by Sandy Blair
Birdi sighed contentedly.
Pacing before her, Angus growled, “I canna believe this!”
“Sssh, ye’ll be frightening Wee Angus.”
“Ack! And she’s named him after me.” He threw wide his arms. “Merciful Mother—”
“‘Tis quite fitting, since ye helped me find him.” Birdi decided it might be best to leave the rest of her reasoning for later. Angus MacDougall did appear a wee bit upset.
“Birdi—lass, we’ve already agreed on a course. We’ll not be changing it.”
“Aye, we agreed, but ‘twas before we found the babe.” And before Mother of All had interceded. “Dinna fash, Angus, all this—ye’re finding me and me finding the babe—has happened for a reason.”
“Aye, to drive me totally wode.” He dropped to his knees beside her and raked his hands through his thick, wavy hair. “Lass, I ken yer fondness for the laddie, I truly do. He’s fair and sweet, but he’s not yours to keep. Nor am I.”
Birdi frowned in confusion. “Why not? Wee Angus’s minnie is dead, as is his da for all we ken. Ye are strong and have proved kind.” She felt heat rise in her cheeks at that admission and looked down at the tunic covering her lap. His tunic, one that still carried the enticing scent of him. “I’ll make a good wife. I am—if ye’ll forgive my immodesty—quite clever with a needle and resourceful, so why is not this best for all concerned? Bring us back to my croft, and we can live—”
“Birdi, stop!” Angus rose and put his back to her. “I’m sorry, lass, though ye be fair—fairer than any lass I’ve ever seen—I need marry another. I was on my way to Beal Castle to court her when I found ye. I’ve pledged my word, Birdi, and I mean to keep it.” He faced her, the setting sun placing him in shadow. “We will dissolve this hand-fasting as soon as possible. With that done, ye’ll not have anyone to keep the bairn safe, so we must find a home for him.”
Birdi’s mouth dropped open as something painful seared its way from her middle and encircled her heart. Angus was promised to another? ‘Twas it the hale and hearty Mary? Nay, this couldn’t be! Mother of All wouldn’t have done this to her. Not after all she’d endured.
With the threat of tears burning at the back of her throat, Birdi held her head high and stroked the sleeping babe’s fingers. Angus was wrong. She need only prove it to him.
She had to. She had too much to lose, otherwise.
~#~
As dawn broke, turning the hills across the loch a deep violet, Angus opened his eyes. They felt gritty for lack of sleep after listening to Birdi’s muffled sobs and the babe’s repeated wailing the better part of the pitch-black night.
Today should have found him at Beal Castle. But was he there? Nay.
He took a deep, settling breath and let his gaze slowly drift over the curves and swells of the beautiful woman who had started his slide into disaster. If only their circumstances were different...
Birdi reclined on her side facing him; her head nestled in the crook of her arm, her black lashes fanning out over high smooth cheeks, her knees touching his thighs, and between Angus and Birdi—trapped and protected—lay Wee Angus blowing bubbles and playing with his fingers.
Merciful Mother of God, what have I gotten myself into?
He still couldn’t believe she’d named the babe Angus.
The bairn, apparently thrilled to have finally caught someone’s attention, cooed at him and kicked his legs.
Without thought Angus held out a finger. “And what are ye so delighted about so early of a morn?” The babe drew Angus’s finger toward his mouth, his eyes crossed, and Angus grinned. Ah, the nipper was hungry, though how he could be after slurping milk half the night was a mystery.
He decided to let Birdi sleep. He could feed a babe. Mayhap if she rested, Birdi would see matters more clearly.
His way.
He rolled away and Birdi, mumbling in her sleep, drew the babe into her chest. As she did, a lock of her hair fell over her shoulder. Wee Angus squealed in delight. He had a fistful. Having wished he could do the same, Angus muttered, “I envy ye, laddie. Truly.”
Only a few minutes later—with the goat milked and his horse saddled, Angus returned to the pallet to find Birdi still asleep and Wee Angus chewing contentedly on glossy black curls.
After easing the hair out of the babe’s mouth and fists, Angus picked the lad up and grabbed a clean nappy from the supply Birdi had garnered, along with a clump of moss.
