Fianna Leighton - Tales of Clan Mackay

by Return to the Highlands

  Slamming open the gate to the garden, he swept past his stepmother, Ann who was cutting herbs again. She rose to her feet. “Don’t forget the latch catches.”

  He kicked open the next gate, ignoring her. He heard her sigh. “That’s why it catches,” she said.

  He strode through the heather to the pond near the base of the hill, fed by a natural spring. He dropped the towel and stripped off his breeches. Diving in from the bank, he was shocked by how cold the water was. He’d forgotten that as well, he thought, surfacing to take a deep breath.

  Ann sat on a bench on the bank. She turned her head when he waded out and then collapsed next to her on the grass.

  “I missed an interesting dinner it seems,” his stepmother said conversationally.

  “I don’t remember.” Nicholas replied, lying on his stomach. He crossed his arms to rest his head, amused that Ann continued to look away.

  “I thought I was unwell, but you looked quite terrible, Nicky.”

  “Fairly put,” he agreed.

  She turned her head and leaned over so he could see her, her grey eyes twinkling. “I’ve missed ye, Nicholas.”

  “Truly?”

  “Aye, you always were a scamp,” she laughed. “Even now you care less that you lie there naked as you were born.”

  He grinned in response and waited until she left to rise and plunge back into the pond. The water chilled him to the bone yet cleared his mind. It was daunting, this marrying business. He’d never thought once before about drinking, or passing out in his room. Mary’s complaint made him feel miserable. He’d treated her poorly.

  His clothes would need cleaning, but he doubted Mary would agree to do so after last night. Nicholas sighed and swam to shore. He began to wade out from the pond when he noticed Mary sitting on the bench, her gaze pinned to his chest. He stopped, waist deep. She had more clothes folded neatly on the bench beside her.

  “Ah, Mary,” Nicholas said. She lifted her gaze slowly, her perusal drawing a direct response from his body. He grinned. “Care to join me?”

  “It’s broad daylight, Nicholas Mackay.”

  He looked up at the sun. “Aye, past noon as you said.” He dipped his palm into the water and then held it to his lips. “The water is quite nice.”

  She licked her lips. “Ye are quite a trial, Nicholas.”

  “I don’t mean to be,” he said.

  She stood up when the water reached his hips. “I’ve left you a cloth to dry yourself. Ann expects you to attend to her.” She whirled and ran up the path toward the keep. Nicholas smiled and continued out of the water. He picked up the towel she’d left behind.

  Perhaps she wasn’t so angry after all.

  **

  Mary fled the sight of Nicholas. She had watched the drop of water that had dripped down his neck, watched it slide along his shoulder to his chest, and then ever so slowly, run across the planes of muscle to his stomach. She had watched it until it had joined the water once again, by that time, nearly below the lean line of his hips until she could bear no more. She resisted the image smote inside her head of his body, the light that had glinted off his skin, the sleek hair, dragged back from his face to show the sharp angles of his cheeks, the high brows over his eyes. It was all so vivid, as was the tension that had radiated from him as he’d stalked through the hall. All the while she’d watched she’d not felt fear, but a deep-seated lust that had nearly slid her off the bench.

  Gods, how could a man do that?

  She hurried into the keep, shutting the door and then leaning against it, breathless. Thankfully, Donald had left with Hugh and the only one to note Mary’s behavior was Fiona.

  She looked up from the table and grinned. “That bad, lass?”

  “Good lord, Fiona, how do they do it?”

  “Do what?”

  Mary shoved off from the door and then sat beside Fiona. “Does Rory make you feel… like…” She pressed her face into her hands as heat flooded her cheeks.

  Fiona laughed and then hugged her. “Tis a good sign,” she said.

  “Of what?”

  “That you can lust for a man as well as like him.”

  Mary stared at Fiona. “What make you think I like him?”

  “Ye didn’t complain last night about sleeping on a bench. Only a woman in love, liking her man, would put up with it.”

  “What was I to do?”

  “Complain to Donald, who would have had Hugh remove Nicholas to somewhere else.”

  “Never,” Mary declared stonily.

