by Lily Harlem
He’d definitely spank me then. Perhaps worse, perhaps brand me a witch to all and sundry.
But it was worth the risk.
He was worth the risk.
* * *
Early the next morning Isla was sent by Mrs. Humphrey to collect spring greens from the vegetable garden. A low mist hovered and the cats followed her around. She picked the best leaves, as instructed, and placed them in the wicker basket she held over her arm.
She was glad to get out of the kitchen. It was a state of chaos. The laird’s nephew had announced he was going to marry Lady Moira Campbell, the pretty woman he’d brought to Fifths Castle with him, and the ceremony was to be the very next day. Creating a wedding feast in such a short time had made everyone’s tempers short.
When she’d collected the greens, she added several basil leaves to her apron pocket, then detoured to the main garden and collected small pink rose petals. She needed clove too, and apple seeds, but she’d have to sneak them from the kitchen shelf when no one was looking.
With the cats still at her heels she wandered back in the direction of the kitchen. “I haven’t got any more cream,” she said to the scrawny black creatures. “Go find some mice in the stables.”
“Who ye talking to?” Mrs. Humphrey appeared in the doorway holding a large tray piled high with potato scones.
“Just the cats.”
“Damn cats were in my pantry again yesterday,” she said, scowling at them. “As if I haven’t got enough to be doing without chasing their scrawny behinds.”
The cats slunk closer to Isla, their tails winding through the pleats of her long skirt. “I’m sure they didn’t do no harm.”
“Harm just by being there.” She held the tray forward. “Set down that basket and take these to the farrier’s anvil. He’s working on McTavish’s horse and it seems McTavish doesn’t trust him to do it right and won’t step away. The laird doesn’t want him to be without sustenance, he has a long trip ahead and needs to build his strength.” She tutted. “As if I have time to be making potato scones.”
“He has a trip? Where?” Her heart flipped then sagged. Where was he going? She’d only just found him and now he was leaving?
“Off to Edinburgh, not rightly sure when but soon.”
“Today?”
“I don’t ken that, lass, now come on, go share these out while they’re still warm. I can’t do it, I have a wedding feast to prepare though I fear it will be the death of me when I’m still exhausted from last night’s banquet.”
Isla set down the basket and took the tray.
Thanks be to the fairies it’s a full moon tonight. If McTavish is leaving, the sooner the spell is done the better.
She wound her way through the castle and out into the courtyard. There was an extra buzz of activity. The upcoming wedding had created a sense of urgency and excitement amongst the entire staff.
On the opposite side of the courtyard the farrier was hammering a shoe at his anvil. At his side a small kiln glowed red.
McTavish was holding his horse—a huge bay creature with a dazzling long wavy mane and thick tail. It was nuzzling McTavish’s open palm in a lazy, caressing gesture.
McTavish was talking to two of his men, but as Isla approached his conversation appeared to run dry. For a moment his mouth was a flat line as he studied her, then it curled into a smile.
“What have ye got there?” he asked when she drew close.
Isla’s first instinct was to look away from his eyes again, as her aunt had told her many years ago. But she forced herself not to and held his gaze steady. “Scones from the kitchen, fresh out of the oven.”
“They look good.” McTavish’s grin widened and his gaze dropped, but not to the scones, to the small patch of exposed flesh above her breasts.
A small shiver went through her. It was perfectly pleasant and made her skin goose bump. Unlike when other men looked her, his attention was a caress and she longed for more.
And I will have more… I will make sure of it.
“You should try one.” She held the tray forward.
McTavish took one as did the men standing at his side.
“Mmm, good,” he said as he chewed. “You make these?”
“No, I don’t do the baking for guests. Mrs. Humphrey does that.”
“You can’t bake?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Aye, just fine, but she likes to take all the credit. When there’s no one here to impress, that’s when I have to roll up my sleeves.”
He laughed softly, that lovely sound that had surprised her the night before—so gentle and melodious coming from such a huge man. “Well, in that case, these are good, Isla, but I’d like to taste yours sometime.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged.” She offered the farrier a scone, threw McTavish a grin that said she was offering him more than a taste of her baking, then headed back to the kitchen.
“You wanna watch that wench,” one of McTavish’s friends said loudly. “She’s the one who got Broc into a whole load of trouble the eve just gone, remember.”
“Aye, of course I remember,” McTavish replied. “And the trouble was of his own doing.”
“I won’t disagree, but she’s got the look of a temptress and Broc fell for it.”
“Mmm, maybe,” McTavish said.
“And old eyes,” the other added, “looks like she’s got more wisdom than a lass should have.”
“Perhaps that’s what’s so tempting.” McTavish’s voice deepened. “And I don’t ken if I’ll try to resist.”
Isla glanced over her shoulder and looked right at McTavish.
He was staring back at her with his eyebrows pulled low and a determined set to his jawline.
You’ll have no choice after tonight’s potion is made and I’ve cast the love spell.
She smiled, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and made her way back into the castle.
After depositing the tray and the wicker basket in the kitchen, Isla set about helping Una clean the guest chambers. Una soon gave Isla the task of McTavish’s room as there was a tin bath that needed emptying and Una hated that job.
