Kilts and Kisses

by Victoria Roberts

  “Please, sit down so ye donna fall.”

  “I only need to rest.” She was starting to walk away from the loch when he ran to catch up with her.

  “Wait! Then let me escort ye home. ‘Twas Mac na Diobhail’s fault. The least I can do is make sure ye arrive safely.”

  “I donna think that’s wise.” She increased her pace. “My clan will wonder what I’m doing with a MacKay man, and I donna believe they’ll give ye time for an explanation if they see ye accompanying me to the gates.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “And that’s why ‘tisnae verra wise.” She stopped, and when he glanced down, she saw that her fingers were resting on his broad chest. She removed her hand as quickly as if it was on fire.

  He briefly gazed away from her and then captured her eyes with his. “Then meet me on the morrow.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I need to know ye are well. I’ll meet ye here in the morn after ye break your fast.”

  “Mister MacKay, let me assure ye that’s nae necessary.”

  “I insist.” The man gave her no room for debate. When he saw her thinking of ways to dissuade him, he added, “Then let me say this in a way ye’ll understand. If ye donna come on the morrow, I will find ye whether ye allow it or nae.” By the look on his face, she knew he wasn’t jesting.

  “Ye’re a stubborn man.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  Against her better judgment, she reluctantly agreed. “Only for ye to see that I am well.”

  “‘Tis all that I ask.”

  “Mar sin leat.” Good-bye. Ceana mounted her horse, but instead of fleeing into the safe cover of the forest as she had done the first time, she waited. For what, she wasn’t certain. Her mind was telling her to run, but her heart was being foolish and telling her to stay. He placed his hand on the flank of her mount, and when he looked up at her, she felt a strange tingling in the pit of her stomach.

  “I’ll see ye on the morrow. And again, please accept my apologies.”

  Luthais couldn’t believe Mac na Diobhail had pecked the lass. Perhaps Doughall was right and he needed to spend more time training his hawks. But he’d been taken aback when Mistress Gunn showed an interest in his birds because most of the lasses he knew ran at the sight of them.

  Laird Gunn’s daughter was a beautiful woman. No wonder she had so many suitors lining up at the gates. But Luthais wasn’t foolish. He didn’t believe in fate. Life was what you made it. He entered the bailey and released his horse to the stable hand.

  “Out finding a wife so soon, or were ye deciding which path to take in order to flee?” asked Doughall with a wide grin.

  “Donna worry about me. ‘N aire ort fhèin!” Look after yourself!

  His friend’s eyes narrowed. “Where were ye?”

  “Why? So ye can stalk me for more of my whisky?”

  Doughall grabbed the material that hung from Luthais’ sporran. “Nay...because I want to know what happened to ye.” He held up the soiled cloth.

  “‘Tisnae my blood.”

  “Whose blood is it?”

  Luthais gave him a firm look of warning and turned, walking into the great hall without his prying friend. The clan sat at the tables because it was already time for the noon meal. Luthais was surprised that so much time had passed while he was with Laird Gunn’s daughter. His father stood at the stone fireplace, which wasn’t lit, with his hand on the mantel. He looked deep in thought, and Luthais prayed those ideas weren’t about him. When they had taken their seats on the dais, his father gazed at him over the rim of his tankard.

  “Where did ye ride this morn?”

  “To the loch.”

  “Mmm...I would think ye’d be spending your time making a decision on which lass ye will take to wife. Unless I am mistaken, I donna think being with your birds will give ye an answer to that.”

  If Luthais had even a spark of hope that his father had been jesting about shackling him to a woman, it was snuffed out like a candle in the rain. But he didn’t need his sire plaguing him about finding a wife at every turn. Perhaps he could satisfy the man with a bit of the truth, and then his father wouldn’t find it necessary to lecture him.

  “I stumbled upon Laird Gunn’s daughter at the loch.”

  His father’s eyes lit up. “Ye did?”

  “Aye. She’s a bonny lass, but ye need to give me time to choose.”

  Sitting back in the chair, his father studied him. “Ye surprise me, Luthais. I’m proud to see ye considering this matter seriously. Ye do realize that making an alliance with the Gunns would be in the best interest of the clan. Although the choice is yours, I hope ye choose wisely.”

