“He had two blades,” Keenan said

by Editor

  Drakkina leaned back. “Caoch,” she whispered. “What more can I do to force this love between them? I threw them together by sending William toward the bridge when Grant was killed. I trapped them in the cave. I cleared up their problem with William. I chased away that gypsy man before he could take more than kisses from her. I even altered time so Keenan could reach Serena before her idiot father forced her to marry the other.” Drakkina tilted her head to the side. “Which was very tricky by the way.”

  She floated off the table. “But does anyone care or appreciate my help? No,” she said dramatically to the surrounding stones.

  “Love, it should be easy enough to orchestrate,” she flapped her hands through the air as she frowned. “Get each daughter to find their mates and fall in love,” she shrugged. “That’s all I have to do.” She began to pace through the tall waving grasses. “That and get them here,” she glanced around at the calm clearing. Drakkina tied her cowl under her chin. “Before the demons rip the threads that hold each time in its proper place.” She looked out past the stones again and sighed dramatically. “Get them to love one another?” Drakkina snorted. “I can’t even find them.”

  ****

  Serena woke to the heavenly smell of roasting rabbit mixed with campfire and sweet spring air. Her stomach growled, bringing her fully awake. She rolled onto her back and stretched before opening her eyes to blue sky above her encircled by large oaks. Memories of the night before ran from her mind down into her body. Her hand moved under the Maclean blanket. She was still naked and a bit tender. Without moving further, Serena turned her head toward the fire and smiled.

  Keenan wore only his boots and trews as he crouched down turning the hare over a low smoldering flame. Through the fog of wood smoke, Serena could see his eyes. They held mischief, and yes, happiness.

  “Ye’re awake finally, lass.” Keenan stood up, and Serena swallowed hard as her eyes traveled across his naked torso and chest.

  She rose up on one elbow as she held the blanket against her breasts.

  “In time to break yer fast on roast hare and blackberries.”

  He kicked at some of the blackened branches to scatter the flame and walked over to her. Serena glanced around for her clothes but didn’t see them. Keenan reached under her arms and lifted her up to stand. Serena yelped, trying to grab the blanket before it fell away. Keenan chuckled deep and wrapped Serena in his warm hug while his free hand tucked the blanket. He stepped back but kept his hands on her bare shoulders, his thumb massaging the tense muscles stretching from shoulder to neck.

  Serena couldn’t stop her blush. It was one thing to be naked with him in the muted glow of firelight. Serena had never thought herself shy, but after what they’d shared last night, she had trouble meeting his gaze. So she stared at the hollow at the base of his strong neck where she could make out the faint beat of his heart.

  “I overslept, I suppose.”

  Keenan used his finger to lift her chin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Mmmm, ye were up late last eve.” He ran his hand across her cheek and into her tangled hair. “Ye have the look of a lass properly tupped.”

  Before she could frown at him he bent to kiss her. Serena’s stiffness melted as soon as his lips covered hers. It was a slow kiss, unhurried, gentle. He pulled his face away as if they had all the time in the world to just taste one another, breathe in one another.

  A gentle breeze cooled Serena’s bare backside. She gasped, looking down. The blanket crumpled at her ankles. Before she could bend to pick it back up, Keenan pulled her up, his hands stroking down her back, her breasts pushed up branding his hot naked skin. She felt his length press along her belly and her nipples hardened as his fingers cupped together under her round backside. The bright light and the twittering birds around them began to fade away in Serena’s mind. Warmth pooled in her abdomen. Desire wrapped around her limbs, filling her with languid heat. When he lifted to mold her tingling body against him, she moaned.

  He pulled away from her lips and rested his forehead against hers. “Och Serena, I want ye.”

  “You have me,” she whispered.

  His hand moved between them to cup one of her breasts. His gaze narrowed with a fierce heat as he stared. Then he lowered his eyes and gave a frustrated sigh before bending down to pull the blanket up to wrap her tightly.

  “It would hurt ye so soon after last night.”

  Serena frowned. “You mean we can’t…” she indicated the mossy pallet that had been their bed last night.

