TemptationinTartan

by Suz deMello

  Kieran took off his hat. He ran his fingers through his long, dark hair, settling it about his shoulders.

  Edgar ran his fingers through his light blond hair, settling it anew atop his head.

  Lydia smiled. Kier’s eyes flashed down to Edgar, then to hers. He grinned and winked at her as he replaced the hat, giving it a rakish tilt.

  * * * * *

  Cabers were tossed, ale was drunk and much food was consumed. Various objects were thrown—sheaves were tossed over a rail, hammers and stones of various sizes were heaved various distances, a pastime that Lydia thought a bit odd. She nevertheless applauded politely when Duncan won the hammer throw.

  Fenella, Lydia and the other women dressed the last sheaf of barley in a rough gown and set it on the flat stone in the center of the circle. Then they arranged food all around it—the last berries, a few bannocks, some sausages.

  “No doubt you think this custom a bit mad,” Fenella said.

  “I’ve seen it before.” Lydia arranged a bunch of lavender at the offering’s feet. “In England she’s called the mare, and some keep her until the next spring.”

  “Here she’s called the maiden, and we burn her.”

  “Burn her?”

  “Aye. ’Tis said in the olden days, a maiden was sacrificed here to assure a good harvest.” Fenella pointed at the stone beneath. Sure enough, dark stains marred the silvery rock.

  “Ugh!” Lydia dropped the flowers.

  Fenella laughed. “Dinnae worry, milady. ’Twas long, long ago, before there were Kilborns here.”

  Night fell and bonfires were lit. In the meadow, people formed a clearing for the pipers and dancers. Lydia, who had been resting on one of the quilts, roused from her stupor to watch the dancing.

  Despite the ale he’d drunk, Kier capered and jumped in the spaces created by two crossed swords, their blades exposed. The firelight gleamed off his black hair and reflected off his glittering eyes, as though flames flickered in their depths. The pipes skirled faster and faster. His feet flew faster and faster until they tangled and he collapsed in a heap, laughing.

  He rose, brushed off dust and came to her, throwing himself down at her side. His chest rose and fell as he caught his breath.

  She brushed his hair away from his sweaty forehead. “Are you hurt?”

  “Nay, I struck only the flats of the blades. I’m not so witless as to risk an injury merely to play the fool.”

  “It looked fun.”

  “I’ll teach ye our dances this winter.”

  “I was dreading the winter,” she said. “I thought there would be naught to do.”

  “Och, there’s plenty to do. Aye, there’s cold and rain, even ice and snow at times, but work continues. ’Tis merely different work.”

  The moon lifted over the horizon to the east. “Come with me.” Standing, he offered her a hand.

  She followed, wondering if he wanted to join with her. She didn’t know how she felt about that given the presence of so many of their people. But he led her into the center of the circle, to the stone upon which the barley sheaf maiden stood surrounded by the clan’s offerings. Taking Lydia’s shoulders, Kier turned her toward the burgeoning moon.

  “Ohhh…” The moon rose directly over the tallest of the standing stones, glimmering silver in the magical light.

  Kier took a brand from one of the fires and the clan crowded ’round about. He held it high, then touched it to the maiden, who burst into crackling flames. The fire set an answering glow in his eyes.

  For a moment Lydia’s soul went cold while the clan cheered and danced.

  * * * * *

  The Kilborn feast was observed from a nearby hill. Late in the afternoon, Hamish Gwynn had received the news of activity by Clan Kilborn at the standing stones. Accompanied by his priest and the few MacReiver men who had survived, he’d rushed to hide behind gorse and rocks.

  Feeling a little foolish, as well as more than a little jealous, Hamish and his cohorts had watched while the Kilborns gamed and feasted. But he did not overlook other possibilities, and had dispatched a few of his warriors to reconnoiter Kilborn Castle and the MacReiver stronghold. Upon their return, they’d reported that not every Kilborn participated in the ceilidh. The Kilborn fortresses remained guarded, the Kilborn lands patrolled.

  The moon rose. Even from a distance, Hamish could see red flames dancing in Kieran Kilborn’s unearthly eyes as he burned the ritual sacrifice.