  “I can assure ye, Father, that I am giving Mistress Gunn the attention she deserves.”

  “I donna want to wed him, Father. The man is verra sore on the eyes.”

  Ceana felt pain in her shin as Anna kicked her under the table.

  Uncle John set down his tankard, tapping his finger on the rim. “Ye donna have to wed him, but ye must marry one of these men, Sorcha. A marriage to any of them would form an alliance with our clan.”

  Anna’s eyes lit up as Samuel sat at one of the tables in front of the dais. When he saw Anna watching him, his expression mirrored that of her sister, and Ceana tried to stay her smile.

  “What do ye think, Ceana? Which one of these men should I choose?” Resting her chin in the palm of her hand, Sorcha waited for an answer.

  Ceana wasn’t a fool and knew her cousin’s words were meant to cut like a knife. Refusing to be baited into another heated argument, Ceana pasted a bright smile on her face. “With so many suitors, your decision must be a difficult one. But if I were ye, I’d wed the one whose lands are the farthest distance away.”

  “I donna know if that’s the best way to choose your husband,” said Aunt Marta. “Perhaps ye should try washing your sleeve again this eve, my dear.”

  “Please, nay more apparitions, Aunt Marta,” said Anna.

  “Mayhap I’m nae thinking of this clearly. More than likely I should choose a man who’s much closer to home. Who wouldnae want a man like Samuel who isnae sore on the eyes?” All color drained from Anna’s face, and Sorcha’s eyes lit up. “What do ye think, Anna?”

  “What do I think? I think that ye’re—”

  “Daughter, your jesting doesnae make anyone laugh. The boy may be fair of face, but he isnae suitable for marriage, especially to my daughter.”

  Sorcha waved her father off. “I know, Father. I have many men to consider, but I do thank ye for giving me a choice.”

  Uncle John rose. “I must see to the rents. Pray excuse me.”

  When a smug look crossed her cousin’s face, Ceana wanted to be the one to wipe it clean. In lieu of throttling Sorcha where she sat, Ceana leaned in close and lifted a brow. She was careful to speak with an air of indifference. “Ye know, Sorcha... If ye donna want to choose a husband whose lands are far away, and ye donna want to wash your sleeve again, mayhap ye should ask yourself which man would show ye the most tolerance. That’s the one I would choose if I were ye.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Luthais donned his kilt and tunic, pulled on his boots, and didn’t even bother to break his fast. He’d slept longer than expected because all he did was toss and turn into the early hours of the morn. His responsibilities were weighing heavily on his mind. Granted, he wanted to make his father proud, but he had a very hard time preventing a certain woman from invading his thoughts.

  As he made his way toward the stables, he wondered if Mistress Gunn would be foolish enough to break her word. He silently prayed she wouldn’t and no longer wanted to dwell on the reasons why. As he rode through the village, he didn’t see the blacksmith who had raised his hand in greeting. Hell, he didn’t even notice that Doughall was trailing after him when he rode through the glen. Luthais’ mind was muddled, which usually got him into trouble.

  As he passed the standing stones, he gazed into the stone circle
and found it empty. Not that he had expected Mistress Gunn to return. But the memory of her sitting against the giant rock with her nose buried in her journal and not a care in the world made his heart skip a beat. And the way the sun had shone down on her chestnut locks made him think that perhaps the tales were true. She was delivered by the fae.

  Luthais approached the edge of the loch and tied off his mount. The only movement came from the blades of grass and the leaves that rustled in the gentle wind. He sat on a rock, watching the water lap onto the pebble shore. He’d wait and give the lass a few moments before he decided to do anything rash like pound on the Gunns’ gates to see her.

  “Mister MacKay, I didnae recognize ye without your birds.”

  He rose, and his eyes narrowed. “Do ye know ‘tisnae wise to sneak up on a man? I could verra well have run my sword through ye.”

  Mistress Gunn glanced at the broadsword sheathed at his waist. “To be truthful, that was the furthest thought from my mind. I was more worried about Mac na Diobhail pecking me again. Pray tell, where is that dastardly bird?” She glanced over her shoulder at the tree behind her.

