by K. E. Saxon
The construction of the manor was going very well. In fact, the ingeniator was quite impressed by the design changes Callum had asked for. But, they’d had to stop work a bit earlier than usual due to a late afternoon snow storm, so some of those modifications would not be started until the morrow. Even still, the master mason and ingeniator were sure that they would be able to have the main quarters habitable by Bealltainn, as originally promised.
With that in mind, and his sore conscience no longer a thing he wanted to live with, Callum had come to a decision. At the morrow’s dawn, he would leave for the Maclean holding.
‘Twas time to speak to Branwenn.
* * *
Callum had taken the faster, but more treacherous route, which got him to the Maclean loch near the old Roman outpost close to the chimes of Nones a day and a half after his departure. Fortune had smiled on him, for warmer winds had begun to blow once more and most of the snow from the storm of two days past was now melted, making the traveling easier. But the ground was still damp, and his bay’s hooves kicked up heather, turned winter-brown from the cold, and dark earth as well, as he steadily picked his way ever closer to his destination.
Perhaps ‘twas some primitive need to heap additional punishment on his already bruised and battered soul, but he found himself nearing the ruin before he realized he’d turned in that direction. He hadn’t seen the outpost since finding Robert there with Lara nearly a year ago.
The outpost was positioned on the edge of a crop of pine and juniper and as it came more fully into view, Callum pulled up short. Someone, no doubt Bao, had restored the thing. Where before, a portion of the limestone and mortar wall had been tumbled, now all four walls were set to rights. And a heather-thatched roof had been added. Curious.
Callum prodded his bay and headed toward the front door. There was now a stone post on which a horse’s reins could be tied just outside it.
After tying his horse to the post, he headed to the arched oak door and swept it open.
“Eeeek!” Branwenn whirled toward the noise, nearly jumping out of her skin at the same time. Her brows slammed together and she crossed her arms over her middle. “What are you doing here? Hie thee back to hell, devil.”
Callum’s eyes drank in the sight of her. Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t find his voice to say a word in response to her. He took another step inside and closed the door behind him before resting his back against its hard surface and crossing his arms over his chest. He couldn’t help it. He smiled.
Lord, but she was beautiful, and those crushed violet eyes he hadn’t seen in much too long sent brilliant, warm ripples of joy through his being. Her hair had grown a bit since the last time he’d seen her, the ends were now several inches below her chin, and her cheeks were rose-blushed, her skin almost shimmery, like pearl dust. And, Godamercy, that pink, full mouth was already sending carnal missives through his bloodstream and into his groin. He couldn’t catch his breath.
His eyes dropped lower still. She was covered up in a thick midnight-blue miniver-lined cloak. Suddenly an image of her standing in the sea cave, partially naked and nervous as hell, settled in his mind. What wouldn’t he give to have her in that state once again, all his for the taking?
Branwenn’s eyes darted left and right. The ruin was much too small, she thought, frantic now. Callum was only two paces away from her; so close she could feel the wind buffet of each heavy breath he took. She knew that look, and her body was already reacting to it. She had to get out of here. But how? He blocked the only exit. Why was he here? Had the messenger somehow made it to the MacGregor holding the same day as the missive was sent? Impossible. Why would he not speak? His silence was making her even more nervous. She would not do what her body was begging her to do. Not this time. Not ever again. He hated her. And she would never, ever, ever trust him again. Not ever.
But she needed more space between them. Now. She took a step back, but her foot twisted in the blanket she’d only just begun to lay out before Callum’s entry. She stumbled and began to fall backwards. “Aaahhh!”
“Take care!” Callum leapt forward and grabbed her around the waist and shoulders, bringing her up against his chest and pelvis. “Oh, God. Branwenn.” She was in his arms now, just where he wanted her and he didn’t hesitate. He brought his palm up to cradle the back of her head and dipped his own, taking full possession of her lips before she could possibly know his intention. The rose scent of her, the sweet, fiery taste of her was all Callum could fix his mind upon. He deepened the kiss, running his tongue over her lower lip and then sucking it into his mouth before taking it between his teeth and nibbling. ‘Twas not enough—not nearly enough. He fisted the hair at the back of her head in his hand and tugged, forcing her head back, and her mouth to open wider still. She mewled in reaction and it heated his blood even more. He was out of control. Out of his mind with need for her. He lifted her off the ground slightly and plunged into the dark, delicious recesses of her gorgeous mouth, showing her with his tongue what he wanted to do with his sex inside hers.
