Celtic Fury

by Ria Cantrell

  Brielle knew she should put those thoughts out of her mind. Rory obviously was not interested in her. It was becoming clearer each passing day as she continued to heal her physical wounds; she had seen Rory less and less. She looked over at the man who she was playing chess with. She had grown so fond of Caleb. He was like a father to her and Morag mothered her. Morag also helped her dress and arrange her hair. Morag did not force her to wear her widow’s weeds, which she was very grateful for. Those garments made her feel dead inside; as dead as Marcus Val ‘Cour. Instead, Morag helped her dress in some of the gowns that were retrieved from the trunk at the wreck site. They had been part of her dowry, so they were English in style. Brielle would have loved to don Scottish attire, feeling the most comfortable dressed in highland fashion, but being a Campbell, she had none that wouldn’t offend. Her plaid marked her clearly Campbell. Even though Caleb and Morag knew the truth, it was much too dangerous to claim her birthright and admit she was once part of the clan that was the most hated by the MacCollums. She still had not explained that fact to Rory yet, although now that she was getting better and he was spending less time with her, she almost thought it was something that he need never know. It was Rory that she feared admitting her clan ties the most. Perhaps it was better that he was leaving her be. Perhaps he need never know that it was her brothers who murdered his betrothed. There would never be a good or proper time to tell him that.

  Brielle had been grateful for his help in getting her to safety, but every time he entered the room she would get that fluttery feeling in her stomach. Not to mention her dreams, “Oh My!” she thought. They were completely improper. She felt the blush rushing to her face when she thought of those dreams. She should not think of those dreams especially if Rory was clearly done with his obligatory tending of her. Brielle was lost in her thoughts when Caleb finally said, “Lass, it’s your move.” He watched the blush deepen in her face. Ruiri again! Caleb knew Brielle had been daydreaming about his son once again. The lass was positively smitten. While it did his heart good to know it, Caleb saw how lately Rory was making himself less and less available since Brielle was gaining health daily. Wasn’t that so like his son? Still Caleb could see the way Rory looked at Brielle when he thought no one else would notice. There was such raw hunger in his eyes. Caleb wanted to knock his son to his senses. He was so obviously as smitten with the girl as she was with Rory, but if these two would not face their attraction and admit it to each other, Caleb would never see them wed.

  Morag was so right about Brielle being the “one” for Ruiri. Caleb hadn’t seen that sort of hunger or desire in his son’s eyes since he was betrothed to Caitlyn. In fact, this attraction seemed even stronger than that bond. Ruiri was a youth at the time of his betrothal to Caitlyn. Now he was a man…with the needs and desires of a man. Caleb suppressed a grin. Morag was less obvious about trying to get them together. Each day, she would help Brielle dress and fix her hair to accentuate her natural beauty. What Brielle didn’t know was that Morag was secretly and gradually lowering the neckline of Brielle's gowns to show her décolletage to a perfect advantage. Caleb grinned to himself. That old woman had a positively evil streak. No man could deny Brielle’s beauty and assets as they were, and surely Ruiri was not immune to them, much less with the tempting allure of her feminine silhouette from the wicked help Morag was doing to her gowns.

  When Rory entered the room where his father and Brielle were seated, he stopped in his tracks at the now familiar scene of Brielle and his father playing chess. Rory’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. The gown Brielle was wearing was beautiful but the neckline was almost scandalous. Another inch or so and he was certain he would see her nipples peaking from the top of her dress. Rory’s eyes raked over her and he felt that familiar surge of desire take hold of him. He glanced at his father, and although his father was smiling, Caleb didn’t seem to notice the delicious swell of Brielle’s breasts at the low neckline of her gown. Was Brielle actually trying to seduce his father? Even as he had vowed not to stand in his father’s way, that particular thought made Rory feel like he had taken a punch to his gut. Rory did not want to admit that he felt a deep attraction to this girl. Besides, he was not a lad with his first crush. He shut the voice out of his mind that taunted, aye, but she makes ye feel that way. Rory did not want to admit how many times he thought about Brielle during the day. That would be admitting to a dangerous obsession that would only bode badly in the end. He had been giving himself tasks to do just to get a glimpse of Brielle, though he did not make his presence known. Now, though, as Rory approached, Brielle’s eyes met his briefly. She flushed nearly scarlet and looked away. Had he interrupted something? Caleb stood and patted Brielle's hand.

