Highland Fling

by Krystal Brookes

  “Umm, no, but there is a nice photograph of the inside of your pocket. I should keep it as a souvenir.”

  “And what do I get as a souvenir?”

  “A kiss.”

  She spun him around and pressed him up against the wall this time, kissing him with raw passion. He responded and soon they were hurtling towards the goal they had just achieved. He took her by the forearms and moved her away from him.

  “We need sleep,” he reiterated. “I have no desire to haul a half-sleeping bridesmaid around the dance floor.”

  She sighed but she knew he was right. She stood on tiptoe, gave him a quick peck on the cheek and hurried back in the direction of the house without turning around or even saying goodnight.

  Chapter 6

  The day of Sarah's wedding dawned sunny and warm, and Fiona sighed with relief. Scottish weather was so unpredictable but her best friend was lucky. She put on her sexy, dark-blue, satin underwear, hoping that, at some point in the day, the best man would have the chance to appreciate them. Then she pulled on a pair of jogging bottoms and a t-shirt and headed down for breakfast.

  She was to meet Sarah in the village at the bride's parents’ house, where they would get their hair and make-up done and dress before leaving for the church in the island's only luxury car—Brodie's father's Bentley.

  “Ah, you look gorgeous, lass,” said her father as she walked into the kitchen. “The perfect bridesmaid’s outfit. You don't want all that fuss of a dress on a day like today.” She knew he was teasing and she stuck her tongue out at him as she walked past to get to the coffee machine.

  “Leave the girl alone, Johnny. Stop teasing her,” scolded Bella, a smile playing on her lips. Fiona sat down opposite her father and grinned at him. It was nice to be healing the wounds that had plagued their relationship since her parents' divorce.

  “It's only because he wants to save on the cost of a wedding dress when it comes to my turn, Bella,” she said. “He's such an old skin-flint.”

  “And is your own wedding on the horizon? I couldn't help noticing you had a visitor last night.”

  “Oh!”

  “I heard voices when I got up to get a drink of water. I knew it must be you and Brodie. And then there was silence for quite a while before I heard the door. Did you and he go for a walk?”

  “Umm, yeah.” She could feel her cheeks getting hot. She was useless at lying and when she looked at the mischievous twinkle in the older woman's eyes, Fiona knew that the housekeeper knew fine what she and Brodie had been doing.

  Bella placed a plate of French toast in front of Fiona and gave her an encouraging tap on the shoulder.

  “Yes, it was a hot night. Probably good for a stroll. You should snap young Brodie up. A good-looking lad like that doesn't stay single in these parts very long. All the girls on the island have their eye on him. If I wasn't saddled with your father, I'd have my eye on him too.” She winked at Fiona and bustled back to the stove.

  ~* * *~

  “I'm going to puke,” said Sarah for about the twentieth time since leaving her parents’ house. Mr McGregor, Sarah's dad, shushed her, told her she was beautiful once more and started to lead her down the aisle.

  Fiona followed a few steps behind, smiling shyly at people she recognised. Over the music of the church organ, Fiona could hear a chorus of oohs and aahs from the women as Sarah, a beautiful vision in a white tulle dress, walked down the aisle. Fiona took Sarah's bouquet from her and watched the ceremony, singing the hymns quietly, bowing her head and pretending to close her eyes during the prayers, and appraising the gorgeous best man during the vows.

  He stood proud and tall next to the groom, the silver diamond-shaped buttons on his Bonnie Prince Charlie black jacket sparkling in the light of the church's stained glass window. The tails of his jacket covered his backside and she allowed her eyes to rake over the pleats of his blue and green MacNeil tartan kilt. His calves looked strong in the off-white Aran socks and his kilt brogues shone so much that she was concerned that some of the other guests would be able to see that he really was a true Scotsman.

  Brodie chose that moment to sneak a glance at her. He grinned cheekily, clearly reading the look of pure desire that she knew must be plastered over her face.

  He winked quickly and was caught off guard as the groom nudged him and whispered, “The rings.”