  Keenan smiled broadly. “Doona fash yerself, lass. I’ll be loving ye soon enough.” He adjusted himself in the tight trews and went to pull the hare off the spit. “We are getting a late start this morning, and I have a waterfall I’d like to show ye by this evening.”

  Serena sat down to pull apart some of the tender meat. Keenan handed her a cup full of fresh blackberries.

  “Blackberries, this early? They don’t fruit until summer,” she questioned as she popped one of the plump berries into her mouth.

  Keenan sat down next to her. “It’s a mystery.” He shook his head as he studied the little bumps on the outside of the fruit. “No matter what time of year I come here, there are always plump purple blackberries.” Keenan popped the thoroughly inspected berry into his mouth and chewed. He leaned back on his wrists, the muscles in his shoulders cording under his weight. Serena took a steadying breath and looked out at the trees.

  “Huh,” she said several minutes later.

  “What is it?”

  She tilted her head at him. “I don’t feel the pull I usually have, the one that pulls me West.”

  “Ye dinna walk in yer sleep last night, but I thought that was because ye were a wee bit exhausted.” Keenan chuckled when Serena’s face reddened. “Wife, I foresee many long nights. Perhaps we need to work in a nap time for ye.”

  Serena threw a blackberry at him and it broke against his forehead leaving a purple juice mark. She laughed at his shocked expression and then squealed when a volley of plump berries came her way. She jumped up, clutching the blanket and ran around to the other side of the clearing to catch another handful of berries from the bursting bush. Within minutes the two of them were covered with the sticky sweet juice.

  Keenan raised his hands in surrender. “I’m unarmed, lass.”

  Laughing, Serena dropped the few remaining berries she had in her now purple hand. She tucked the end of the blanket into the valley of her breasts and walked into his open arms. She stuck her tongue out and licked a purple blotch on the inside of Keenan’s bicep. It was sweet and tangy and mixed with the fresh pine and leather smell that was Keenan.

  Keenan’s deep laughter stopped abruptly as her tongue continued down his arm licking at the little purple marks. She saw another one out of the corner of her eye on his chest and moved her mouth over to it. Her lips closed over the sticky juice while her tongue swirled around his smooth skin. She closed her eyes. His skin felt hot and stretched as if over granite. As she moved over to the purple splotch on one of his nipples, she felt his body jerk. His hands closed around her shoulders. The sweet juice lay sticky against his skin. Serena swirled her tongue around his nipple until she couldn’t taste any remains of blackberry.

  “Serena,” he gritted out. “Ye doona ken what ye are doing to me.”

  She trailed licks across to his other nipple, her hands stroking up the sides of Keenan’s naked torso. “Perhaps I know exactly what I’m doing.” Her words came out mumbled as she spoke against him. Keenan’s large hands released her shoulders and moved to gently grasp her head. He groaned low in his throat, so low that she could feel its vibrations through his chest.

  “Serena lass, a man can only stand so much of that before,” his words turned into another groan as she trailed her tongue down his chest.

  Serena couldn’t help the smile that turned up the corners of her lips as she laved at another purple splotch under the fine sprinkling of hair in the center of his tight chest. He was en
joying this. She could hear it in the rush of his breath and feel it in the rigid length of his body. He was enjoying this greatly, and she was in control. What wonderful power she had over him, she thought and leaned up on her toes to kiss a blackberry mark in the beating hollow of his throat. His pulse pounded beneath her tongue as she dragged it across the valley.

  Keenan’s arms circled, pulling her up against the strength that lay beneath his hot skin. She felt his hardness seek the juncture of her thighs through the Maclean blanket. She relaxed her arms, letting the fabric slide down to her hips where it remained pinned between them.

  Keenan reached both his hands to hold her face and tilt it up to meet his lips. Serena opened her eyes. What she saw sent a bolt of hot giddiness through her. Untamed heat glazed Keenan’s eyes. His hard jaw flexed as if his strong will alone kept him from devouring her in one bite.

  As he slanted across her already wet sweet mouth, Serena’s last coherent thought was that she had been so wrong. She was not in control of this powerful man. The fire she had kindled began to blaze out of control.