  Fiona shrugged. “See? It’s love.”

  Mary turned as the door opened again and Nicholas, decently dressed, stalked inside. He radiated tension, his gaze when it settled on Mary almost indecent. She couldn’t move, startled anew by the lust flooding her body. She felt breathless looking at him, felt the yearning deep in the pit of her stomach, the clenching of muscles that wanted more.

  He paused for a moment just beyond the door to stare at her. The white shirt strained across his shoulders when he continued across the room to lean over the table in front of her. “I would have a word, Mary.”

  She met his gaze defiantly but had to grasp the edge of the table for support. “I’m busy.”

  “I do not care,” he said softly. “You will be available for what I have in mind.”

  She blinked, leaning forward slightly as if to ascertain she had heard him correctly. “I will be available?” She was still angry with him, even if he was looking far too tempting all of a sudden. “Well, that is too bad, I’m helping Fiona…” Mary shrieked when he reached for her but evaded his grasp. He was slow this morning.

  He scowled, rounding the table. “Mary, don’t make a scene.”

  She pressed up against the table as Fiona shifted down the bench. “I am not making a scene. I do not have time for you.”

  “You did a minute ago.”

  Mary swallowed at the reminder. “Only because Ann asked me to.”

  “You didn’t come of your own accord?’ Nicholas’s tone had softened, but in a dangerous way.

  She lifted her chin to glare at him. “No.”

  “Sad I am to hear it,” he declared, snatching her wrist in his iron grip.

  “Nicholas,” she began as he moved closer.

  “Yes, Nicholas, good to see you finally up,” Hugh said from the door. “I’d like you to come see the new calf we sired a few weeks ago. Ye’ll like the lad.”

  Nicholas hissed softly, his fingers tight on her wrist. “We’ll do this later,” he said.

  Mary blinked, held in place by the intensity of his gaze. She knew his intent and swallowed. He drew back and smiled at Fiona.

  Hugh clapped Nicholas on the back and then lifted a brow at Mary as he shut the door.

  Fiona heaved a deep sigh as Mary did the same. “God’s blood, Mary, what have you married?”

  The calf was sturdy, with promise to grow into a good breeding stock. Nicholas leaned against the paddock fence with Hugh at his side. Bastian had staggered out of the barn looking far worse than Nicholas felt. Rory emerged from the keep as if he’d drunk nothing the night before. He took one look at Nicholas and then at Bastian leaning blearily against the fence and laughed until he was staggering.

  Nicholas rolled his eyes and then caught Rory’s shirt as he stood laughing over his knees, jerking him upright and then against the fence. “Stop laughing,” he demanded.

  “Ye are a bunch of wom--.” He inhaled sharply when Nicholas punched him in the stomach.

  Rory gripped his crutch, wheezing and then swiped it under Nicholas’s feet to knock him off balance. Nicholas landed on the ground and rolled away from another strike from the crutch. Rory glared at him, his balance on one foot surprisingly good.

  “If I wasn’t lame in me leg, Highlander, I’d kick yer arse all the way back to Drymen.”

  Nicholas smiled grimly up at Rory. “If I hadn’t drunk your filthy poteen, I’d have my
wits enough to break your nose again.”

  Rory grinned maliciously. “Care to try anyways, lad?”

  Hugh sighed loudly from the fence, leaning against it with arms crossed. “Are you done?”

  Nicholas sat up to stare at his brother.

  “Ye know, I was only fourteen when ye left, but I remember you and Bastian fighting much the same way.” Hugh winked at Sebastian who grinned weakly back, lifting a brow. “I would think ye’d have outgrown it by now.”

  Nicholas stood up and brushed at the mud on his breeches. He dragged Rory to the fence so he could sit on the stacked rock wall. “Why, have you?”

  Hugh laughed. “I don’t grovel in the dirt, Nicky. I’ve learned it does little good. Discussion usually works much better and is much easier on yer clothes. Mary will have yer head. She walked out earlier bearing yer tunic like it was a live snake.”

  Nicholas glanced down and then shrugged. “So I’ll go without,” he suggested, remembering Mary’s attention to his chest. “I don’t think she’d mind.”

