as well. She still had a cap, one tunic, one pair of braies, and hose. But she’d need another cloak and a pair of boots; preferably fur-lined, for she feared that this place she intended to live would be colder even than the Highlands. At least she still had a pouch full of the coins Reys had given her. ‘Twould, if used wisely, last her until well past the babe’s birth. She had only to find a very modest cottage. ‘Twould also be of benefit to find work as well, she supposed.

  The door swept open behind her and she turned. “Good morn, Grandmother Maclean.”

  “Good morn to you, lass. How fare you?”

  Branwenn shrugged. And then, before she realized she was going to do it, she burst into tears.

  Grandmother Maclean hustled over to her foster granddaughter as quickly as her aged legs would allow and swept her into her embrace, cradling her face against her bosom. “There, there. ‘Tis not as dire as that, I trow. Callum is a strong warrior; a skilled combatant.” She brushed the hair that clung to Branwenn’s damp cheek away. “Did you know that I’ve seen the lad on the lists several times now?”

  Branwenn shook her head.

  “Aye, I have. Why, when he was just fifteen moons, he was already competing in tournaments. Oh, ‘tis true, he lost quite a few in the beginning, but with each new joust he entered, he brought with him all he’d learned from the previous. He honed his skills quite effectively that way. And with the additional training he’s received from his cousins, why, ‘tis truth, I doubt there’s a single thing that Gaiallard de Montfort, that miscreant Norman, could try on the morrow that would surprise my grandson.” Lady Maclean had been repeating similar words to herself these past hours since the challenge had been given, and sometimes it helped to settle her fears, but sometimes—like now—it did not. But she’d never allow Branwenn to see her uncertainty.

  In fact, Callum had spoken at length with her this very morn to tell her just that. He, himself, had been battling his own demon of doubt, but was determined that Branwenn would not know of it, for ‘twould only serve to heighten her already deep dread for him and, he’d told her, he simply could not bear to see his bride in such a state before this match.

  And neither could she. Nor could any of the others of the family. ‘Twas why they’d all decided ‘twas best to say only words of confidence when Branwenn was within hearing. She was such a sensitive lass.

  * * *

  Callum walked into his daughter’s nursery just minutes after her feeding, it seemed. For the nurse was fussing softly in dulcet, cooing tones as she fought valiantly to wipe the remains of Laire’s meal from her rosy cherub-cheeks. He chuckled. “It looks as if my daughter would prefer to keep the mess on her face.”

  Laire’s big blue eyes turned toward him. “Da! Da! Da! Da!” she squealed, her chubby fists flailing as she bounced. She rose up a bit from her sitting position in the crib and the nurse quickly settled her back down before turning and giving him a weary smile. “Aye, that it does. I trow, the babe’s wee fists are as powerful as a warrior’s when she’s set on not having a bath. And ‘tis time to trim those sharp nails of hers as well.” She turned back to Laire. “Is it not, my beauty?”

  “Ga!”

  The nurse handed her a hard, day-old bannock and Laire immediately began chewing on it.

  “She’s another tooth coming through and she was a bit warm earlier, but she seems fine now.”

  Callum strode over to the cradle and settled on a stool. He felt his daughter’s forehead with the back of his fingers and then scrubbed at a dried spot of gruel on her chin.

  Laire grinned at him and offered him the slobbery bannock.

  Callum grinned back at her and took hold of it on the bottom end, where she’d not yet begun to gum on it, and brought it up to his mouth. He pretended to taste it. “Mmm. Delicious.” And then he handed it back to his daughter. When Laire gleefully took the gooey treat, he leaned down and placed a kiss on her soft pate.

  She gurgled and handed the bannock back to him.

  Callum played this game of ‘pass the bannock’ with her for several more minutes, his heart a twisted knot of pain in his chest.

  He cleared his throat. “Know you that Laire and David will be taken to raise by my cousin Bao and his wife, should I not survive this trial on the morrow?” he asked the nurse.

  “Aye, your mother told me as much this day past, sir.”

  “I worry that Laire will be distraught if she has no one familiar caring for her. Will you consider moving to the Maclean holding with her—at least until she is older and has had time to know her new guardians?”

  “Aye, sir. As I’ve no other ken to keep me here, I would not think of leaving the wee one’s side at such a time.”

  Callum sighed. “That eases my mind. My thanks to you.”

  Laire settled down onto her side and began to doze.

  Callum watched her sleep. Needing to keep some physical contact with his daughter, he lightly ran his finger over her closed fist. In seconds, it opened and grasped hold of the calloused digit and held tight. Unable to bear leaving her just yet, he remained in that position for two hours more. Every once in awhile, he leaned down and gave her a kiss on her warm, baby-soft cheek.

  He’d never have thought it possible, but saying what might be his last farewell to his daughter was even more difficult than had been his last farewell to Branwenn earlier that morn. ‘Twas only the knowledge that Laire would be given over to a man he respected so highly, a man he knew would do anything to keep his daughter safe—as Bao had proved by the incredible sacrifices he’d made when raising Branwenn—that made knowing he might be leaving his daughter for good somewhat bearable. And, he prayed, somewhat forgivable to her.

  * * *

  “That’s the game then,” Callum said to David two hours later. He had gone directly from his daughter’s nursery to find the lad, with the intent of spending some time with him and answering any questions David might have regarding the trial on the morrow. He and the lad had now played four games of knucklebones, and David had beaten him every time, but there had yet to be one word from the young one about what might happen after the trial.

  ‘Twas clear, Callum decided, he would need to be the one to broach the subject. He hoped he would be able to ease David’s worry; he knew that Bao was intending to have a talk with him later that day as well, and that would aid the lad also.

  “Grandmother Maclean told me that you foun
d the basket of tarts empty the morn of Samhainn which you’d left out for your mother the night before. Did Isobail visit us then, do you think?”

  David’s face, which was still flushed with the glory of victory, sagged a bit at the question. His chin dropped to his chest and he looked at his hands. Shrugging, he shook his head. “Nay, ‘twas only old Anail Iasg; he lapped up all of them and my mama didn’t get even one.”

  “How know you that the old hound got into the fare?”

  “‘Cuz I found him layin’ on his back near the hearth and there was purple berry juice all over his tongue and chops.”

  Callum nodded. “Ah, I see.” He cleared his throat. “Are you still set to lead my horse out onto the lists on the morrow?”

  “Aye,” David answered in a small voice.

  “‘Tis very brave of you, lad, to insist upon doing this thing when you know not what the outcome will be for you—nor me, for that matter—on the morrow. Your mother would be very proud of you, I trow.”

  David shrugged. He couldn’t seem to force his eyes back to his guardian’s face, so he just kept looking at the rough, new callous on his palm formed after many blisters from the warhorse’s reins as he’d practiced leading the animal around the horseyard.

  Callum tried another tack. “I’ve sent for Jasper, your hunting hound, to be brought here. Does that please you?”

  David’s head popped up and his eyes glowed with pleasure as a huge grin spread across his countenance. “Aye, sir, it surely does.”

  “If all does not go as we plan on the morrow, the hound will go with you to your new home on the Maclean holding. ‘Twill be a balm to your worries, I’m sure, to have an old friend by your side as you get settled there.”

  David nodded, scrubbing his chin on his shoulder. “Aye.”

  Callum cleared his throat again. After a slight pause, he said, “‘Twould be a great boon to me if you would give me your vow to care for Laire—your new wee foster sister—to protect her with your life, if need be.”