Branwenn felt as if her entire body was a raging, seething inferno of scorching flames. All reason was lost to the burning ache of need he could engender in her within mere seconds. He was dangerous. Dangerous to her heart. Dangerous to her senses. But she couldn’t break free of the spell his body had over hers. Without realizing it, she lifted her arms and wrapped them tightly around his neck and shoulders, pressing her frame even closer into his own.
In the next second, they were on the ground, him with his tunic hiked up over his hips and his braies untied, revealing the extent of his need for her, and her with her own clothing rucked up at her hips and her legs wrapped high around his waist.
Callum didn’t falter. He entered her quickly and deeply, afraid she’d change her mind and not allow him access. He swallowed her shocked moan as it reverberated against the back of his throat. He couldn’t bear for her to say him nay. He needed it too badly. Needed her. Needed the ultimate pleasure, the absolute delight, the loving solace only her delicate, sweet body could bestow.
When he was sure that she would not push him away, he began to rock against her, with only the shallowest of movements at first, letting his slight rotating motion against her prepare her further. After another moment, he lifted his lips from hers and began trailing open-mouthed, nibbling kisses across her cheek and down her neck.
Branwenn felt her thighs begin to tremble. What was he doing to her? “Oh God! Oh God! Callum!” She held tight to his buttocks as he lifted himself up onto his palms and strained against her, each new thrust, deeper still. A wave of violent pleasure crashed through her and she splintered. His name burst from her lips once more on a long moan.
As the last eddy undulated through her, she opened her eyes at last. Callum was drenched in sweat, his face flushed a deep red, and his eyes and jaw tightly shut. He was close to completion. He would leave her soon. Still dizzy from her own release, it took her a moment to hear the words he was mumbling feverishly through his teeth with each hard plunge he made into her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said over and over again and then he suddenly reared back, lifted her calves over his forearms, held her hips steady, and yelled out “I love you, Branwenn!” as he ejaculated inside her with fast, forceful thrusts. For the first time.
Callum collapsed forward and then rolled onto his back next to Branwenn. Did he still live? If he’d known how acutely pleasurable would be the climax inside her, he’d never have been able to wait this long to do it. He opened one eye a crack and looked at his love. She was no doubt in shock that he’d done the deed when they were no longer legally wed. But that could be easily rectified. In fact, he saw no reason why they couldn’t get their vows blessed this very afternoon. The contracts could be signed and sealed later, surely. Everyone already knew what the terms would be, as they’d gone through that before.
And besides, he really didn’t care any longer what his clan thought about their union; wh
ether his family approved or disapproved of what he did. In fact, he didn’t care about anything except building a life with Branwenn and their bairns, as they’d planned. “We can have the priest bless our vows this eve and then we can go back home on the morrow—or, would you prefer to stay here awhile longer? It matters not to me, as the living quarters in our manor won’t be completed until the time of Bealltainn.” She wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were focused on the rafters above their heads.
“We’re not getting wed, Callum.” She looked at him. “This was a mistake, which I won’t ever let happen again.” She sighed and sat up, pushing her cloak and gown down over her legs as she brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. She turned her head and looked back down at him. “Go home. It’s over between us.”
His brows slammed together and he rolled to his side, then raised up on his elbow. "Impossible. You could even now have my babe growing in your belly. We must wed."
Branwenn turned her face away. ‘Twas so quiet inside the ruin in those moments before she spoke that they could hear each other breathe. "You have no worries on that score for, you see, I've a babe there already.”
Callum’s heart did a somersault before plunging into his stomach. He bolted upright and reached around, taking her shoulders in his hands and twisting her about to face him. “Whose? The Norman’s?”