  Hugh snorted. “I would, I’ve see how the ladies stare at ye. You and Rory will be at each other’s throats again.”

  Rory chuckled in amusement. “He ain’t got half what I do.”

  Bastian choked off a laugh and slid down the fence to sit on the ground. “Damn, Nicky, we must keep the Drummond here in Varrich. Between the two of you, we’ll be entertained all winter.”

  Nicholas smiled at Sebastian. “I would think sleeping in the shed would get old.”

  Bastian drew a length of straw from his hair and then eyed Rory with a measured gaze. “Aye, true enough. Till winter then,” he said, “at least until after the new year. Sutherland raiders get busy at harvest. We could use a good man then.”

  Rory perked up at the invitation. “Reivers?”

  “Thieving rats,” Hugh agreed. “We repay the favor amiably enough.”

  Rory dropped a hand to Nicholas’s shoulder. “If Fiona agrees, we’ll stay.”

  His words sent the other men to laughing once again.

  ***

  Mary slapped the wet breeches over the line, grumbling under her breath. Nicholas had dropped them in her lap and then strode off without another word. Startled, she simply stared after the man, and then again at the mud caking his trousers. Hadn’t she just given him clean clothes after Ann had suggested it might be wiser than having the Highlander stalk back in dripping water and more than likely, naked as the day he was born? Nicholas, Ann had declared dryly, had little modesty in such matters. Mary, eyes wide at the very image, had rushed back to their room to gather his clothes and then once near the pond, had collapsed on the bench when Nicholas rose out of the water like some god of the sea.

  She’d seen him without clothes the night of their wedding. She’d done her duty at Drymen numerous times in aiding visitors with their baths, although generally she had let the servants actually attend them. She had seen her brother in all his glory much to her dismay. But seeing Nicholas stride out of the water, unaware of her presence had set her blood to boiling, her breath nonexistent as she watched him.

  Mary shook off the memory, hissing irritably. The man knew how much he affected her, damn him. Fiona had not helped with her opinion that Mary had grown to love the Highlander. Love? Hardly, she scoffed. She reached for another shirt, wringing out the wet cloth. She’d offered to do the wash after Nicholas had left, if only to find a release for her growing temper.

  Was this what he would be like? Drinking? Treating her like a servant?

  Mary kicked at a bucket.

  “Ah Mary, you seem to be in a bit of a temper.”

  She turned to find Nicholas leaning against the side of the keep, hidden partially by the sheets flapping in the breeze. She threw the wet laundry at his chest. “Wear that, ye bloody devil.”

  She gasped when he caught her around the waist, dragging her back against the cool stone of the wall.

  “I’ve come to apologize,” Nicholas whispered.

  Putting up her hands kept him from getting closer, but also meant she had to touch him. Mary shivered at the contact, breathless when he bent his head close to hers.

  “Tell me you are not angry at me.”

  She closed her eyes but found that worse as visions of him in the pond came immediately to mind. Her eyes flew open to find his lips only inches from hers. Green eyes challenged her to flee.

  “What are ye doing, Nicholas?”

  He smiled faintly. “I think you have asked me that before.”

  “I’ve things to do,” Mary said and pushed vainly at his chest.

  “Aye, so have I.”

  She gasped as she felt his fingers on her thigh, drawing the length of her dress higher. “Ye can’t do that here,” she cried, slapping at his hand.

  “No one can see us,” he murmured against her neck. His lips slid down to nip gently at her shoulder.

  Mary shuddered as his fingers met with skin. “Nicholas, ye can’t.”

  He placed a hand to the stone beside her head. “No?”

  She swallowed. Desire darkened his eyes; his hair lay damp around his shoulders. “No,” she whispered.

  He caught her hand and drew it along his chest and then lower. “You can be wicked, Mary, why not now?”

  She moaned at the hardness beneath her hand. “Someone will come upon us.”

  His lips brushed hers. “And?”

  She squeaked when his fingers brushed inside her thigh. “Nicholas!” she whispered desperately.