  “I havenae yet seen any of them this morn.”

  “More than likely for the best. They’re out stalking some poor animal for sure.”

  He gave her a patient smile. “I see ye are well.”

  “I was well when we last parted, Mister MacKay. Ye didnae need to worry over me.”

  He shrugged with indifference. “I needed to see with my own eyes. I will nae offer apologies for seeing to your welfare.” When she averted his gaze, he added, “Now that ye’re here, would ye like to sit and enjoy the view with me?” She flushed, and he turned up his smile a notch.

  “Mister MacKay, ye know that’s nae verra appropriate.”

  “I believe the time for propriety passed when ye set foot on MacKay lands.” When he lifted a brow in a jesting manner, she folded her hands in front of her and smiled. They exchanged a subtle look of amusement.

  “Be that as it may, I—”

  “Mistress Gunn, I assure ye my intentions are honorable.” He paid no heed to the mocking voice inside his head—the same voice that wondered why he hadn’t left all of his noble intentions at home.

  Ceana hesitated as she fought to clear the cobwebs in her mind. From her brief experience with the man, she could tell that he was stubborn enough to seek her out even if she hadn’t come to the loch. But he could see that she was well. What could he want from her now? What frightened her even more was the fact that she wanted to find out.

  “Come now and sit. Only Mac na Diobhail bites.”

  She didn’t think that was entirely true. Once again, against her better judgment, she ambled toward him when she should’ve turned around and fled. “I will stay for a moment.” She sat on the rock beside him and straightened her skirts. When there was a moment of silence, she studied him as he gazed out at the loch. There was an air of solitude about him, yet, she felt something vaguely familiar. Perhaps she sensed a kindred spirit.

  “I havenae seen rain upon us for a few days now. There isnae a cloud in the sky. Mayhap this is a sign we will nae have another harsh Highland winter.”

  She found that her mood was suddenly becoming buoyant. “I cannae say that I ever remember nae having a harsh winter.”

  “There is truth in that.” He briefly paused. “May I ask what ye were so engrossed in reading at na tursachan the other day?”

  She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Oh, ‘twas naught that exhilarating, only my journal. I write my thoughts.”

  “I admire a woman who educates her mind.” He cast a smile that warmed her heart. “Ye know? I’ve lived here all my life, but I’m certain that I’ve ne’er seen ye before. Why is that?”

  “My mother and father didnae make a habit of taking me and my sister out from the protection of our lands.”

  He lifted a brow. “I didnae know ye had a sister. Should I let the guards know that we should be expecting to find her at na tursachan as well?”

  Ceana boldly met his eyes as his gaze froze on her lips. “That’s nae necessary. Ye would ne’er find her on your lands with a book in hand because my sister has an aptness for avoiding her studies. Furthermore, I can assure ye, Mister MacKay, that nae all Gunn women are the same. Believe me.”

  “I should hope nae.” His voice became soft and alluring. “Tell me, Mistress Gunn. With all the suitors coming to your gates, have ye chosen one, or even found a man to your liking?”

  “Me?” She placed her hand to her chest and couldn’t stay the laugh that escaped her. “Nay. Why do ye ask?” She was glad she was sitting because the way the man smiled at her made her knees tremble.

  “If ye must know, the thought pleases me.”

  When his eyes darkened with some unidentifiable emotion, Ceana didn’t know what to do. Was this man—and a MacKay man at that—showing an interest in her and not Princess Sorcha? Perhaps her imagination was getting the best of her and she was secretly hoping for something that wasn’t there. The idea came to mind when without warning, he leaned slightly in to her, tilting his handsome face toward hers.

  “I’m going to kiss ye now. Donna be afraid.”

  She could hear her own breath becoming ragged. “I am nae afraid.” Deep down she was petrified.

  He moved his mouth over hers, and the touch of his lips was tender and passionate. The kiss was slow and thoughtful, as if he wanted her to savor every delicious moment. Her heart jolted and her pulse pounded. God help her because she was powerless to resist him. His fingers caressed her cheek, her flesh prickling at his mere touch. She was shocked at her own eager response. She knew she should deny him, but she couldn’t.