  Hamish’s ballocks retracted until it seemed that they’d risen into his throat. “P-pagans,” he muttered.

  “Ungodly,” his priest said.

  Jesus would stand with him, with all of them in this holy and just battle. And he was the Gwynn, laird of a valiant clan. He firmed his resolve and buried his terror. “They must be cast out.”

  “Nay. Destroyed. And soon. There is need for haste.”

  Hamish looked at the priest.

  “Today, dark and light are balanced, but with each day, darkness increases and with it, the vampire’s power grows. Then Samhain will come and the boundary between goodness and light and the monster’s world of evil spirits will disappear. Kieran Kilborn’s strength will be at its height. We must attack before Samhain, and the sooner the better.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ’Twas a beautiful autumn morning, all vivid sky and bright sunlight, possibly one of the last clear days that the Highlands would see before the onset of winter. At dawn, Hamish Gwynn judged that ’twould be a perfect day to attack Kilborn Castle. They’d be aided by the flat, calm sea, and that midnight-loving fiend, Kieran Kilborn, wouldn’t dare to show his face.

  He believed that God would stand with them, but a good bit of planning wouldnae hurt the Lord’s cause.

  The Gwynns were not a seafaring clan, but maintained a small fleet of fishing boats as did the Kilborns. His spies’ observations had told him that there was a small cove at the base of Kilborn Castle, possibly the only place that the near-impregnable castle could be penetrated. There, the ancient, broken-down keep could be breached, giving access to the interior and then the castle courtyard.

  He had already prepared for the attack by beaching the boats and ensuring their seaworthiness by patching sails and repairing leaky hulls. Then he’d assigned each boat two sailors to pilot it, a soldier armed with a pistol and as many others as could be held on board without the craft sinking. The fleet set forth when the tide permitted, with orders to attack when the sun hit its zenith.

  More firearms couldnae be acquired due to the fierce oppression of the Highlanders by the Lobsterbacks. All weapons had been proscribed, but many had been retained despite the law, and more forged as required. Swords and claymores had been taken out of hiding, sharpened, polished and distributed to his small army.

  He had sent secret messages as widely as he could in order to hire mercenaries without gathering unwanted notice. Or so he hoped. He was aware of Lady Lydia’s Sassenach ancestry and good connections with the Redcoats.

  He hadn’t been able to garner the assistance of the famed Gallowglass warriors, he thought with regret as he reviewed his troops the morning of the attack. The MacLeods, influential among that outland mercenary group, were related by marriage to Clan Kilborn.

  Hamish had quartered the troops in a meadow to the east, away from Straithness, after tavern brawls between the MacLaynes and everyone else, for they were enemies of just about every other clan roundabout. The constant fighting had strained his temper and that of the local watch. The soldiers had lived in makeshift tents for a week or two, and providing provender for them had become troublesome. All the more reason to attack immediately.

  Preceded by messengers to warn the soldiers of battle, he rode east to meet them. He’d lead his host into Kilborn lands not by the easily observed lane along the sea cliffs, but by a less used trail through the inland hills that divided the clans. In this way he hoped to reach Kilborn Castle unobserved at noon, and attack when the clan was at ease during the middle of the day. />
  When the forces arrived by boat and entered the castle, they’d open its gates. The two Gwynn contingents would join together, overwhelming the Kilborns.

  * * * * *

  The bright morning sun of a perfect autumn day shone brightly through the arrow slits, jolting Kieran awake. He flung away the bedclothes, letting the cool air race across his skin. He stretched, his cock alive to greet the morning as usual. He turned and allowed it to nudge his wife’s luscious arse.

  Lydia twitched, grumbled and muttered. One soft hand waved in the air, swatting at naught. He grinned, grabbed the hand and sucked on her longest finger.

  It still retained the flavor of last night’s loving, the rose-scented lotion she’d used to caress him to completion. He felt he owed her something.

  He slid down the bed and rolled her from her side onto her back, nudging her lush thighs open.