  He pushed her against the wall, his body pressed firmly against hers, hidden in the shadow of the keep. She lost all sense of time after that, could only focus on his mouth, the quick pressure of his hands on her breasts. He was consummate, knowing just where to touch, to stroke, igniting a burning need that demanded to be answered.

  The sheets shivered in the breeze, the sound of the keep a muted backdrop to her breathless gasps, his whispered declarations of just what he intended to do to her. She could not resist him, shuddered as he drew her skirts out of the way, and moaned when skin met skin. Nicholas lifted her against him, unconcerned at being caught in such an act, his lips pressed into the hollow of her throat. Mary gasped when he joined with her, his body pressing hers against the stone, hands gripping her hips. Delirious with sensation, overcome by the power he held over her, the desire only he could ignite, she forgot her worry, forgot everything but what this man could make her feel.

  She gripped his shoulders, her cries muffled by his lips until finally the sweeping wave rolling over her faded so she could breathe, her awareness of where they were settled on her like a lead blanket.

  “Nicholas, you devil!” She shoved him back, hurriedly adjusting her dress, trembling in the aftermath of their lovemaking. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  Nicholas grinned and pulled her back against him to kiss her once more. His lips held a promise of more, but then he let her go. Adjusting his own clothes, he pulled another shirt from the line, his gaze highly amused. “I plan to do it as often as I can.”

  ***

  Nicholas walked into the keep a few moments later to find the main hall empty but for Branwen. He frowned and started past her when she turned from her seat at the table, dark eyes flashing challenge. “So you mate like dogs in plain sight.”

  He stopped to look at her. “Spying, Branwen?”

  She shrugged. “Anyone could have seen you,” she said.

  “Where is Mary?”

  Branwen’s smile chilled him. “She fled upstairs. To your room, I presume.”

  Nicholas stalked toward Branwen. She leaped up from the table and then backed up until she stood against the wall. He placed his hand against her chest. “What did say to her?”

  Branwen tried to look smug. “Merely the same.”

  He shifted his hand to her neck, forcing her to stare up at him. “Speak to her in any way that upsets her again, Branwen Mackay, and I’ll break your neck.
”

  “Such a man you are, Nicholas. Will you kill me, Highlander? You’ve wanted it long enough.” She laughed at him when he dropped his hand. “You wanted me, Nicholas Mackay. Have you forgotten how willing you were to purchase my favors had I agreed to it? Don’t you wonder what might have happened? Or is that pasty lowlander the only thing you can handle?”

  Nicholas stepped back in disgust. “You are nothing but a thief and worse. Remember what I said.” He turned on his heel and strode toward the stairs taking them two at a time. He could feel Branwen watching him from where he’d left her, the hair standing on the back of his neck. When he reached his room, he found the door barred from inside.

  “Open the door, Mary.”

  At the silence, he pounded on the door. “Open the bloody door, Mary!”

  “Go away.”

  Nicholas kicked the door open. A bench skidded out of the way and he shoved it aside to slam the door shut. Mary sat curled up near the fire, dry-eyed but pale.

  “Ah, lass.” He knelt in front of her.

  “She laughed, Nicholas. She said everyone saw us. They would know what kind of woman I am to do such a thing with you out there in broad daylight.” Mary stared at him, her eyes wide. He touched her cheek where a tear slid across her skin. He slid his hand behind her neck to pull her closer.

  “We are wed, Mary, and should I take you on the kitchen table, none would speak ill of it. They will fear my wrath if they do. I warned you about Branwen. She only seeks to hurt with her words.”

  Mary turned away, but Nicholas forced her to look at him. “None saw us, but for Branwen perhaps and even then I doubt she saw much. I made sure that we would be hidden from view. I even had Sebastian standing guard near the garden to assure it. Branwen must have been near before we began.”

  Mary lowered her eyes. He leaned in, enclosing her within his arms in the seat. “Tell me you do not want me and I will trouble yo no further.”

  “I . . . it is yer right,” she whispered.

  “And I would forgo it should you wish it. Although I do not want to do so,” he admitted. Nicholas smiled ruefully. “You are like fine wine, Mary Mackay. One taste and I must have it again and again.”