  When he forced her lips open with his thrusting tongue, she was hesitant at first, clumsy in her actions. No man had ever touched her that way. And why was she letting this MacKay man be the first? She had no idea. But she really didn’t care because this had to be a sin to feel so right.

  The world ceased to exist.

  She was not a Gunn, and he was not a MacKay. They were man and woman. Her thoughts spun. Her emotions whirled, but it wasn’t long before she was returning his kiss with reckless abandon, matching the thrusting and parrying of his tongue in her mouth. Her hands slid up his brawny arms to his wide, leather-strapped shoulders. She pulled her hand away when her fingers brushed a talon. She wasn’t surprised she hadn’t heard or seen the hawk. Frankly, the two of them could’ve been under siege and she wouldn’t have noticed.

  Raising his mouth from hers, he gazed into her eyes and gently rubbed his thumb along her jaw. “Thank ye for that.”

  “Am I supposed to say ‘Ye’re welcome’ in response?” Ceana knew he was trying to stay a chuckle, but one escaped him anyway. “I see we have a visitor.” She nodded to his shoulder.

  “Ye arenae afraid?”

  Since she wasn’t certain if he was asking whether she was frightened of him or his hawk, she shook her head. “I recognize the hawk isnae the Son of the Devil. Please donna misunderstand me. I’m nae afraid of Mac na Diobhail, but I donna want another bite on my arm.”

  “From someone who has had his fair share of pecks from the wee bastard...er, bird, I understand how ye feel and cannae say that I blame ye.” The hawk moved down the leather strap on Luthais’s arm and flew away into the air. “Hmm...Mac na Bracha found something more interesting than me.”

  Ceana couldn’t imagine what. Without warning, she caught a figure rushing toward them out of the corner of her eye.

  Luthais unsheathed his weapon when the young man charged him. The sound of scraping swords not only ended the private moment with Mistress Gunn, but also made Luthais irked by this whelp’s intrusion. The Gunn plaid hung over the man’s shoulder, and his wavy, reddish-brown hair touched the top of his shoulders.

  “Samuel! Put away your sword! Now!”

  The man’s eyes widened, but Luthais wasn’t foolish enough to lower his weapon. He could easily bring the boy to his
knees, but if the lad called for the guards, the last Luthais’s father needed was to come and rescue his son from the Gunn dungeon. Luthais would make certain it wouldn’t come to that.

  “I suggest ye do what the lass says before ye get hurt, laddie.” When Mistress Gunn inched closer and the man moved his sword in a nervous gesture, Luthais added, “Or ye might injure the lass.”

  “I was searching for ye and saw ye with him.” The man was stammering and had a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Samuel, ye see that I am well. Lower your sword. Mister MacKay will nae harm either one of us.”

  When she gave Luthais an imploring look to confirm her words, he put the matter aside with sudden good humor. “I’m nae really in the mood for swordplay, lad.” He sheathed his sword as the young man hesitantly did the same.

  “Samuel, this is Mister MacKay.” She turned to Luthais. “Samuel courts my sister.” She smiled as though her words explained everything.

  “I see.”

  “The laird is requesting your presence at the castle.”

  “Of course. Thank ye for seeing to my welfare, Mister MacKay. Mayhap I’ll see ye and your birds again in the morn sometime soon.” She looked at him hopefully, and he gave her a slight bow.

  “It would be an honor. Ye’d best nae keep your father waiting.”

  “Oh, he’s nae my fa—”

  “Luthais!”

  He looked over his shoulder to see the mighty Doughall sitting on his steed a couple stone throws away. “Do ye need my aid?”

  “Do I need your...what? Nay!” When Luthais turned around, he tried to mask the look of disgust that crossed his face. Sometimes Doughall was as vexing as his birds.

  Mistress Gunn gazed up at him with an effort. She placed her hand at the base of her throat, and her eyes darted back to Doughall. “Who is that?” Her voice went up a notch.

  “I think we need to make haste,” said Samuel.

  “I think that’s a good idea. It was a pleasure to see ye again, Mister MacKay. I assume that ye’ll take your birds with ye.” She looked back at Doughall. “And your man.”