  Brodie's colour rose slightly as he fumbled in his sporran for the two wedding bands. He pulled them out with a look of triumph, which had many of the congregation chuckling. Though the death glare that the bride threw him would have frightened the bravest of Scottish warriors.

  At the end of the service, Brodie and Fiona walked out into the bright sunshine holding hands. She smiled at the simple but caring gesture.

  “Today is going to be torture,” he said quietly to her.

  “Oh come on. You can't be such a miserable old so-and-so that you don’t want to see your best friend happy. Marriage is a nice thing. It shows commitment.”

  “Oh I have no issues with marriage,” he said before giving her a sweet peck on the lips. “I mean it's going to be torture looking at you in that dress and knowing that Sarah will beat me to a pulp if I rip it when I'm removing it from you.”

  “You sound very sure of yourself.”

  “Will you come back to the Big House tonight and stay with me?”

  “Yes,” she said without hesitation.

  “I'd just like to wake... Yes, you'll come?”

  “You bet—in more ways than one, I hope.”

  “Looks like I had good reason to be sure of myself,” he said glibly, before taking her hand and leading her over to the group around the photographer.

  ~* * *~

  The wedding meal and toasts had taken place in the village hall, which had been beautifully and tastefully decorated in blue, green and white. Everyone had retired to the pub to allow the staff to set up for the evening party. Fiona was standing next to the bar, waiting to be served.

  She smiled as she looked up to Brodie, who was obviously and unabashedly admiring her figure in the snug-fitting, dark-blue gown she wore. She knew her cleavage looked good in this style of gown and the long diamanté necklace drew his gaze to where it ended, just at the top of the cleft between her breasts. He played with an auburn curl which was hanging loosely down her back

  Fiona had refused to have her hair piled high and fixed to her head with a hundred kirby grips. The last time she had been a bridesmaid it had taken ages to take her hair out. Sarah had agreed that the hairdresser would curl it and allow her to wear it down.

  The barman came to take her order, and when he arrived back with a pint of lager for Brodie and a glass of white wine for Fiona, she bent down and retrieved some paper money from her shoe.

  “Why are you keeping your money there?” asked Brodie.

  “I don't have a bag.”

  “Oh. Do you want to keep it in my sporran?”

  “Sure. I'll give you this to keep too.” She fished into the top of her dress and retrieved a lipstick from inside her bra.

  “Good grief, now I'm interested to see where you keep your phone.”

  “It's strapped to my thigh. I adapted one of those armbands that you use to listen to music when jogging. I'll let you retrieve it when we get back to your place. It's still switched off. I didn't want it vibrating in church.”

  “No, that would be terribly unfair if you got a cheap thrill and I was not a part of it.”

  “I see we're on the same wavelength.”

  ~* * *~

  Fiona approached the bar in the village hall. The disco lights flickered, making it difficult to see exactly where anyone was. After a minute, her eyes adjusted and she could now easily recognise Brodie. His chiselled jaw, broad shoulders and white smile were a dead give-away. She approached him in time to hear a skinny blonde engage him in conversation. Fiona recognised her as Angela, a girl who had been a few years below her at school.

  “Hi Brodie,” purred Ang
ela. “You haven't danced with me all evening.”

  “I haven't danced at all, except for the first dance.”

  “Well, we can't have such a good-looking guy being a wallflower. Come on, dance with me.”

  Fiona approached like a lion surveying its prey. She placed one hand gently on his shoulder and the other on his knee then she burrowed her fingers under the front flap of his kilt.

  “Sorry to bother you, Brodie.” Her purr was equal to any that Angela could muster. “I need my lipstick and some money.”

  “Oh yeah, sure,” he said. She could see the relief on his face. She reached a bit farther until she could feel the sporran above the woollen fabric. He gave her an enquiring glance and opened the stud of the flat leather pouch.

  “I guess it must be the best man's duty to carry the bridesmaid's money and lipstick,” remarked Angela.

