Time For A Highlander (Real Men Wear Kilts)

by Maxine Mansfield

  ****

  It had been a day filled with vigorous training, and Quinton was more than ready for a hot meal followed by a long night spent within the arms of his pretty little wife. He threw open the doors of the great wall, and he and his men stepped inside.

  He stopped dead in his tracks. The first thing he noticed was the smell. He wrinkled his nose as the fragrance of…flowers assaulted his senses.

  Flowers?

  He gaped. Where was the tapestry depicting the frolicking mermaids? His mother had spent years stitching it. No longer did it hang in its place of honor above the fireplace. And where was the symbol of Clan MacLeod? The boar’s head flanked by spears, proudly proclaiming the clan motto of Hold Fast? His father had fashioned it from bronze with his own hands and hung it himself above the laird’s seat.

  Why were there no rushes below his feet, and why did everything look so bloody bright? Even the birch logs his father had used to build the great board he ate his meals upon gleamed bright enough Quint could’ve seen his reflection in them if he’d a mind to do so.

  His stomach churned, and his head pounded. There could be only one reason his castle had been turned into an English manor house, and he yelled her name. “Elspeth MacLeod!”

  She came from the direction of the kitchen, but the woman who walked up to stand before him barely resembled the woman he’d brought here as his wife only yesterday.

  This woman had her golden locks fashioned in a long braid down the middle of her back. The day dress she’d dawned this morning, though now covered for the most part by an apron, had spots and splotches upon it. She even had what looked to be a smudge of soot upon her cheek.

  She wasn’t alone either. The red-headed hag of a maid stood at her side, and almost every single castle servant was gathered behind her. Even Duncan, whose job it was to bring in the peat for the fires, was there. And, like his castle, they all appeared to have been freshly scrubbed. What had the lass done to bewitch his people?

  “My keep smells of flowers, lass, and the rushes are gone and my mother’s tapestry?” He hesitated a moment and took a deep breath. “Where is the MacLeod clan symbol? And the floors, the board, the benches, they’re clean. Why?”

  The wench had the nerve to actually smile, and Quint wanted to shake her. His servants were scowling, however, so he stopped yelling and gave Beth a chance to explain.

  “Your keep needed a good cleaning, my lord. It smelled bad. Cleanliness is next to godliness, I always say.” She gulped. “I mean, that’s what the nuns at the abbey always said. And as for your mother’s tapestry and your clan symbol, they are safe and drying. You should be so proud of your people, my lord. They were only too glad to help.”

  Heat crept up his neck as Quint heard snickering coming from his men. “This is a man’s castle, Elspeth MacLeod. As a matter of fact, it’s a Scottish man’s castle, ye ken? We do not smell of flowers. We take pride in the fact we smell of an honest day’s work and sweat. Ye will nae do this again, ye ken?”

  Beth placed her hands upon her hips, and though Quint recognized the glint of stubbornness in her eyes, he was nowhere near prepared for what she did next. He was more than a little startled when she actually had the audacity to reach out and poke him in the chest.

  “You said be the lady of the keep, did you not?”

  He nodded.

  “And as lady of the keep, does that not mean the running of this castle is my responsibility?”

  Once again he nodded, but Quint also opened his mouth to retort.

  Beth shook her head. “Oh no, you don’t, MacLeod. You don’t get to have it both ways. Either I run this castle as I see fit or I don’t run it at all.” She stomped her foot. “There’s nothing wrong with being clean. It’s important to me. And if you and your men wish to eat within the walls of this castle that I’m now lady of, then you’ll take yourselves back outside those doors, down to the sea or to the loch, whichever you prefer, and wash your hard-earned sweat from your bodies. You, my lord, stink.”

  Quint crossed his arms. “No wee female tells Laird Quinton MacLeod when and where he will eat in his own castle or when he shall bathe, lass.” The other men loudly added their own voices to his, and Quint looked toward Annie and ordered, “Serve ye laird his evening meal, cook, and be quick about it.”