  “My dear, we will finish our game later. I actually have some business to attend in the village. Why don't you visit with my son for a while?” Caleb stood and clapped Rory on the back and said, “Doesn’t the Lady Brielle look lovely today, Son?” She did look lovely, but what did his Da’ mean?

  “Aye she is positively beautiful this day. I am glad to see ye’ are recovering, Brielle.”

  Brielle blushed deeper at his words, knowing Rory was just being a gentleman to compliment her. She whispered a response of thank you.

  “Well, I shall be back later.”

  Caleb left with a wink to Brielle. That old dear was so obvious and she loved him for it. He knew how she felt about Rory. She had all but admitted it and she was certain he approved, despite knowing who she was. It was almost like he was encouraging the two of them to draw to one another.

  Rory saw his father wink at Brielle and again, he felt that sick feeling. So, it was true. It seemed that his father was indeed falling in love with Brielle. While he wanted his father to be happy, Rory could not help feeling a twinge of sadness at that revelation. He knew it was really just as well, for he could not offer Brielle anything. He knew his heart was that place where the darkness dwelled. It was best not to let a lass too close to that place. It was just that as the girl was recovering and her bruises fading, her beauty was becoming more apparent. The soft peaches and cream complexion of her skin was perfectly offset by those fathomless lilac eyes. Her hair was left unbound, and it cascaded nearly to her waist in soft sable waves. His hands itched to sift through those thick, silken locks. Her lips were just full enough and they begged to be kissed. Bloody Hell! And those gowns she wore made Rory hard almost immediately! What the hell was wrong with him? He had made it a point to be with Maggie from the tavern last night in attempts to quell his attraction to Brielle, but all he had succeeded in doing was to make him long for Brielle more. Now, it was more important than ever, in light of his father’s feelings for the girl. Yet, here he was, rising hard again; lust washing through him, like a wave of liquid heat. He had to put a stop to this immediately, especially for his father’s sake.

  Rory noticed Brielle was still blushing as he pulled up a chair to talk to her. She stole a glance at him, not wanting to look at him directly, knowing that he elicited strong feelings within her. As she glanced at him, her violet eyes captivated him. Her heart pounded furiously as he drew closer to her. His clean masculine scent of sandalwood and leather assailed her, as he was a mere few inches from her. He was wearing his clan plaid again now that he was home and it made her heart whirr in her chest for two reasons; one, it reminded her of his clan affiliation; enemy to the Campbell and two, a finer man she had not ever seen. Though he wore a cotton leine, she could see the steel bands of muscles across his wide chest. Her teeth drew on her lower lip, imagining his honed muscles rippling to his washboard flat stomach. She almost was afraid to look up into his face, knowing that his corded neck columned beneath the sculpted perfection of his jaw.

  Even now, midday, she could see the shadow of a few hours of growth of a beard, which followed the handsome contours of his face. His muscled legs were powerful. His thighs emerged from the bottom of his kilt. In her dreams she was oft nestled between those strong thighs. A little gasp
caught in her throat as she thought of those dreams. They were positively scandalous.

  In her innocence, she had not known how it would feel, but she had witnessed men in their nakedness. She knew what to expect for it had not been odd for her to stumble upon her brothers rutting some poor girl. Somehow, Brielle could not see Ruiri in the vulgar and brutal act she had witnessed her brothers doing with women. Most of them seemed not too happy about those dalliances. Rather, Brielle thought, those poor unfortunate women were no better than ones that had been raped.

  The acts she witnessed seemed so violent and horrible. She always felt disgusted and ill when she would come across either one of her brothers grunting over some poor girl, like a porcine beast. They had no shame or reserve about doing it where anyone might see them. At the thought of those two odious louts, Brielle felt her stomach tighten. Surely, it would be different with Ruiri.