He settled on a patch of grass at the loch’s edge.
It took more effort than expected—the feisty wee imp was intent on rolling every which way but right—but Angus managed to get the lad’s bottom covered with a moss-lined nappy.
With the babe draped over an arm, he slopped the dirty nappy in the water, then flung it over a tree branch. “Time to eat,” he told the babe. On his way to the fractious goat, he tossed Wee Angus into the air. The babe squealed in delight, Angus grinned and did it again. “Someday,” he whispered, “I hope to have a bairn or two as bonnie as ye.”
A half hour later, sitting cross-legged in the grass with the contented babe in his lap, Angus asked, “What will become of ye, lad?”
There wasn’t a way Birdi could keep the laddie, fair and maternal as she was. The lad couldn’t grow properly eating as he had for the last two days. They’d have to find a wet-nurse for him. And the laddie needed a roof over his head. They’d been lucky; last night’s ponderous thunderheads had passed without dropping a bit of rain, but more was likely to come, and he didn’t want the lad catching the ague.
Examining the babe’s perfect pink fingers and nails, Angus admitted, “Wee Angus, ye’ve put me in a bind.”
“Good morn.”
Angus looked up to find Birdi, her hair braided, standing at his shoulder. As she reached over him to pet the bairn, Angus caught the irresistible scent of warm woman. Bent as she was it would have taken little effort to pull her mouth down to his. “Good morn.”
She nodded and asked the babe, “And how are ye this fine morn?”
In answer Wee Angus smiled as if Birdi had put the sun in the sky for his sole enjoyment.
Ack. The sooner he separated them the better. Rising, he said, “We’ve goat milk. Otherwise, I need to fish.”
“Thank ye, but I dinna feel hungry.”
Angus huffed. Birdi had eaten as hungrily as he for three days, so her lack of hunger dinna bode well. She was apparently still fashing over his refusal to let her keep the babe and no doubt planning to use her womanly wiles to convince him he was wrong. As if he ever was. “We’d best get ready to ride, then.”
He handed the babe to Birdi, collected their baggage, and tethered the goat behind the snorting and agitated Rampage.
Mounted, he headed south, for Inveruglas. With any luck, the clan would have a midwife who kenned a sacred well—one close at hand—and she might even ken a wet-nurse for the wee one and the whereabouts of Birdi’s clan, the Shames. If his luck held, he could then ride hard for Cairndow and Beal Castle, where his bride hopefully waited.
He clucked, Rampage let fly an ill-aimed hoof at the goat, it bleated, and they were on their way.
~#~
An hour later Wee Angus filled his nappy.
Birdi gasped. The stench was enough to bring a bull to his knees. “Angus, please, we need stop before I lose my breath.”
Angus, leaning back, she noted, as far as his saddle would allow, muttered, “Aye, I suppose there’s nay hope for it. Up ahead ‘tis a grassy spot.”
None too soon for Birdi he reined in and jumped from the horse. Birdi handed the babe down. Angus, his visage scrunched, held the cooing lad out at arm’s length. “How can ye stand yerself, laddie?”
Birdi, grinning, started to slide off the horse on her belly. Halfway down, her tunic caught on the stirrup. As she continued her slide, the tunic rose, leaving her backside exposed to the breeze off the water. Feet finally planted on Mother, she wrenched her tunic free, turned, and found Angus blushing.
As he shifted a bit, Birdi felt heat rush into her cheeks. “Ye’ve seen it before, Angus.” Men were such odd creatures. “Give the babe here.”
Clean nappy and moss in hand, she marched with as much dignity as possible to the edge of the loch.
Birdi had just finished tying a new nappy on Wee Angus’s clean bottom when she heard lowing and the ring of a cowbell. She spun and found great, light brown masses heading to the water’s edge only yards to her right.
A woman called, “Hello.”
Heart thudding, Birdi scooped Wee Angus into her arms and murmured, “Hello.”
The woman drew closer, and Birdi was taken by surprise. The woman smiled broadly at her. Tinker had been the only one ever to smile at her in such a fashion. Well, Angus had as well, but only a time or two. Of late he’d been fractious at best.
“I’m Kate, and this,” the woman turned a bit and raised an arm, “is my sister Margie.”