  Annie glanced first toward Beth, and then back at Quint. “I’d be glad ta do that, my lord, and a fine supper it is we’ll be having. Made a hearty fish stew, I did, and hot crusty bread the way ye like.” She jerked her thumb toward her granddaughters. “Me and the lasses here will be serving ye supper up as soon as ye and the other laddies are finished washing up as our ladyship has so sweetly asked. Even though we ain’t Catholics no more, we can’t be snubbing our noses at the old church’s teachings, now can we? Why, that’d be like going against God hisself.”

  ****

  She almost felt sorry for him.

  From the corner of her eye, Beth watched her husband. Quint hadn’t spoken a single word since he and his men had come back inside from bathing. He’d simply taken his rightful seat at the head of the table and waited as food was placed before him. He hadn’t even looked her way, not once, not a smile, not a frown, not a touch, not even a grumble.

  His men weren’t doing much talking either. Everyone ate in silence, the great hall more a tomb than a place to socialize.

  Well, she’d certainly made a mess of that, hadn’t she? What had seemed like such a good idea a short while ago didn’t sit so well now.

  Beth blamed it on the romance writers. Not once had any of her favorite authors warned her about the realities of historical Scotland, especially the smell. The lust-filled love scenes certainly hadn’t included the stench of unwashed bodies, and though Quinton MacLeod really was more handsome than should be allowed and sexier than any man she’d ever seen in any time period, the stench of day-old sweat was still the stench of day-old sweat.

  Her heart pounded.

  Quint was so very handsome it almost hurt her eyes to look upon him for too long. His chocolate brown hair was disheveled from the quick wash, and Beth longed to comb her fingers through it. But his eyes burned with anger, and the lines at the edges of his magical lips were tight and drawn.

  What could she do to make him smile once more?

  Beth thought about her day as she nibbled from the trencher she and Quint shared. After convincing Bronwyn she really was Elspeth and not some evil creature, winning over the majority of the rest of the staff, especially with tales she’d made up of the abbey and its rules, had been a piece of cake.

  Servants had literally come out of the woodwork to do her bidding. They’d all been more than polite and eager to do whatever she’d asked of them. And once they saw their very own mistress wasn’t afraid of a little hard work herself, they’d really put their backs into every task.

  That is except for the young woman called Marta. With the very first mention of work, the beautiful, strawberry-blonde servant had scowled at her with a look of complete disdain and then simply disappeared.

  She hadn’t worried about it, though. And before Beth got the chance to even realize the day was almost over, not only had the great hall been cleaned, but the kitchen, a few of the upstairs chambers, and even the staff themselves now gleamed.

  How long had it been since the castle was thoroughly cleaned before this day? She had wanted so very much to ask that question but was afraid she’d insult Quinton MacLeod’s people, so she hadn’t.

  She giggled as the memory of young Duncan, the peat boy, and his particular bath invaded her mind. Talk about insult. The little ball of fury had fought as hard as any aged warrior.

  Quint glanced her way, his eyes hard and questioning. Beth stifled her humor.

  Yes, Duncan’s bath wasn’t something Beth was soon to forget. Just a few months past six years, according to Annie, and with what was obviously a severe club foot to boot and limbs so thin they could hardly be called more than twigs, he had certainly surprised h
er with his tenacity.

  It had taken not only her, but Annie, her two granddaughters, and Bronwyn to wrestle the child out of his ragged plaid and into the big tub. Even with five people holding him down long enough to scrub away the filth, by the time they’d finished, not only was the water muddy, but they themselves were wetter than he was. Who would’ve guessed his soot black hair was really a sweet strawberry-blond or that he had an adorable smattering of freckles across his nose?

  And the big tub itself…wow, what a pleasant surprise that had been. Almost as wonderful a surprise as the indoor well.

  Annie had explained that, other than the MacLeod seat of Dunvegan, Brochel Castle was the only other to have such a wonderful luxury.

  But the tub, oh my, the tub was magnificent. It was large and wooden and round. Big enough to easily hold two full grown adults without sloshing too much water over its side. The most amazing thing about the tub, though, was it could be easily drained.