He looked deeply into her eyes, watching as the black centers expanded and filled most of the space where, just a moment prior, the dark, bruised purple had been, before they swiftly contracted to a mere black pinprick in a sea of purple velvet. There was sadness there as well. “’Tis mine,” she said at last with a nod.
He took that as an affirmative. “I care not, Branwenn, truly, that it be the Norman’s. I understand that ‘twas your love for me that made you waver in your vows to me, and ‘tis all right.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Come home with me. We’ll wed. I’ll be father to the babe, just as I’ve done Lara’s—my—daughter Laire.” Callum released his grip on her shoulders, but settled his palm over the top of the hand that she had splayed on the ground for support at her side.
Branwenn shook her head. “It cannot—it will not—be, Callum. ‘Tis time for you to go forward with the life you’ve chosen, and allow me to do the same.” Her voice cracked but she managed to finish, though her throat ached and the words nearly choked her. “We...us...” Her eyes misted and she gritted her teeth to keep the tears at bay, to keep her jaw from trembling, her face from crumpling with grief. She took in a shaky breath. “We were not meant to be. Let go, as I have. ‘Tis for the best.” She gave him a watery smile. “And, after all, we are still friends—and family as well!”
‘Twas too much for Callum. He wouldn’t give up on her, on them, but this new twist—she was with child!—was something he needed a bit of time to come to terms with himself. So, he decided not to press her further; to instead allow her to believe that they would part this day and that would be the end of it for them. But he knew it would not, it could not, be so.
He curled his fingers around her hand and lifted it to his lips. After brushing a brief, warm kiss upon its back, he said, “May I offer you a ride to your brother’s holding at least?”
She was awash in relief. And despair. But her smile never wavered as she shook her head and answered, “Nay. I think it best if they do not see us together.”
He looked around, suddenly realizing that they were sitting on a blanket. “What were you about in here, anyway, fey Mai?”
Branwenn’s heart twisted in her chest at the term of endearment he’d adopted for her so many moons ago now. She shrugged. “Bao told me that he’d had this ruin renovated, and I was curious to see it, so I thought to use it as a private place for me to rest awhile and enjoy sewing my babe’s clothes.”
Callum’s eyebrows lifted. He nodded his head as he continued to gaze about, studying the small enclosed room, and finally noticing the satchel in the corner with a bit of white linen emerging from the opening. “Hmm. I see.” He settled his gaze upon her once more. “Does my grandmother know of your condition—does Bao?”
“Aye. I told them of it a few days past.”
“And what say they? Do they believe ‘tis mine?”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. She dipped her head and studied a bunch in the woolen blanket beneath her. “Aye. I believe they do. They...sent a missive to you a couple of days ago. I suppose you and the messenger passed each other without realizing.”
“I took a shorter route; we no doubt were never even near each other as we traveled.” Callum could see that Branwenn wanted him to leave. Winning her back was going to take some planning, and, if he were honest with himself, he needed a bit of time by himself to consider the role he would play in her babe’s life.
There had been, at first, a glimmer of hope within him that the babe was his, but with Branwenn’s confirmation that ‘twas the Norman’s, he let go of that desirable notion. After all, he and Branwenn had not lain together for quite some time—excepting the night of their wedding—and even so, he’d always been careful to do what he must in order that she wouldn’t conceive. But the Norman had said that he’d taken her more than once that day. And there was no doubt in Callum’s mind that the man had not had the decency to withdraw before he spilled his seed inside her.
Aye, he needed time to think and to scheme. “I should leave. There’s an inn about an hour and half ride from here that I can stay at for the night, but if I wait too long, ‘twill be full.” He rose to his feet and walked toward the door. Just as he was about to leave, he turned back and said, “Take care, Branwenn.” And then he turned and walked out, closing the door behind him and not looking back until he was once more on his bay’s back and a good distance away. It wouldn’t be easy, but he was determined to win her. And this time—aye, he’d learned his lesson well—this time, he’d never let her go.