  Ruiri had so tenderly cared for her when she was in so much pain. Surely, he would not be so rough with the women he bedded. Ruiri was a man of passion; that was evident. She imagined that a man like Ruiri would not lack prowess in love making as much as he would, perhaps on the battlefield. Only, Brielle was certain that tenderness would be at the forefront when he was with a woman. In fact, Brielle thought that it was probably pretty wonderful to be made love to by a man like Ruiri MacCollum.

  She had noticed several of the serving maids flirt with him, and if he would cast a lucky one his smile, the maid would leave giggling and elated. Brielle did not want to think about that right now, because it made her feel sick inside to imagine Rory sharing intimate pleasures with one of these serving girls. Even if he was not interested in her, she still did not want to have the image of him with some other woman right now. Somehow, that thought hurt her heart, more than she wanted to admit.

  Rory heard the soft sound escape her throat and he wondered at it. Not to mention the deepening blush; which only seemed to increase at his very presence. She blushed like a maiden and he pondered on why she would have that reaction to him. After all, she was not a maiden. And there was the fact that he had held her all night that first night that he had found her. He had tended to her wounds and been more familiar with her body than was proper. Perhaps she was embarrassed about that. Perhaps that was why the blush fired her cheeks.

  Well, he would not embarrass her further by even mentioning it. It was best to leave it buried, now. Rory cleared his throat and asked about her health. She told him she was feeling so much better these days. Rory was indeed glad for her returning health. These trite discourses were really bothering Rory. He never fancied himself a conversationalist of unimportant fancy. He prided himself on being direct. Rory did not think he could go on with these silly trivialities. He knew he had to cut to the chase.

  He steeled himself for her response when he said, “My da seems very taken with ye’.”

  “He is a very dear man.”

  Those words slammed into Rory like a fist to his vitals. So, it was true! She was smitten with his father. Brielle looked at Rory and noticed a muscle working in his jaw. She had seen that before. It always did that when he was tamping down some thought or emotion. Was he jealous of his Da’? She shouldn’t allow such fanciful thoughts. Rory was not interested in her in any other way than a concerned honorable man who had tended to an injured woman, and why would he be jealous anyway?

  Rory said, “My Da has been alone a long time.” That also seemed to be an odd thing for Rory to tell her, she thought.

  “That’s a pity. He is kind and still quite handsome.”

  “He seems quite drawn to ye too.”

  “Ach, he is just bein’ kind to me, as ye’ all have been.”

  Rory started at her accent. While he had heard it once before, he hadn’t given it much thought. Now, it seemed so much more pronounced. Hmmm, he thought, she was letting her guard down. He had always thought of Brielle speaking with more of the English inflection. Now, there was no doubt she was a highlander, for the accent came too easy to her. Perhaps, he would learn what she was hiding after all.

  “I’ve not known my Da to have a fondness for the lassies. Ye’ must be a special girl to get his attention.”

  “Yer’ Da is a kind man and he is being a most gracious host to a most uninvited guest.”

  “He is still quite hale.”

  “Aye, I can see that. I can see where ye’ get yer’ looks and strength from. Ye’ remind me of him in character, too.”

  Brielle really thought it was very odd that they were discussing the merits of Caleb. She did not understand what Rory was trying to say to her or what he wanted her to know.

  “Nay, Lass. Caleb MacCollum is a far better man than me…than I could ever be!” Brielle's eyes met Rory's and she placed a hand over his own.

  “I dunna’ know about that, Ruiri MacCollum.”

  Rory’s heart warmed at her words. For some reason, it was important that she think he was a good man. He looked down at her delicate hand and she suddenly became aware of her forwardness so she quickly snatched it away. Rory’s hand rapidly retrieved it and he looked into her eyes.

  He stroked the back of her hand and said, “When did ye start speaking thus? I hadn't realized you were really from this land.”

  Brielle glanced down, feeling the warmth of his hand on hers.

  “T’is my native land, Ruiri. I only lived in England a short time. I learned the English inflection to not be different in my husband's home. I am afraid I was not a welcomed addition to his household.”

  Rory released her hand, now reminded of her recent loss and widowhood. Although Brielle didn’t dress for mourning, Rory was certain her widow’s drab was ruined from the accident.

  He said, “I am sorry about yer’ husband, Brielle.”

