by Alisa Adams
“I dinnae want her out of my sight. I wouldnae risk her, or the boys.” Then Wolf slowly and deliberately leveled his gaze on the younger warrior. “Show us to Laird Sutherland.”
13
Laird Tavish Sutherland studied the huge Highlander sitting at his table. He had heard tales of Laird McKay. Who in Scotland hadn’t? The McKay and his kinsmen formed an entire regiment for the King, so many were they and so skilled in battle. And he was here at his table with his beauty of a wife.
“I congratulate ye on a wife well chosen. Particularly that ye have gotten not just one, but three sons off her, McKay!” The old Laird’s voice boomed throughout the hall. “She is quite the brood mare eh?”
Wolf did not care for that comment.
Tavish was large and portly, his face bright red under a white and balding scalp. His breath rasped in and out, even to talk. His days of youth and battle were long behind him. His belly was protruding over his kilt, and he wore soft leather brogues on feet that were swollen like boats. Even his ankles were painfully bloated, straining his kilt hose to the point where the pattern was no longer discernible over the swollen and distended flesh beneath.
Swan leaned over from where she sat at Wolf’s side. She gave him a nudge and whispered to him, “Ye are supposed to thank him.”
Wolf looked down at Swan in surprise. “Thank him for saying ye are a broodmare?” he growled incredulously back at her.
“Aye,” she said urgently, nudging him again. “Say it!”
“Thank ye, Laird Sutherland. She is indeed quite the...ah...broodmare.” Wolf looked back at Swan with an arched brow. “I would never say that about me wife,” he said quietly to her.
“I am not yer wife,” she replied, with a small frown.
“Ye are my wife, for now and here. Tis the same,” he whispered gruffly, as he stared at her.
“Tisn’t,” Swan said and patted his hand.
Wolf turned his hand over and grabbed hers.
“Ye would say ye are a broodmare?” he challenged her with his brow arched as he looked at her with a wicked grin.
“I will.”
“Do it,” Wolf growled with a teasing grin.
Swan was so surprised that he was teasing her, she was caught speechless at his handsome face. Her normally stern, fierce-looking, hardened, chiseled Highland warrior was smiling and teasing her. The snarling wolf was smiling.
Wolf squeezed her hand and nodded towards Laird Sutherland. Swan shook herself from the trance he had created and looked at the head of the table.
“Yes, Laird Sutherland, I am quite the broodmare,” Swan said after Wolf’s challenge. When Laird Sutherland seemed to expect more from her or Wolf, she added, “In fact, we also have three daughters, milord,” she called to him from across the table.
Swan heard Wolf’s low groan beside her.
“What’s this? Ho! Three daughters ye say?” Tavish Sutherland peered through bleary eyes at the redheaded beauty sitting at his table. “How can this be? Ye are far tae young tae have six children!”
“Weel noo,” Beak said from where he was sitting. He was getting into the spirit of his Lady Swan and Lord McKay being man and wife. “Me Laird McKay is quite the stud himself. Why, it seems the Mckay has only to kiss her and she is pregnant once again!”
Wolf looked at a blushing Swan and arched a brow questioningly. “Too much?” he whispered.
“The boys!” Swan admonished him, whispering back.
“Beak, not in front of our young boys,” Wolf said gruffly to Beak.
Both Wolf and Swan looked at Beak and frowned.
Beak looked back at the two of them. He was trying not to laugh. He noticed they were still holding hands.
“Begging yer pardon, milord, milady,” Beak said with a grin. “Yer three handsome young sons shouldnae hear me talking like that.”
Beak took a breath and Wolf groaned, knowing he was going to drone on about something or other, most likely something embarrassing.
“Now then, the day each of yer beautiful daughters were born I knew I would have to curb me wild tongue,” Beak began. “Even the day of yer happy marriage I knew life was changing for Milord Wolf. For that day the grace and beauty and elegance of the Swan joined to the rough, wildness of the Wolf would be a day forever in all our minds…”
Swan and Wolf sat there stunned, watching as Beak sat back and puffed his pipe contentedly after his speech.