But Isla was glad of it. She needed something of McTavish’s to use in her spell. Quickly she made the bed, smoothing out the covers and straightening the curtains on the four-poster. She emptied the bath and wiped it dry, then damp-dusted the mantel. It was then she found it. A clean white handkerchief, neatly folded, and with the letters TT embroidered in blue.
It was exactly what she needed. Something personal, an item that travelled with him yet wouldn’t be missed, at least not for one night.
Quickly, she slipped it into her pocket along with the other things she’d collected from the garden and the kitchen.
“Isla, you finished in there yet?” Una stuck her head into the chamber.
Heart thumping, Isla spun to her.
Had she been spotted pocketing the handkerchief?
“Stop dawdling, lass, we need to collect flowers for the bride’s bouquet, and Mrs. Humphrey is yelling for help in the kitchen. Apparently Diane has gone wandering.”
“Wandering?”
“Aye, with the new Lady.”
“Really.”
“It’s nay of your concern.”
“Okay, but I’ve finished now anyhow.” Isla rushed to the door, pausing at a wash table on the way. A bar of soap sat in a small dish along with a washcloth and towel. The patterned china bowl contained cold used water, so she picked it up and left the room.
The rest of the day went by in a whirlwind. It seemed neither Una nor Mrs Humphrey understood there was just one of her. She had so many instructions barked at her, her head spun and she barely knew what task to complete first.
She didn’t see McTavish again and barely even had time to think of him and the momentous deed she had to perform under the full moon.
Though as the evening air cooled around her and candles were lit within the castle, she kept touching the handkerchief in her pocket.
Soon it would be time. Soon she would make him hers… forever.
* * *
It was past midnight before Isla could safely slip from her room and into the kitchen garden. The cats coiled around her ankles as she sneaked silently, in the shadows of the high stonewall, toward the gate.
She wore a cloak over her white nightgown, and carried a small basket containing candles, the handkerchief, and everything else she needed for her love spell.
For a moment she paused, using her sixth sense to feel any eyes upon her. Frowning, she hesitated. It did feel a little like she was being watched, but not a full-on sensation—tingling in her neck, buzzing in her ears—just a tiny sense of it.
“You’re being foolish.” She shook her head and looked at the high side of the castle, which had but one tiny window at the very top. “No one is here, only you.”
She slipped from the garden and into the meadow. It sloped down to a small stream, then rose again to dense forest. She hoped the stream would be easy to pass and the stepping stones above water.
Lifting her skirts and leaving the cats behind, she broke into a run. The moonlight showed her the way, and as she left Fifths Castle behind, her excitement grew.
The stream was easy to cross, and Isla skipped over the stones. Once on the other side of the bank, she paused and freed her hair from its plait. Ruffling her hands through her long dark locks, she looked up at the moon and allowed it to bathe her face in its ethereal power. Soon she would have everything she’d ever dreamed of.
A sudden peal of laughter caught in her throat and she let it out. Her earlier exhaustion had disappeared like a puddle on a hot summer’s day. In its place was anticipation… and love.
“I’m a woman in love,” she called to the moon. “With the greatest Scotsman in the land.” Another bubble of laughter caught her, then she again gathered her skirts and ran.
Within minutes she was under the cover of the forest, but she didn’t slow. There was a clearing that would allow the moon’s light through, about five minutes to the east.
Just before she reached it, she paused, leaning against a trunk to catch her breath.
There was a movement to her right. Quickly she turned, peering into the darkness. But she could see nothing. She breathed deep, sifting through the scents of the forest. It was all familiar—moss, leaves, damp earth, Mother Nature’s animals.
“Sorry to disturb ye,” she said to the darkness. Her rushing through the trees had likely put paid to the rest of a deer or other small animal. “I’ll be on my way.”
She carried on, moving quickly until she came to the clearing.
Once there she paused and looked around. It was a place she’d come to many times, but never to perform a love spell, though it was something she’d dreamed of doing.
The grass was lush and sparkled with the wet diamonds of the night. A gnarly log lay north to south, stretching like a long limb. Above, the perfect orb of the moon hung in the velvety night sky.
She brought her breathing back under control and then set out the ingredients for her love potion on the log. After lighting four candles and setting them alongside, she removed her cloak and laid it on the ground.
The night air penetrated the thin cotton of her nightgown, but she didn’t mind. The cool on her skin made her feel alive. It woke her flesh the way she wanted a lover to wake it.
“And soon he will.” She longed for him—to feel his body next to hers, inside hers. Their hearts would beat in time. Their breaths would flow together until death returned them to the earth.
After mixing the rose petals, apple seeds, and clove with spring water, she carefully unfolded McTavish’s handkerchief. She held it to her nose, catching just a hint of his masculine smell.
“Mother Nature and fairies, join my ritual tonight.” She began to soak the handkerchief with the love potion. “Bless our union and bless our rite. Help Trevor McTavish open his eyes to the love he feels for me. Bring us together forever.”