Birdi, unaware until that moment that there were two women, saw a tall green mass moving toward her. “I’m Birdi.”
Kate came closer and stroked Wee Angus’s arm. “And who is this?”
Birdi admired Kate’s bright red curls, then noticed the lass’s rosy skin bore the ravages of the pox. Poor thing. “‘Tis Wee Angus.”
The sister, Margie, then tickled the babe, and Birdi saw that this woman was a bit older and definitely fairer than the first, and though she petted Wee Angus, her focus was over Birdi’s shoulder.
With her brilliant green eyes bright with curiosity, Margie whispered, “Please tell me that beautiful man standing beside the charger is yer brother.”
Beautiful man? Humph! Aye, Angus was more comely than any man Birdi had ever seen before, but...
“‘Tis my man, Angus MacDougall.” Birdi felt decidedly uncomfortable watching the lass’s gaze rake Angus’s body. Why, she couldn’t fathom, but uncomfortable she was and she wanted the woman to stop her hungry perusal.
The pretty woman said, “Not the Angus MacDougall...the one they call Angus the Blood?” The admiration remained on her visage, as she made a delicate shudder. “My oh my, aren’t ye the brave lassie.”
Feeling defensive—she’d heard one of the Fraisers call Angus the Blood, as well, but in less admiring tones—Birdi lifted her chin. “Nay, he’s...kind.”
“Hmm, he certainly looks kind.”
When the woman ran her tongue across her lower lip as Wolf had whenever he spied Hen, Birdi found herself hard pressed not to snatch the pretty woman bald-headed.
Jaws clenched, Birdi squared her shoulders. “We must take our leave. ‘Twas good meeting ye.” She turned and ran smack into Angus’s chest.
Cradling her bruised nose as Angus steadied her, Birdi mumbled, “I didna ken ye were there.”
Angus snaked an arm around her waist and bowed his head to the two women. “Good day, ladies.”
Birdi caught a new tone in Angus’s voice, looked up, and was alarmed to see admiration in his eyes as he studied the pretty sister, Margie. Humph!
And Margie still hadn’t pulled her gaze from Angus’s broad chest. Aye, ‘twas a fine chest to be sure—hard and well muscled—but how rude!
Redheaded and pox marred Kate mumbled, “Good day, sir,” to Angus then tugged on her sister’s arm. “Margie, we need go. Now!”
As Kate hauled her sister away, Birdi heaved a relieved sigh.
Angus murmured, “I found some berries. We need eat and go ourselves.”
Arm about her waist, Angus guided Birdi, deep in thought, to a grassy knoll overlooking the loch.
As they sat he heard the call of a falcon and looked up. The geld circled twice, folded its wings, and then dove for its unsuspecting prey. ‘Twas a good sign. Had danger been riding hard their way, the bird would have sought safer hunting ground. He turned his attention back to the remains of their midday meal and saw that—despite being given ample time and the choicest fish and berries—Birdi had barely touched either. But he should be thankful for small blessings; Birdi’s determined, straight-mouthed grimace had softened.
She cleared her throat. “I need ask ye something.”
“Ask.”
“Are ye honest...forthright?”
Unaccustomed to having his integrity questioned, Angus straightened. “Aye, absolutely.”
She nodded, apparently pleased with the answer, and asked, “Why do they call ye Angus the Blood?”
It had been too much to hope she hadn’t heard the Fraiser call him that. “‘Tis a name I’ve cultivated to protect my clan.”
She scowled. “How can a name protect them?”
Angus hesitated. Had she not asked for honesty, he’d have tempered his words, suspecting she still feared him, but then, they’d soon be at Inveruglas. Better she hear the story from him than from them. “I am reported to eat the livers of the men I kill in battle. My reputation has caused many a man to flee me rather than risk being eaten should he fall.”
Birdi blanched. “Nay!”
“Aye. ‘Tis false, of course—I dinna even like liver—but it serves a purpose. Few tread on MacDougall land without good cause. And those that do ken that they’d best behave or risk losing a body part to me.”
Birdi worried her bottom lip as she gave his answer some thought. “Then why did ye taste me? In the field and again in the cave?”
Angus frowned, then realized she was referring to his kisses and grinned. “I wasna tasting, but kissing.”