“That was a bit much, wasnae it?” Swan said, leaning over to whisper to Wolf.
“Aye.”
Wolf looked around Swan to Bhric and Charlie who sat on the bench on the other side of her. “Boys, eat yer food and stop giving it to Beans,” he said firmly.
Beans sat on the floor behind them. He was wagging his tail eagerly as he gobbled up all the pieces of food they were handing him. The dog let out a loud burp after each bite and the boys giggled hysterically each time.
“Boys!” Wolf said again. The boys immediately straightened up, their faces going serious.
“Yes Da,” they said in unison.
“That dog has a problem,” Wolf said with a frown.
Swan giggled at his left side and Wolf narrowed his eyes at her. “Ye arnae helping,” he said gruffly.
Wolf felt a pull on his sleeve and looked down at his side to see Albie. The small boy looked up at him where he was sitting on the bench at his right side. “Is this a bunny we are eating?” Albie asked with a doubtful frown.
“Och nay, tis chicken,” Wolf said.
Albie stared down at his food. “Chicken? I like chickens! We eat chickens?” His lower lip started to tremble and he crawled up into Wolf’s lap. Wolf looked over helplessly at Swan. “This one is always climbing into me lap. What do I do with him?”
Swan smiled as she smoothed Albie’s hair out of his face. “Little boys want the strength of their fathers.”
“And the comfort of their mithers.” Wolf stared into her upturned face, his eyes drinking in all her features that were so perfect to him. He leaned over to whisper in her ear, “Eat, my lovely Swan. I have a feeling ye will be needing your strength, for I intend to kiss me wife later,” Wolf said in his deep voice as he pushed her food closer.
He gently picked Albie up from his lap and set him back on his place on the bench. He leaned down and whispered something to Albie and Albie started eating his food.
Swan stared at him. He turned back to look down into her face. She could not form a word. She could not catch her breath. Her heart was beating loudly in her chest as she stared at the handsome Highlander. His thumb was rubbing over the back of her hand. She looked down and realized they were holding hands again. He had picked up Albie as naturally as any father, and set him down gently. She wondered what he had said to the boy to get him to eat. And somewhere in there, this man who thought all children looked alike and wanted nothing to do with them had reached out to hold her hand again as he whispered quietly to the little boy.
“Where are yer daughters, McKay?” Tavish boomed.
Swan jumped.
Wolf turned away from Swan to look at Laird Sutherland. “They are visiting me sister, Catriona,” Wolf boomed back at him. It seemed that shouting was the way of things in this hall. The old Laird must be hard of hearing, thought Wolf.
“Ah yes, the lovely Catriona Mckay!” the Laird said. “She is one of the most beautiful—” he suddenly went into a fit of coughing as he tried to catch his breath.
Swan watched him for a moment. Making a quick decision, she let go of Wolf’s hand and jumped up to retrieve one of her bags. She dug through it, watching the Laird intently as she rummaged through her things, finally pulling out what she needed.
“What are ye doing?” Wolf demanded as he watched her.
“He is having a breathing attack! I can help him! Charlie used to have them,” she said and rushed up to the Laird at the head of the table. She held a small vile under his nose.
The man’s face became even redder as he gasped for bre
ath, trying in vain to suck in air. He was becoming panicky as he started clawing at his throat.
Swan's face went white with fear as she held the small vile under his nose. She waved it back and forth, wafting the oils within into the air under his nose. Swan started humming and singing.
* * *
“Oh saw you bonnie Lesley,
To see her is to love her.
And love her but forever,
For nature made her what she is,
And never made another.”
* * *
The Laird continued to wheeze and gasp. His lips were turning blue now as the others around the table started talking loudly and fearfully.
“Wolf! It is not working! What is wrong with him? Come, ye must help me!” she said desperately, her eyes pleading with Wolf.
Wolf immediately got up and hurried to Swan’s side. “Perhaps it’s not a breathing attack. He could be choking on his food.”
“Of course! Pick him up and turn him over the back of the chair, and press down, quickly!” she said to Wolf.