  Fiona simply smiled sweetly at the other woman. She could feel Brodie’s penis and despite another layer of cloth between her fingers and his flesh, she rubbed gently and bit her lip when she felt him respond to her touch.

  “Are you getting what you need?” he asked, as she slid her other hand into the sporran.

  “Not quite.” She gave his growing erection a little squeeze. “You wouldn't think it would be so hard...” Fiona turned her sweet smile on him and nearly burst out laughing at the look of horror on his face. “To find a lipstick in a sporran,” she finished.

  “Oh, I've just remembered something we have to do. Bridesmaid and best man duty. Angela, I'm sorry. I may see you for a dance later.”

  He spun Fiona around and guided her out the side door of the hall. They rounded the corner and Brodie pushed her gently against the wall. Without preamble, he pressed his lips to hers and pushed his tongue straight into her mouth.

  She groaned as she circled her arms around his neck. Suddenly, he ripped his mouth away and stared down at her, his eyes blazing with passion. But he bit his lip and shook his head.

  “Fee, you can’t tease me like that in front of other people. I want you every time I see you, and when I don’t see you, I’m thinking about exactly what I would like to do to you the next time we’re together. Don’t make it harder... I mean more difficult for me.”

  Fiona chuckled at his double entendre but removed her arms from around his neck.

  “I’m sorry. I was jealous when I saw Angela flirting with you.”

  “Did you see me flirting with her?”

  “No.”

  “Then you have no reason to be jealous.”

  “I know. I’m just staking my claim for the length of this fling.”

  “Believe me, honey, I’m all yours. Now keep your hands off what’s underneath my kilt until we get back to my place tonight and I’ll reward you for being a good girl.”

  She placed her hands on his hips, her thumbs rubbing gently over the thin chain of his sporran, near his hip bones.

  “I promise I’ll be good.”

  He planted a light kiss on her lips, then took her by the hand and led her back into the village hall.

  Chapter 7

  Fiona and Brodie climbed into the back of Laird MacNeil’s Bentley. Fiona was giggling as she wrestled two bouquets of flowers. She was sure that her best friend had thrown the bouquet in her direction deliberately and had been embarrassed when she had been given a round of applause for catching the flowers.

  They fastened their seat belts and the car moved off.

  “Thanks for coming to get us, Drew,” said Brodie to the driver.

  “Not a problem. How was the wedding?”

  “It was like most weddings. Lots of tears, drink, and food.”

  When they arrived at the Big House, Brodie helped Fiona out of the car and held her hand as she tiptoed over the pebbled driveway in her heels. He opened the large front door and ushered her through it.

  The large oak panelled hall was dimly lit by a chandelier hanging over the large sweeping staircase. It had been a long time since she had been at the Laird’s house and had forgotten just how big and imposing the place was. As Brodie led her to the staircase, her heels clacked on the marble floor. She grimaced and tried to tiptoe.

  “Don’t worry, you won’t wake my parents. They are at the far end of the east wing and my suite is at the far end of the west wing. They thought it was prudent when Finlay and I were teenagers and went through our death metal phase.”

  “That’s good to know.” She grinned, beginning to walk normally. He guided her up the stairs with his hand resting gently on the small of her back. They walked down a few dimly lit corridors until Brodie stopped at one of the oak doors.

  He opened the door to reveal a modern, tastefully decorated lounge area with large leather sofas and a number of filled book cases. As he closed the door behind them, she spotted a desk with a laptop and speakers, a large stereo unit and some shelves filled with CDs and a few tapes. She looked round again and saw a large flat screen TV on the opposite wall with a games console underneath.

  “A proper bachelor pad,” she noted out loud.

  “No one has offered to help me make it into a family home yet. Maybe someday.”

  She looked at him quizzically but let the comment go for now.

  “Do you want another drink?”

  “I couldn’t drink another drop of alcohol,” she admitted.

  “I could make some tea, coffee, or hot chocolate.”