  He examined her quim. Her brillean was reddened and pouting from its home within moist pink folds. Using his thumbs, he spread her apart. Her slit was a humid portal leading to heaven on earth, exuding the sweet aroma of summer fruit. Was it his imagination, or had his wife’s body become more ripe and welcoming in the months of their marriage?

  Looking up her body, he saw her breasts, bounteous cloudlike orbs, rise and fall with her breaths. Had they grown bigger?

  He bent his head to swipe his tongue from her hole to her bump. She gasped and her breaths quickened.

  He licked her again, enjoying her honey. She opened her legs wider, shivered and blinked.

  “Madainn mhath, kylyrra.”

  She laughed. “Yes, it is already a very good morning!”

  “And about to become even better.”

  Stretching, she grabbed the headboard behind her, arching her back and digging her heels into the bedclothes. Those lovely clouds ascended, quivering, then dropped as Lydia let her body relax. She sighed—with pleasure, he hoped—and wiggled her hips in apparent invitation.

  He took that invitation, first kissing her pearl with closed lips, then sucking in the tasty little nubbin. He licked it whilst it was in his mouth and was rewarded with a most happy sigh.

  He rose onto his knees and leaned over his wife. She smiled up at him as he took his rod in hand and pressed it to her opening.

  Heat, tightness, paradise. He allowed his cockhead to rest in her beloved entrance for a moment while he watched her eyes droop, the crescent of dark lashes fluttering closed. Her hips lifted, demanding that he give her more, and he complied with one long, deep thrust, holding her pelvis for support.

  Pleasure stacked upon pleasure drew him closer to her. He leaned over her, slipping his arms beneath her shoulders, clasping her tight. Her pillowy breasts pressed against his chest and her legs wrapped around him. She rested her heels upon the small of his back, pushing them down while she lifted, taking him in even more fully.

  She squeezed him every way possible, the minx, tightening her legs around his waist, her arms around his torso and her cunny around his cock. She thrust an insistent tongue into his mouth and sucked.

  His groan mingled with hers. “Och, kylyrra…”

  No matter how often or how long they swived, it was always good, even the simplest of acts, face-to-face, him on top. How could it be any other way? Watching his Lydia tremble, hearing her moans, feeling her copious juices bathe his staff while her luscious quim clenched around him…

  How had he become so lucky?

  The urgency of his need, and hers, flushed all remaining thoughts from his head. He surged and receded, feeling at one with the high tide’s waves crashing against the shoreline outside.

  Her tunnel tightened and eased in time with his thrusts, his Lydia matching him pump for pump, grasping him when he went deep, relaxing to allow him to withdraw in preparation for the next plunge into her welcoming heat.

  She opened her lids and gazed at him with merry, dark eyes while her hand curled around his balls, bouncing them in her palm. She gave them a gentle squeeze and a renewed wave of arousal snapped through him. He slammed into her one last time and came with a shout, gripping her hips tight, pushing into her depths and staying there as best he could, swinging his body from side to side so he pressed on her clit. Her moan of completion answered his release.

  After washing and dressing, they headed into the Great Hall, his hand on the small of her back, her arm twined around his waist.

  ’Twas a clear, sunny autumn day, and Kieran judged that the bright morn was perfect for a ride out to MacReiver Castle to see how Dugald was getting on. At breakfast, he said, “Ho, young Edgar, would you like a break from lessons?”

  Edgar looked back and forth, first at Kier, who fancied he saw a gleam enter the lad’s eyes. But Edgar hesitated, turning his glance toward Lydia, whose knife had stopped midway through slicing sausage. “Milaird.”

  “Yes, my wife?” He tried to affect a stern tone, but couldn’t help smiling at her.

  “Don’t you think you should ask me first? Mayhap I have something special planned for Edgar’s lessons this morn.” She winked at the boy, who blushed.

  Odd how the lad had begun to redden in the presence of females. Kier, still smiling, addressed his wife. “Well, do ye?”

  “Er, no, not really. But every day is special, is it not?”

  “Aye, it is. ’Tis a good day for a ride to Edgar’s lands. ’Tis important for him to inspect his property.”

  “True.” She toyed with a slice of sausage.

  “Would ye wish to come with us, kylyrra? ’Tis a fine day for a ride.”