She tossed the empty bottle of potion aside and held up the dripping piece of cotton. She spun around, looking at the moon’s light through the thin material.
“By the light of this full moon, bring the bond I desire and marriage very soon.”
She laughed and spun faster. An image of McTavish’s face filled her mind. It was as if it was imprinted on the moon above, smiling down at her, his eyes seeing only her… forever.
She twirled and twirled staring at his face. Her feet crossed and bumped and she found herself falling onto the soft grass. Her mind knew only him and her body ached for his.
Her nightgown had rucked up and she slipped her fingers between her legs, seeking out the place that gave her pleasure. This was the last part of the ritual.
Parting her legs to allow the air to wash over her cunny, she began to stroke herself, slowly at first then getting faster. Soon she was frantically rubbing her clit, writhing on the grass and gasping.
She would have this man as her husband and lover. She would own him as much as he would own her.
Pressure built until she could hold it in no more, and she came hard and fast with the damp earth against her buttocks and back. The scent of her arousal swirled with the scent of the love potion. And all she could think of was him… only him.
Chapter Four
McTavish peered through the ancient tree trunks at the night-time vision before him.
The woman who’d stolen his thoughts since the moment he’d met her was lying on the grass writhing in ecstasy as she touched herself. He had to pinch his arm to believe what he was seeing. She was so beautiful and so completely uninhibited.
She fascinated him, this sexy nymph of the forest. With her luscious long dark hair, keen eyes, and fast mind he wanted to ken more. Much more.
He pressed his lips together and adjusted his stance. His cock was hard and pushing against his sporran. More than anything he wanted to go to her, slip between her legs, bury deep and allow her wet warmth to wrap around his shaft.
But something held him back. This was a very private moment. He knew that. And she’d been dancing beforehand, swirling as if feverish and chanting at a white handkerchief.
McTavish had enough experience with healers, with women who understood nature, the fairies and the power of the woods to ken she’d been performing a spell.
But what spell?
He wasn’t in the least bit concerned, more curious. His mother had performed spells throughout his entire childhood, for simple things like sun on her vegetables, or to make a sick cat better. He’d never known her to do harm, only good, and he sensed the same went for Isla. Though her spell was nothing like his mother’s, no, this was full of passion and want, need and lust.
It’s a love spell.
He balled his fists. She was in love with someone and wanted him to love her back. Who could it be?
Is it me?
“Ohhh. McTavish. By the power of the night, hold me tight. McTavish.”
Dear Lord above, it is me!
He jerked forward, crunching on the leaves. He had to go to her, tell her he would hold her tight. He would claim her, love her, make her his in every sense of the word. Dear Lord, he’d have her screaming his name every damn night for the rest of her life if that was what she wanted.
She stilled when noise he’d created reached her.
Her eyes widened and she drew up her legs, hiding her cunny.
The atmosphere changed instantly. The wanton abandon evaporated and in its place fear spun around.
“Who’s there?” She stood, grabbing the handkerchief she’d been previously clutching. “Show yourself.”
There was dread in her voice. Her slim shoulders were hunched and the outline of her bare breasts just visible through the thin material of her nightgown.
“Who is it?” She spun around, staring into the darkness. Her gown stuck against the damp orbs of her pert buttocks.
McTavish froze and remained as hidden as possible. He was glad the light of the mo
on didn’t reach his hiding place.
“For the love of the black goddess,” she muttered, reaching for a cloak and slinging it around her shoulders.
McTavish watched on as she blew out her candles, gathered her basket then rushed from the clearing. She passed within twelve feet of him, but didn’t pause. Didn’t see him. Instead she carried on running until he could no longer hear the sound her bare feet made on the woodland path.
He blew out a breath then stepped into the clearing. The grass was flattened where she’d squirmed, thrashed, moaned, and pleasured herself. A few pink petals lay by the rotting trunk as though they were the remnants of her climax. His nose filled with the scent of flowers and spice, cloves maybe? And he could smell her too—the sweet, honeyed tones of womanhood.
“You’re a captivating one,” he said, running the sole of his boot over the compressed grass. “But you’d fair captivated me before this spell was ever cast.” He chuckled then again adjusted his sporran. His cock was fully erect and getting uncomfortable beneath his kilt.
Reaching down, he pulled up the material and took the length of his shaft in his hand. He moaned at the sensation of his cool palm around the hot flesh. “Oh, dear Lord.”
There was only one thing for it. If he had any chance of getting back to the castle in comfort he’d have to sort himself out the way Isla just had.
“In the name of the king,” he muttered. When the heck had he last needed to masturbate? It had been years, surely. Yet this vixen had him tied up in knots, and was making him behave like a damn teen again.
He began to stroke himself, clenching his buttocks as he did so. It wouldn’t be long. He was so aroused, so hard. She did that to him, this beautiful lass who was so much more than a mere maid.
What will it be like when we’re together for real? Naked, sweating, pounding against each other.
The image in his head dragged a groan from his throat. He sped up, working his cock harder. There was no preamble. He was on a set course. He needed to come and release some of the pressure in his cock and balls.