* * *
CHAPTER 20
Branwenn smiled as she trod through the brightly blooming flowers of purple, yellow and white toward the Roman outpost she’d made her private sanctuary these past moons. The sun was high in the sky and the heat from its rays made each color seem even more vivid, warming her skin as well. There was a sweetness in the air that she hadn’t smelled in far too long, it seemed. But the scent of winter snow was long gone now, and in its place, the smell of summer sunshine now reigned.
As she watched, a small brown butterfly with yellow spots on its wings flitted about in front of her, from one blossom to the next, in search of a meal. Mayhap, ‘twas a wee faery sprite keeping company with her, Branwenn thought, and then giggled at the notion.
She wondered what the ‘wee folk’ had left her since her last visit. It had been five moons and five days since she’d met Callum in the ruin, but not since she’d seen him last. Tho’ he surely did not ken that she knew he spied upon her while she was there, ‘twas plain who was leaving her gifts.
The first time had been some three sennights from that day last winter. The weather had been harsh, she remembered. So harsh, in fact, that she had almost turned back halfway to the outpost. But some inner need to find a bit of solace from her aching heart had driven her onward. And when she’d arrived, she’d found a lamp, lit for warmth and light, and in the corner, a beautifully carved pine chest. Resting upon its rounded top lay a vellum scroll with a red silken ribbon twining its middle. When she’d unfurled it, another red silken ribbon had fallen out that tied two keys together which she instantly recognized: They were the keys to the heart locks that closed off the keep from the sea cave. Then, as she’d gazed upon the beautifully illuminated lettering on the vellum, she’d been charmed. For faeries idly sprawled upon the letters there. “Tryamour Manor” it said.
Then, when she’d opened the lid to the cask, she’d found it full of the best quality linen, wool, and velvet, with some thirty spools each of brightly colored silk and cotton thread as well. And resting on top, an unusual, finely made silver needle, a lovel
y pair of sharply-honed scissors, and three perfectly sized copper thimbles.
She’d looked for him then, but to no avail. But each fortnight after, on the same day, she found another gift. Once, there had been a small cask of seashells and a string of pearls. Another time there had been a baby’s rattle and a small cradle with a thin down mattress tucked inside. Then, there had been the banquet, a bounty of her favorite foods. That had been her favorite, after the cradle and rattle.
The same dull ache that had been plaguing her since early this morn started again, like a band around her middle and lower back. She stopped and rested for a moment, trying to stretch a bit to relieve the pressure. Grandmother Maclean was sure ‘twas a sign that the babe was coming, and she’d told her not to wander far from the keep, but Branwenn had needed the exercise. And besides, it had taken hours and hours for Maryn to have her babe, so she surely had time to see what Callum had brought for her this time. She had to admit, he was wearing down her defenses against him with his devotion and his steady wooing of her. And, he’d seemed different the last time they’d been together, swearing that he didn’t care that she carried Gaiallard’s babe. He’d even told her that he would raise the babe as his own!
Branwenn sighed and bit her lip as she resumed her trek to the ruin. And though it angered her still that he thought she’d allowed the horrid man to bed her, it had, after she’d had time to think upon it, soothed her that he no longer hated her, thought her a whore. ‘Twas in those times of quiet remembrance, that she would contemplate wedding him again, as he wanted.
But then she’d recall how quickly he could change, could rip her heart out and trample it under his feet, could coldly take away all he’d freely given. So, once again, she’d walk away, back to her brother’s keep. Her heart safe, but her soul desolated.
As she came through a stand of pines into the small clearing around the outpost, she stopped and gazed at the scene before her. A large wild rose bush was now planted by the entry and full of pink, fragrant blooms. And at its feet, violets swayed and dipped their purple-velvet crowns. ‘Twas the gift he’d given her a fortnight ago. As she resumed her step, she began to hum a familiar tune, one she’d heard Callum sing to Laire a few times, as she pushed wide the door to the ruin and stepped inside. “Oh, Callum!” she cried, hurrying, as best she could with her awkward gate, over to stand by the birth chair, intricately carved and painted with wee sea faeries, shells, and roses intertwined with violets.