  Very close to the bottom edge of the round wooden tub, facing the outer wall, a pipe fashioned from a small hollowed out tree trunk had been inserted. It went from the inside of the tub, through a hole in the castle wall, and out onto a patch of ground somewhere behind the kitchen. A simple wooden plug made filling or draining it a breeze.

  Annie had told her that Quint had built it himself when he’d been not much older than Duncan. It had taken him most of a year and been a gift for his mother.

  The tub was used for many tasks. The washing of clothing, the dying of wool, the pressing of apples into cider, the making of ale, and yes, even the occasional bath.

  Beth smiled to herself. An idea formed as to what might brighten Quinton MacLeod’s mood.

  ****

  “I’m tired, Elspeth, leave me be.”

  Beth glared at her husband who stood staring out the window of their chamber. “You only call me Elspeth when you’re angry with me. Did you know that? I want to show you something in the kitchen. It’ll only take a few minutes, my lord, I promise.”

  The stubborn man shook his head, crossed his arms, and firmly planted his feet in a stance not even a bulldozer could’ve moved.

  “I’ve no concern for whatever ye wish ta show me, lass. I’ve had more than enough surprises this day. Anyway, the kitchen is for women, not warriors.”

  She wanted to stomp on his big arrogant foot. She wanted to grab his arm and drag him where she wanted him to go. She couldn’t though. Even if she’d had the strength, she certainly didn’t have the nerve.

  What had she been thinking in the first place? Had she actually believed she could trick her husband into following her back downstairs and then seduce him with a hot bath?

  She took a deep breath. Perhaps the old forty-five-year-old Beth with her flabby, saggy body couldn’t, but she’d bet her life that young, pretty Elspeth MacLeod could.

  She turned her back to her husband. “Fine then. Would you be so kind as to unlace me?”

  The sound of his sigh and the heat of his fingertips through the fabric of her day dress bolstered her courage as nothing else could. Beth allowed him to undo and slip the garment from her shoulders and down over her hips. She even stepped out of layer after layer of shifts as he divested her of those also. She didn’t turn to face him, however, not until she stood totally naked.

  “Come to the kitchen with me, my lord.”

  Quint shook his head. “Ye are nae making sense, wife. ’Tis late, lass. Let’s go ta bed.” He held a hand out toward her.

  She backed up three steps. “If you want me, my lord, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  The look on his face as she continued to back away almost stopped her. She had never seen such a look of total confusion cross anyone’s face.

  The moment the door opened and closed, she ran. Fear gripped her, and she glanced from side to side as she quickly descended the stairs. What had she been thinking? What if she’d been mistaken and there were still people up and about? They really would brand her a witch if she were caught running through Brochel Castle with her hair flying loose and not a stitch covering her body.

  She heard a door above slam, and she ran faster.

  ****

  He was going to kill her. Well, perhaps not actually kill her, but he’d make her think he was. And if another man saw her naked as she was now, he’d kill him, too.

  Quint MacLeod took the steps of the stairs two at a time and was down them, through the great hall, and into the kitchen before he even realized where he’d been headed. He didn’t see her at first. All he saw was the outline of the child, Mairi and Dougal’s son, Duncan, fast asleep upon his pallet beside the fire and a makeshift curtain hanging before the tub he’d long ago made for his mother.

  The fire suddenly flickered, casting shadows, and Quint’s heart pounded. Beth was silhouetted behind the curtain. Standing, her hair draping about her slender shoulders, her breast high and proud, her waist slim, and her legs long. His throat went dry, and his cock hardened uncomfortably.

  It took but two strides to reach her, and when he did, he threw back the curtain and gaped. She stood in the big tub, water steaming about her knees, and looking for all the world as if heaven had fallen to earth.

  Quint glanced once more toward Duncan’s sleeping form. “Have ye lost ye mind, lass?”

  She didn’t speak, just shook her head.

  He stripped off his plaid and held it out. “Come now, enough of this nonsense. We’ll go back above stairs.”

  Again, she shook her head no and beckoned him to join her.

  “I’ve already had one bath today, remember?”

