by Aubrey Wynne
“Ye gave me good advice. Show him rather than tell him what I’m capable of.” He tapped his forehead. “I’m a quick learner.”
“Do ye think Craigg will let it lie?”
“He was too foxed to question it last night, but he’ll figure it out, eventually. No’ that anyone will admit to seeing MacDunn hit him.”
“Ma’s afraid he took his anger out on the poor girl after they left. She wants to check on her but is afraid she’ll make it worse with a visit.” Kirstine sighed. “The mon has a vicious temper.”
“I doubt he lets her out of the house for weeks.”
“My cousin fancies himself in love with her. He’s stubborn. I dinna suppose he’ll give up.”
Brodie chuckled. “What does a tender young lad ken of love?”
“And what does the wise old Brodie ken of it?” She peeked at him from beneath her lashes. His linen shirt stretched across his chest, and the muscles of his arm bunched and tensed with each step. Everything about the man was so… masculine.
“No’ a blasted thing, to be truthful.”
“Ye’ve considered yerself in love enough times,” she reminded him with a smirk.
“My point, exactly.” They came to the edge of her property. “Ye’re the one constant woman in my life that’s no’ a relation.”
And I’ve been waiting forever and a day, that little voice taunted.
“I’ll see ye later, then?” he asked at her door.
“I’ve no’ missed a May Day celebration that I can remember.”
*
“It’s a braw day for a celebration,” declared her father. He helped his wife and daughter from the wagon. “I dinna believe there’s a lovelier lass here than my wife.”
Kirstine grinned when her mother’s cheeks stained a pretty pink. She wanted this in her marriage. The lasting affection, a man who would still make her blush after twenty years. Yet, she couldn’t see herself finding that with anyone but Brodie.
She wore the deep champagne gown with the apricot embellishments again. Her hair was swept up and twisted with ringlets that tickled the back of her neck. Her mother had threaded more apricot ribbon through the loose chignon and added small white buds around the crown like a halo. She wiggled her toes in soft leather shoes, remembering her bare feet—and Brodie—earlier that morning.
Liam MacDougal appeared, a smaller version of himself holding his hand. The boy’s riot of red curls bounced against his round freckled face.
“May I say how bonny ye look today, Miss MacDunn?”
The boy pulled on his father’s hand. “She’s beeootiful, Da.”
Kirstine smiled and squatted down, holding her hand out to the child. “Hello, I’m Kirstine. It’s nice to meet ye.”
He placed a hand at his stomach and gave her a choppy bow, his cap falling off in the process. “I’m Liam MacDougal, just like my da.”
“Ye certainly are.” Kirstine picked up the cap and dusted it off for him before greeting his father. “How are ye, Liam? Did ye meet my da last night?”
“I’ve no’ had the pleasure.” Her father shook hands with the widower. “I imagine the younger ones are already gathered at the May pole.”
Kirstine found Brigid waiting for her. A long, spindly pine trunk lay on the ground, long colorful strips of material tied to the top. A dozen girls scooped up the ends as Brodie and Calum lifted the pole and carried it to the pre-destined hole, sinking it into the ground.
The unmarried women, dressed in their Sunday finest and flowers in their hair, arranged the strips around the pole and stood in a circle. The young bachelors stood between them in their tartan kilts, silk hose, and best sporrans slung over their hips. Each grasped a ribbon as the drums pounded a slow ancient beat upon the stretched leathers.
Calum approached with a female child, entered the circle, and lifted her high. She placed a wreath of flowers on top of the May pole, and the crowd cheered. The dancers moved in two concentric circles, the women ducking under the men to weave the multi-colored strips in a plait around the pole.
The shorter the ribbons, the lower the participants had to bend to avoid the oncoming dancers. Kirstine passed Brodie, ducked low beneath him, and felt his hand brush her backside. When she looked over her shoulder, he winked. When the strips were too short to continue, the drums increased the beat and a frenzy of twirling bodies finished wrapping the bottom of the pole.
Silence fell, except for the huff of the participants catching their breath. Then the MacNaughton let out a bellow, followed by shouts and screams of delight. Kirstine searched the throng for Brodie. He spotted her at the same time, waved, and made his way toward her. She saw Mairi block his path, then MacDougal stepped in her line of vision.