“Explain kissing.”
Never in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined so luscious a woman asking that. He chuckled. “What do ye need explained?”
“The why of it.” She twisted the hem of his tunic. She’d refused to don the dead woman’s kirtle he’d confiscated for her from Ardlui. “This kissing feels odd to start, ye ken?”
“Aye, but I find it pleasantly odd. Do ye?” He could only hope.
“Aye, but why did ye do it?”
Tread gently, laddie. “Men and woman kiss when they feel a craving for each other or when they want to display affection. Just like mothers kiss babes because they love them.”
Birdi ruminated on his words for several minutes. “So...if I kiss the babe, I’m telling him I love him?”
“Aye.” Had she never been kissed before? What manner of mother had she? Good God Almighty.
Birdi’s forehead scrunched. “So ye kissed me because ye love me?”
Ack! “I kissed ye because ye have a winning way about ye, because ye’re soft in all the right places, and because ye have a mouth any man would want to taste.”
“Hmm.” She wrenched several blades of grass out of the patch at her feet and started braiding them. “Would ye like to kiss me again?”
What do ye say now, MacDougall? Answer honestly and mayhap cause her to bolt, or lie and regret it for the rest of ye life?
“Aye, I would.”
Chin tucked, she whispered, “Ye may, then.”
His heart jolted. Before she could change her mind he leaned across the sleeping babe and placed his right hand on her neck. Using his thumb he raised her chin so he could look into her incredible, icy eyes. He saw no indecision or fear, only curiosity. He drew her closer still, and their mouths made gentle contact.
Her lips, though still, were as soft and pliant as he recalled. Now kenning she was totally unschooled in the matters of men and women, he took his time, increasing the pressure. After a moment he nibbled her lower lip and she gasped, giving him ready access to the sweet, moist confines of her mouth. He eased in and heated blood roared into his groin. Her tongue was as soft as a rose petal. She tasted of berries. Seeing her eyes close, he closed his own and stroked the interior of her mouth for just another moment, savoring her lush interior. He felt her tongue explore his for too short interval, and then he reluctantly pulled away.
To his relief, she sighed, opened her eyes, and then blushed to a rosy hue. She cleared her throat then asked, “‘Tis done?”
“Aye.” It had taken all his willpow
er to pull back, to keep from delving deeper into her in the hopes of chasing away the rest of her reservations, but that wouldn’t have been fair to her and certainly not fair to him. ‘Twas bad enough he’d have to live with this memory—of what might have been—for a lifetime.
Please, Blessed Mary, let the lass at Beal be worth this sacrifice, or I’ll not be able to live with myself.
Birdi, her color still high, brushed a few tresses from her face—the ones he’d inadvertently pulled from her braid—and cleared her throat. “Very well.”
“Have ye any other questions?”
“Mayhap, later.”
Coming to his feet—and hoping she hadn’t noticed the swelling within his trews—he said, “Ye best make use of yon bushes. We willna be stopping again ‘til we reach Inveruglas.”
Birdi took the hand he offered and came to her feet.
Angus studied the gentle sway of her hips as she made her way through the tall grass. Lord, she was one fine woman. She then stumbled over a rock the size of a sow—one any fool could see—and he frowned. He kenned he kissed well—had been told so on more than one occasion—but his kiss certainly couldn’t have unsettled her so much that she couldn’t see a boulder, could it?
A moment later he found himself wincing as Birdi—her gaze on the ground—nearly knocked herself senseless on a heavy, low-slung pine bough. As she rubbed her forehead and grumbled something, he scowled. She continued on, but this time with a hand out before her. She walked slowly, straight toward a head-high boulder gleaming nearly white in the glare of the afternoon sun. When her hand made contact, she turned left. A moment later she slipped behind a bush.
Something wasn’t right.
As he waited, he ruminated over the last three days and the manner in which Birdi moved.
When she reemerged from the bushes, he scrutinized her every step. She followed the exact path she’d taken up to the bush, only this time she paused a few feet before the sow-sized stone. Instead of tripping over it, this time she cautiously skirted it, and then continued toward him. She smiled—despite the red welt on her forehead—as she reached for Wee Angus.