  Keenan’s lips seared her as he tangled hands through her hair. She had just baited a lion and she was about to be consumed. Keenan loosed the rest of the blanket while leaving her lips to run his hot mouth down the side of her neck. Serena panted softly into the soft waves of his dark hair as his mouth claimed one of her breasts. His desire rolled through, bringing her own senses to a boil. Whether through some magic connection or through touch alone, she felt his passion as her own climbed to meet it, to embrace it, to build upon it. Yes, she had baited a lion and he was ready to swallow her, she thought as she sank to her knees before him. Never before had prey looked so forward to being eaten alive.

  ****

  Lachlan Maclean paced before the dying flames in the great hearth. He watched the shadows play against the stone walls hung with polished shields, axes and swords. His father’s broadsword, his grand da’s shield. They hung there, a place of honor after days of battle. They hung there waiting, waiting for him to take them up. He sighed heartily and took another gulp of the fine mulled wine Elenor had brought him after the messenger had ridden away.

  Lachlan glanced back at the table where several Maclean warriors stood, where the missive lay curled exactly where he’d left it. He saw Elenor where she still watched him. His beautiful sister, so lovely and yet none was brave enough to marry her. He turned his stare to the tapestries overhead, their threads woven and needled to depict great scenes of Macleans defending Kylkern, Macleans knee deep in battle defending their family, their people.

  Would anyone ever take month after month to needle a depiction of him, Chief Lachlan, son of Angus, into a tapestry? What would it look like? Would it be of him hiding behind the locked doors to his rooms, or him fleeing down one of the secret passageways saved to evacuate the women and children? Perhaps there would be a magnificent tapestry woven to depict him clutching behind his beautiful sister’s skirts.

  Lachlan rested his forehead against the back of his hand on the mantel. He looked down into the brittle logs, licked black with flame. More likely there would be a tapestry of his brother, Keenan, standing in front of him, his sword raised to protect him, as his duty demanded.

  Hamish, his friend from childhood, came to stand beside him at the hearth. “What answer do we send, Lachlan?”

  Keeping his forehead against his hand, Lachlan turned his gaze to his friend. “Do we ken where my brother is?”

  “Nay, but I’ve sent a scout down our usual route toward England.”

  “One scout?”

  “Aye, I dinna dare send more in case we need to ride quickly.”

  Lachlan nodded, rubbing the top of his hair against his hand. He turned his head again so his eyes could study Hamish. “What say the men,” he said glancing toward the standing warriors on the other side of the room.

  “They are ready to chase the English from our soil and raise Prince Charles to his rightful place. They but wait for word from ye and for Keenan to return.”

  Lachlan shifted away from the mantel. “Keenan, they but wait for Keenan.” Lachlan held his voice down, but softness could not cloak the sharp edge in his tone.

  “And yer word, Lachlan. Ye are our chief.”

  “Chief in name only,” Lachlan forced out from clenched teeth.

  Hamish did not answer for a long moment. “Chief Maclean, we wait yer word.”

  Lachlan turned to the bowing man and then looked out toward the rest of the room. “Send word that we arm ourselves to join the call to Drumossie Moor.” His voice filled the rafters with its force.

  “To Culloden!” the men echoed, raising their swords to stab high into the air.

  Lachlan turned to Hamish. “Send the answer to the MacDonalds that we ride in three days to meet them at Culloden. We will lay camp on the fifteenth.”

  “And Keenan?” Hamish asked.

  “Keenan can come along if he makes it in time. Otherwise, I will lead this clan into battle.”

  Hamish hesitated just long enough for Lachlan to narrow his eyes. A challenge.

  “Aye, Lachlan,” Hamish answered. He turned on his heal and headed for the door, his men behind him.

  Lachlan turned back to the fire as Elenor walked over to stand beside him. She placed her soft hand on his rigid shoulder, but didn’t say anything at first.

  Lachlan kicked at the logs and several sparks shot out, crackling in the thick silence.

  “Very brave, brother,” she said. “Perhaps foolish, but very brave.”