  She smiled. “Not like this one you haven’t, my lord.”

  There was something about the intensity of her gaze, the sly smile on her face, and the steam rising from the water that called to his soul. He tossed his plaid to the side and climbed in the tub.

  Her hands were like silk as she prodded him to sit. The water rose to mid-chest level, heat seeped into his sore muscles, and he couldn’t help but relax.

  Beth straddled his legs and slowly lowered herself onto his lap, onto his throbbing, hard cock. “I’m sorry for not seeking your permission before cleaning your home today.”

  The minx had the audacity to wiggle her sweet ass. “Cleanliness is very important to me, my lord. I’m afraid the nuns had many years to firmly pound that concept into my head.”

  “The nuns struck ye?” He growled. “Though John Iain, the MacLeod chieftain, will nae be happy when he finds out. I and my clan here at Brochel Castle are Scottish Presbyterian now, not Catholic. I’d gladly have every single one of those zealots slain if they dared lay a hand on ye.”

  She shook her head. “The nuns touched me only with their words, my lord. I swear it.”

  Cupping her hands, she scooped water and slowly trickled it down his chest, following the path it took with her lips.

  Quint sucked in a breath as her pert nipples raked his skin. Her teeth nibbled at his earlobe, and her warmth sheathed his cock. Slowly, she slid up and down its length.

  “I promise to clean only what is really, truly important to me, Quint. Just a few places here and there. With as busy as you are training your men all day and seeing to the welfare of”—she waved her hand—“the entire clan. I doubt you’ll even have time to notice.”

  Then she kissed him, and Quint forgot what they were talking about. It wasn’t the kiss of a young woman who’d been a virgin only days before. It was the kiss of a trained courtesan, and he was her more than willing student.

  Perhaps the keep was due for a thorough scrubbing. After all, what could it hurt? When his mother had been alive, the entire castle had sparkled. Perhaps bathing on a more…regular basis, especially here in the confines of the tub he’d built, in steaming hot water, with his oh so tempting wife to see to his needs, wouldn’t be such a grievous task either. That was, as long as the little vixen never again did what she’d done moments ago to assure he’d follow her here.

  The sight of his Beth
so bewitchingly beautiful and so completely bare was meant for his eyes, and his eyes only.

  “Ye’ll nae ever again run through the keep naked as the day ye were born, lass. Do ye ken?” he whispered against her ear before sucking its lobe between his teeth and nipping. Then he feathered her cheeks, her lips, her neck, and her shoulders with kisses as slowly she rode him.

  The woman had the audacity to outright laugh, giggle really, and the action did the strangest thing to his deeply embedded cock. Her cunny contracted, cradled him, milked him, and caressed him as ripples of pleasure rolled up through him, threatening to cause his ballocks to explode. If he wasn’t careful, not only would the bath water be more on the floor than in the tub, but this session of…bathing would be long over before it even had a decent chance to begin.

  He took her face between his hands and forced her to look him in the eye. “I’ll have ye word, wife. There’ll be no more naked scampering through the keep. The next time ye ask me to accompany ye ta the kitchen, I’ll know what ye have in mind and I’ll come willingly, I give ye my word. But nae man looks upon what’s mine and lives to tell about it. Do ye ken? So, if ye have a care for the men of the clan ye’re lady of, keep that in mind.”

  Beth nodded and smiled as she once more slid up his shaft and back down again. “Yes, my lord, I understand.”

  Then, she began riding him in earnest, hard and fast, taking him deeper within her body with every stroke she executed. Quint grasped her hips and pumped as decadent spirals of pure delight ran the length of his cock. The water sloshed over the rim of the tub and onto the stone floor. But he didn’t care. The floor would dry soon enough.

  In the low light of the kitchen, with only the soft glow from a single candle to illuminate her face, his Beth looked just as he’d often imagined a wood sprite or fairy. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed, and the muscles of her cunny clenched him tight as she rode, holding him close, caressing him, bending him to her will.

  He could no more break this spell she’d cast upon him than refuse to draw his next breath, and he wouldn’t if he could.