  “Hot chocolate would be nice,” she said. Although she’d had sex with Brodie before now and she definitely wanted to do it again, this was the first time they had planned it. She wanted to relax and make love in her own time, rather than just bouncing into bed. Brodie disappeared into a small kitchen off the living area and appeared a few minutes later with a couple of mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of biscuits. He found her still standing, looking around, clasping both bouquets.

  “There’s no charge for using the sofa.” He grinned.

  She shook her head. “Sorry, I think I may be a little drunk.”

  He put down the drinks and plate and guided her down onto the couch, easing the bouquets out of her hands and placing them on the large coffee table.

  “Fee, if you’re too drunk tonight, we can do this another time. We can just sleep or I can arrange for Drew to take you back to your dad’s house.”

  “Oh no! I’m not that drunk. This is what I want. It’s just… well... this is all planned and it feels formal–almost as if we’re in a proper relationship.”

  “And you don’t want this. You’re still in your sleeping around phase.”

  “It’s not that. I still live in Glasgow and you still live here and it’s too far away to maintain a proper relationship.”

  “Then move. Take the vet’s job on the island and come and live here. You now know that your dad didn’t cheat and that he loved you and didn’t threaten to kill your mum.”

  Fiona sighed. She really didn’t want to talk about this. If she was truthful, she really wanted to do as he suggested. Moving home to Kilrigh and being in a relationship with Brodie MacNeil seemed like a perfect plan. After discovering that her mother had lied about the circumstances of her parents’ divorce, she had begun to see Kilrigh more like home again. She had lost the antagonism she had felt towards the place, Bella and her father. And as for her feelings for Brodie – all she knew was that she didn’t want to give him up next week. Glasgow had its charms but she could visit regularly and she probably didn’t go out to clubs nearly as often as she did when she was a student. She preferred a night in the house, sitting in front of the TV with a glass of wine.

  But to agree to his plan, she needed to make a fundamental shift in her psyche and, to an extent, her life plan. And the way Brodie was looking at her, his expression a mixture of hope and desire, could easily sway her decision. She had to do something.

  Fiona knelt down at his feet and began to undo the long laces of his brogues. They were wrapped around his ankles. But after a bit of fiddling they came free and she removed hi
s shoes. She then pulled off the garters that held up his socks. When she pulled his sgian dhu, a small sheathed knife, from his right sock, she pulled it from its holder and ran her finger gently over the shiny metal.

  “It was my grandfather’s,” he said. “The white bit on the handle is ivory.”

  Fiona re-sheathed the knife and placed it safely on the coffee table before removing his socks. She gently rubbed his calves and smoothed the hair back down against his skin. He sighed and smiled at her, stretching his calves and toes on either side of her waist.

  Brodie then shrugged out of his jacket and waistcoat before standing up and tugging her to her feet.

  He covered her mouth with his and she parted her lips and teeth automatically, allowing him to slip his warm wet tongue into her mouth and begin exploring. He tasted of beer–a taste that always seemed to turn her on despite not liking beer herself.

  She snuck her hands around his waist and quickly unfastened the buckle of his sporran. She threw it in the general direction of the sofa before placing her hands round his neck and undoing the back clip of his bow-tie. It landed on the sofa too, as did his big thick kilt belt.

  She broke the kiss and trailed her mouth down his torso, following her hands as she undid his shirt buttons. Brodie clasped her butt cheeks, trying to pull her against him and his hardness, but she resisted.

  As she pushed the shirt off his shoulders, she sucked gently at his nipple before swirling her tongue over the small bud. He gasped when she nipped gently at it. He curled his hands into her long auburn hair, urging her to continue. She changed nipples and he gasped again before groaning her name.

  “Oh Fee, stop. Or I’m going to come before we even get undressed.”

  “Sorry,” she murmured as she trailed her lips back up his chest and neck. She ran her hands ran gently over his six-pack, while he fumbled with the zip of her dress.

  He growled in frustration after a minute or two. Fiona withdrew and presented him with her back, pulling her hair round her shoulders and allowing him to pull the zip down with ease. As the dress dropped to the floor, she twisted around to see Brodie’s mouth agape.