Wolf hauled the portly old Laird up to his feet and leaned the top of his ribs over the back of his chair. He pressed down once, twice, three times, on his back. Finally with a whoosh of air, a piece of meat came flying out of the Laird’s mouth. Laird Sutherland started to sink down to his knees, but Wolf caught him and helped him to sit back down.
The Laird looked up at the couple staring down at him in concern.
“I thank ye,” he whispered hoarsely to Swan.
“I thought ye were having a breathing problem so I tried my oils first,” Swan said with a frown as she wrung her hands. “But then Wolf said ye were choking. He saved yer life, not I.”
“Then I will thank ye both. You and yer husband were correct,” Laird Sutherland explained. “I have trouble breathing. Often. When I gasp for air in the middle of eating I sometimes choke. This was the worst. I could not breathe, and I could not cough to relieve the piece of food.”
The Laird looked down the table at the others staring silently at him. “Ye must remember how Laird McKay just saved my life! If it happens again, ye must do as he did!”
Beak cheered loudly, “My Laird and Lady Mckay saved Laird Sutherland’s life!”
The table erupted into cheering.
Swan took that moment to hand the Laird the vile of plant oils. “This should help when ye have trouble breathing,” she said gently. “It is a mixture of oils of peppermint, eucalyptus, lemon, pine, marjoram, thyme, rose, and sage. That is all. Tis not magic. Anyone here can gather and crush more leaves for ye, if ye need more,” she said, not wanting him to think she was a witch. She was hearing of too many simple healing methods being called witchcraft.
The Laird looked up at her and smiled gratefully, taking the vile carefully from her hands.
Bhric beamed with pride and nudged his “brothers” on either side of him. “Me and me brothers have the strongest da and the smartest mither!” he shouted. Albie and Charlie joined him. “We do, we do, we do!” they shouted.
Beak croaked out a laugh and cheered them on.
The old Laird could not help but to laugh. He waved Swan and Wolf back to their seats.
“Eat! Eat!” Laird Sutherland boomed at them. “Ye must keep yer strength up so ye may have even more children,” he laughed.
Wolf and Swan sat back down on the long bench at the table amidst much cheering.
Tam sat across the broad table from Swan. He was looking at her fervently, his eyes glowing with avid appreciation.
“When ye tire of her Laird McKay, I will take her off yer hands,” he said with his eyes on Swan.
Wolf narrowed his eyes at the warrior and growled low in his throat. “She is mine. There is no ‘when’ I tire of her. A husband doesnae tire of his wife,” he snarled and put his arm around Swan, pulling her tightly to his side. “Yer hands will never touch her, else ye want to die,” he said roughly to the young warrior.
Swan looked up at Wolf with surprise.
“Ye are me wife, remember? Dinnae look so surprised,” he said with a small grin.
“Vera well then,” she said cheekily as she reached up and pulled his face down to hers. She kissed him soundly. Her lips took his in a lusty kiss. Then she pulled back and grinned up at him. “There ye are husband. A kiss for ye for saving the Laird!”
Swan wanted to say that the kiss was for those sweet words he had growled at Tam Sutherland. Wolf may not believe in love, but the man believed in loyalty. He would never set his wife aside.
Wolf stared down into Swan’s eyes. His eyes blazed with heat and desire. “Do that again,” he growled as he looked at her lips.
“What?” Swan asked breathlessly.
“Grab me and kiss me again, just as ye did, my Swan,” he whispered in a gravelly, deep voice for her ears only.
Swan exhaled a trembling breath. She slowly reached up and curled her fingers into his hair and gave a gentle tug. Wolf bent instantly towards her face. She rubbed her lips lightly against his, heard his deep growl, and nipped at his lips. She breathed in a hesitant quivering breath, and with it came his scent, his own breath exhaled. Her nostrils flared at the spicey male scent of him. Her eyelashes fluttered closed as her trembling increased.
“I am new to this,” she whispered. “I dinnae know how to kiss ye as ye want me to.”
Wolf brought his hands up to her wrists and pulled them gently away from his head. He leaned down with his mouth near her ear.