  At that moment, Brielle felt like she could tell Rory anything. The intensity in his eyes was so sincere.

  She said, “Thank you for yer’ sympathy, but Ruiri, we were practically strangers.” She left out the part that the marriage was never consummated. That was no concern of Rory's and how could she ever admit such a thing? “I didna’ belong in England, which is why I needed to come home. Only, I really have no home to come back to. My Grandfather is passed, thus I was married off to Marcus Val Cour.”

  “Was he a good man?”

  “Marcus?” For a moment, Brielle panicked, thinking Rory would want to talk about her grandfather and that would lead to forcing her to tell him who she really was.

  “Aye, Marcus, your husband.”

  “He seemed kind. He was infirmed and very old. Much older, even, than yer own Da. He didn’t mistreat me. He was just too sickly to be much company to me. We were only married a short time when he succumbed to his illness and left this life.”

  Rory was drawn to feel sympathy for the poor young woman who was laden with a so much older husband, only to have him die in the midst of being just recently wed. Rory then also realized that if Brielle’s husband was older than Caleb, she would not be opposed to a man Caleb’s age.

  “So, my father’s age is not a hindrance to ye?”

  “Hindrance to me? I dunna’ understand.”

  Swallowing the lump of lead that had formed in his throat, Rory said, “A man his age could hold yer’ interest then.”

  Brielle finally understood. Rory must have thought she had an attraction to Caleb. She did not want Ruiri to think she had any romantic interests for Caleb. While Caleb was a wonderful and sweet man, Brielle no more wanted to be with him than she had wanted to be with Marcus Val ‘Cour. She had to clarify her feelings before any further misunderstandings could occur.

  It was not easy for her to admit her attraction to Rory, but in light of what he was thinking, Brielle knew she had to tell Rory how she really felt. She knew it was unseemly and that it would probably end in an embarrassing rejection, but Brielle knew she had no other choice. She had to tell Rory how she felt about him. She supposed part of her resolve came about when she realized that Rory seemed unnerved b
y the thought that she had possibly fallen in love with Caleb. She knew it was too much to hope for that the disappointment in Rory’s gaze was because maybe he had hoped she cared for him. Still that look on his face gave her the strength to admit who she had really wanted. Brielle found her courage, then, and she took Rory’s hand in both her own. She looked him straight in his eyes, meeting those golden pools that turned her insides to molten.

  “I am not interested in Caleb, Ruiri. He is a wonderful man and I am fond of him, t’is true. But I have learned that I am fonder yet of his son.”

  Rory felt his heart slam into his ribs, suddenly so grateful for her words. He had not realized how much he needed to hear them. He also had not realized he was holding his breath, waiting for her to admit she loved his father, as if to steel himself for such news. He forgot for the moment that he wasn’t the marrying kind of man. He forgot that he was hailed as the Highland Wolf, dark feral beast to be feared and avoided. All that mattered, right here and now, was that Brielle didn’t want his Da. She had declared it boldly and Rory was pretty certain Brielle had not meant she had a fondness for any of his married brothers, either. That meant only one thing. Brielle wanted him.

  He smiled at her disarmingly and he leaned in across the chess table and touched his lips to hers, suddenly just really needing to kiss her. She was holding her breath, not wanting to believe that this was truly happening. Dear God, Rory was kissing her! She leaned in to kiss him and he heard the chess pieces hitting the floor. That actually caused Rory to laugh. Brielle had thought she had never heard such a wonderful sound. Rory had rarely smiled since finding her battered body on the road, much less laughed, but the laugh now made Brielle see such a wonderful boyish quality in him. It was the first time he didn’t appear so serious and affected. He moved the table over and out of their way, and he knelt before her. He was afraid to take her into his arms, knowing she was still bruised in so many places, but he ached to feel her in his embrace. He gently touched his lips to hers again. She felt her heart thudding wildly. She felt his mouth gently pressed to hers and she had to remember to breathe. He felt the chaste way she kissed him, which left him wanting more, but it made him realize how improper it was to kiss her. Despite what she had said, she was still a widow and he really should respect that fact. Rory broke the kiss and stood up.