  “Um.” She pressed her lovely lips together. “You tempt me, milaird, but I have duties. Fenella has asked me to visit young Rose.”

  “Och, aye. She is near her time, is she no’?”

  “Yes, and needs extra help. Bring Dirk back if you can.”

  “Aye.” He cocked his head at Edgar. “So it’s you and me, milaird, off to visit your people.”

  Grinning, Edgar left at a sprint. He grabbed another sausage while stuffing the rest of his bannock into his mouth.

  * * * * *

  Seamas MacReiver had been drained more than once almost to the point of death, but this was one of those days that he almost felt…well, good would have been an exaggeration. P’raps better than most days. The hell-spawned fiend had given him a little food last eve and had fed not on Seamas but on Moira. It showed a clear preference for her, which was all to the good.

  He did not know what to think about his wife. He preferred not to think about her, or even to look at her. She had actually enjoyed the monster’s touch, which made her something of a monster herself, as far as Seamas was concerned.

  He’d been working on loosening the bolt that secured the manacle on his right wrist to the rough stone wall. He’d noticed early in his imprisonment that it was loose, and had been jerking it from side to side, as well as forward and back, in a desperate effort to tug it out of the wall. If he could get just one hand free…

  * * * * *

  Kier, Edgar and their escort found the journey swift, with their horses making good time over what was now an oft-traveled, well-trodden lane. Even small Scout ably maneuvered the forest track and vales between the lands of Clan MacReiver and that of the Kilborns.

  As they approached newly tilled fields, Kier surveyed them with satisfaction. “Excellent.”

  “What is, milaird?” Edgar asked.

  Kieran pointed upward, where the sun was p’raps an hour or two off its height. “We can inspect your castle, speak with a few of your people, have a bit of lunch and be off in time to do a spot of hunting on the way back. We’ll be home before nightfall and can sup in the Great Hall with milady.”

  Edgar grinned. He had already seen that as far as Laird Kieran was concerned, the sun rose and set on Lady Lydia, but he didn’t say anything about that. “Much better than lessons.”

  “And here I thought ye enjoyed your lessons. Milady speaks highly of ye.”

  He tried not to blush, but it was more th
an possible that he himself felt the same way about Lydia as did milaird. She was easy to love. “The lessons are fine. But this is fine also.”

  He enjoyed the time he spent with Kieran, who had put dirk and sgian dhu into his hand and taught him how to use them. Together, they’d worked at night on the MacReiver accounts, with Kieran teaching Edgar how to budget and plan. They’d totted up what the Kilborns spent and what they received back in the way of payment. Little enough at this time, but Kier said that it would not always be so.

  And today Edgar would be able to see the progress of his clan. He sat straighter in the saddle as they wound between new fencing that enclosed the livestock, making their way toward the castle gate.

  “’Tis the little laird!” a feminine cry rose from near the well.

  Edgar reined in Scout and slid down the pony’s side to the ground. “Jean, ciamar a tha sibh?” He noticed that the well had been repaired and its stone rim raised.

  She grasped his hand and bowed her head. She wore a plain gray dress, nothing fancy, but not rags, and her feet were clean and shod. Behind him, the half a dozen men who’d accompanied them led the pack animals, loaded with additional supplies, to the castle for unloading.

  Kieran was still astride his big buckskin. “Hoy!” he shouted.

  Heads turned. He pointed upward. “When the sun is at its height, be at the castle gate, ready to go on our way.” He swung down off his horse’s back and walked with Edgar to the castle.

  A billowing cloud of excitement swelled inside Edgar’s chest. “Look!”

  The castle’s upper battlements were under repair, with several brawny men maneuvering blocks of stone into position. He could see a bareheaded figure in black, with hair the same midnight color, waving his hands and shouting, though they were too far away to hear.

  “Dugald,” Kier said. “Uncommonly excited, he is.”

  He stuck two fingers in his mouth and emitted an ear-splitting whistle. Dugald turned and, apparently seeing them, waved before disappearing from sight.

  “Bloody hell,” Edgar breathed. “Will you teach me how to do that?”