“Ye kiss me exactly the way I want ye to. But we need to do this somewhere else,” he said softly. He placed a quick, gentle kiss on her cheek and let go of her wrists as he sat back up and away from her.
The others were starting to leave the table for the evening. Laird Sutherland told Wolf that a room was ready for him and his family for the night.
Wolf took Swan's hand and helped her up from the table. He called to Bhric and Charlie. Then he scooped Albie off the bench and set him down by Beans. The giant hound’s flowers were still on his head, around his neck, and spiraling and trailing around his tail.
There came a great commotion as the doors to the great hall opened. Outside in front of the double-towered castle was a large group of warriors.
And standing in the doorway was Simon Sutherland.
He was staring at Swan and the large hound who sat at her side.
Swan started to tremble violently. She reached for Wolf’s hand without thinking.
14
“You!” thundered Simon Sutherland as he pointed at Swan. “You have my dog!” He started walking towards her, giving her no time to do anything but stare at him. “That is my hound. I lost him at Brough Castle. And you? Did you hide the boys? For I know they left the priory and ended up at Brough!” he screamed at her as he took large, angry strides across the hall.
Just as he was about to reach for her neck, a mountain got in his way. He found himself staring at a broad, muscular chest. He looked up at the hard, fierce visage of a very angry and very large Highland warrior.
“Touch her and die,” the warrior snarled in a furious voice.
Simon sneered. “She is Swannoc McKinnon and she has my hound and the boys I have been seeking. I want them, now!” he screeched.
“She is my wife,” Wolf growled in fury, “and the boys are my sons.”
Simon seethed. His eyes went to his dog, wearing the ridiculous flowers. “Dog! Come here!” he screamed.
Beans let out a loud burp and whined. The three boys gathered around him where he sat. Bhric and Charlie wrapped their arms around the dog's neck. Albie stood defiantly in front of the dog, who was staring fearfully at his former master.
Simon lunged towards the dog. Swan let out a gasp and went to get in front of him, falling to her knees to grab the children against her.
“Dinnae ye dare touch me boys or me dog! I willnae let ye!” she screamed at Simon as she held the boys tightly.
Instantly Wolf was between Simon and Swan and the children.
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He grabbed Simon by the neck and lifted his feet off the ground.
In the background he heard Swan humming as she knelt on the ground with the boys gathered into her arms. Wolf knew that humming meant she was frightened, and when she was frightened he also knew she did not want the boys to be frightened. Wolf sighed and dropped Simon to the ground. Wolf stood over him, glaring with fury at the smaller man.
“What? What is this Simon?” boomed Laird Sutherland as he came wheezing towards them, shuffling his feet in his soft, leather brogues.
“This woman has my dog!” Simon screamed at his father.
“That doesnae look like yer dog Simon. Yer dog rips people’s throats out. This dog is clearly these children’s beloved hound. Just look at him. He wears flowers.”
“Beans is our dog,” Bhric said quietly in a trembling, brave voice.
“There, you see?” Laird Sutherland said to his son Simon. “Dinnae ye say ye lost yer dog at Brough Castle? And ye said this woman is Swannoc McKinnon?”
“Aye, I did and she is!” Simon seethed.
“But Swannoc McKinnon is a skinny, unfortunate-looking, timid young girl with orange hair from Brough,” Laird Sutherland said firmly. “This woman here is Laird Wolfram McKay’s wife.”
Wolf stepped forward to block Swan from Simon’s gaze. His jaw was rigid with fury as he looked down his straight nose at Simon Sutherland. His legs were braced apart as if he was ready to fight. And he was.
“Ye are Laird McKay?” Simon demanded. “What are you doing here in the Caithness Highlands? Dinnae ye and yer army fight for the King?”
“I am bringing my family home. To the McKay lands north of here.”
Simon shrank back. “And this woman is yer wife, and these are yer children? I dinnae believe it,” he seethed with an ugly sneer. “Ye never married. All know yer loyalty is to the King only and his bidding.” He scowled in fury. “Ye vowed ye would never be weakened by love of a woman! Ye have no wife. I know who she is. Though no longer an ugly, timid girl-child, this is indeed Swannoc McKinnon.”