  Lachlan lurched and kicked the stone hearth. Elenor jumped back. “Doona pass judgment on my actions, sister,” he hissed before throwing himself into one of the two chairs flanking the fire.

  Elenor didn’t retreat, but remained standing. Lachlan looked at the palms of his hands. They were supple. He rubbed them together. “They are like hands of a woman,” he said softly.

  Elenor sat down next to him and took his hand in hers. She didn’t say anything, just ran her fingers along his palm. He looked up to her. “They should be rough, calloused, Elenor. Not soft like a maid’s.” He pulled it back and put his face in his hands, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

  “Dear God, Elenor, what have I been doing with my life?” The fire cracked and wheezed.

  “Hiding,” she said simply.

  Anger surged through him only to crash down as he recognized the truth in her word.

  “Hiding,” he repeated and scrubbed at his face. “Aye, that I have.”

  He looked up to Elenor and straightened in the chair. “But I’ve finally found the witch. Perhaps I can stop hiding.”

  Elenor frowned. “Serena’s not here.”

  “But she was, and she will return.”

  “With Keenan?”

  “Aye, of course,” he began and hesitated, wondering at her question. “Keenan will bring her back.” Lachlan’s frown increased. “My brother kens his duty.”

  “Just as ye ken yer duty to hide, Lachlan?”

  “What do ye hint at, Elenor. I grow weary of reading behind words.”

  “Just this, how would we all act, who would we all be, if we weren’t ruled by the prophecy? Would ye hide here watching yer friends grow in valor and strength? Nay. Would I wither away as an old maid?” She tipped her head to the side and smiled. “Perhaps,” she teased. “But perhaps ye would have wed me off long ago so I wouldn’t plague ye so, brother.”

  Lachlan clapped his hand down over hers but did not release his frown.

  She continued more seriously. “Would Keenan spend his whole life obsessed with protecting ye, only to die without having ever lived?”

  Lachlan caught his breath at the tear swelling the rim of Elenor’s eye. He watched it grow until it broke free to race down her cheek. Leaning forward, he caught it on his finger.

  “Or,” she continued ignoring her tear. “Or would there be bairns filling the nursery and young lads and lasses laughing through these grand halls, playing
out the stories of bravery, stories about two great brothers, strong and cunning.” She sat back to look into the dying fire. “Aye, Lachlan,” she sighed. “I wonder how different things would be if we had never heard a single word of our prophecy.”

  Lachlan let her hand go and looked up again at his father’s sword. He had raised it upon the wall at his da’s death. Keenan already had his own sword, from his seanair. That sword on the wall was meant for him, Lachlan.

  Lachlan jumped up from the chair. He felt Elenor’s eyes as he picked up a stool from against the wall to move it under the sword. Climbing up, he placed his two hands under it, careful not to slice them on the blade. It took a little force to wrench the weapon from its slumber in the hooks. He curled his hands around the smooth leather wrapped hilt and stepped down.

  Lachlan turned, sword pointed upward. Elenor stood by the chair, her smile at odds with the tears running freely down her cheeks.

  “It looks good in yer hands, Lachlan,” she said and sniffed.

  Lachlan swung it slowly in a low arc. “Three days, Elenor. I have three days to learn to swing Da’s sword.”

  She came up to lay her hand on his arm. “Yer a Maclean, Lachlan. The feel for it runs in yer blood.”

  He nodded and turned the weapon slowly catching the firelight along the polished steel.

  “Da is smiling down from heaven, Lachlan. I know he is.” She was crying again.

  Lachlan lowered the sword, tip to the floor and put his arm around her shoulders. “Da smiling? Da never smiled. When he was happy, he just bellowed softer.”

  Elenor laughed through her tears and hugged Lachlan. “I love ye, Brother.”

  He hugged her again, and then took the sword up again. “And I love ye, Elenor.” The heaviness of the sword ripped through him, causing all the hairs in his body to come alive. He gave a shout, a battle cry in the sleepy hall.

  Elenor laughed and shushed him.

  “Na’ quiet this eve, Sister. I am off to ride.”

  “It’s dark, Lachlan.”

  “Aye, and a fine night for a ride with my sword.”