“Would ye care for some refreshment?” he asked, his green eyes narrowed against the sun. “And perhaps a dance later?”
She looked around his tall, lanky form and saw the back of Brodie and Mairi. “Aye to both,” she answered with a smile. “Have ye seen my parents?”
“Yer mother convinced yer father to bring her by the booths. She’s of a mind to buy some pretties,” he said with a grin.
As he walked away, Kirstine wondered if she should tell the man her heart was taken. Or would MacDougal consider her forward for jumping to conclusions? But she recognized the look in his eyes. He was interested. If it weren’t for Brodie, she might return his attentions. A handsome man, lean but strong, with an adorable little boy. Kirstine loved children and hoped for many of her own. Boys with midnight hair, girls with deep brown hair, and all with the same sapphire blue eyes of the MacNaughtons.
Brigid hurried by, leading a nanny goat. “I see ye already have the widower’s attention. Either he’ll win yer heart or convince my pigheaded brother to take a stand.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but Brigid had disappeared into the crowd. Kirstine disliked the type of woman who played one man against another. She refused to do it and decided to be honest with the widower.
“Thank ye,” she said, accepting the cup from MacDougal when he returned. “Where is Liam, the younger?”
MacDougal laughed and nodded over her head. “Over there with his new friends. The boy isna shy, to be sure.”
Kirstine turned to watch a group of children playing football and saw Brodie scowl at them. Mairi stood next to him, chatting to Calum and Peigi. Kirstine stuck out her tongue at Brodie and saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
“So, tell me why Mr. MacNaughton has not claimed ye but insists on glaring at me?” MacDougal took a long pull of his ale. “Is it me in particular he doesna like, or he just prefers ye to have no male attention?”
She choked on her sweet wine, and MacDougal patted her on the back.
“Are ye all right, lass?”
With a nod, she sucked in a breath then laughed. “I didna expect the turn in conversation. But I can understand why’d ye ask.”
He crossed his arms and sent a glare in return. “Two can play this game.”
Kirstine giggled. “To be honest, we dinna have any claims on each other, but…” But what? she thought. I’ve been waiting for over a decade for him to realize he loves me?
“But he’s a fool and no’ worth yer time if he canna make a commitment.” MacDougal stared over her head and grinned. “I’ve done it now.”
Brodie disengaged himself from Mairi and stormed in their direction. She closed her eyes and sighed. What was wrong with the man? It was uncharacteristic of him to be so churlish.
“Kirstine, may I speak with ye in private?” Brodie asked, his teeth clenched.
She looked up at MacDougal, who nodded.
“I need to check on my son. Dinna forget the dance ye promised me.” He threw back the last of his ale and ambled away.
“What was in yer porridge this morning? Something bitter, I have no doubt.” Her irritation disappeared when he gave her a remorseful look. “What’s so important?”
“I…thought… weel, you…” He shrugged his shoulders.<
br />
“Ye just didna want MacDougal paying attention to me.” She sighed and set her cup on a nearby trestle. “But ye’re right, we need to talk. Let’s find someplace quiet.”
They strolled to the outskirts of the festivities. There were several clusters of low-hanging trees and bushes, and Brodie steered them toward one, his hand hovering at her lower back. The first notes of a fiddle floated on the breeze, and the clansmen’s chatter became a low hum in the background. She could still see people, so they weren’t exactly alone, in case her mother saw them. She leaned back against a tree; the rough wood scratched her back through the material of her gown and kept her mind focused.
“I’m sorry, Kirsty. I dinna ken what has gotten into me. I get this tight knot in my belly when I see ye with MacDougal.” He studied his boots, a frown pulling his black brows together. “I want what’s best for ye, and he’s too old. I bet he’s as old as my ma.”
“Lots of women marry older men.”
“There’s no reason for ye to settle for an old man.”
“I’d hardly call him that.” She struggled to hold back the grin.
He was jealous.
She was ecstatic.
“Weel, ye should keep looking. He’s no’ the one for ye.” His gruff tone sent her pulse racing.
He bent his head, and that thick lock fell over his brow again. She wanted to reach out and push it back. So she did. It was soft under her finger, his skin smooth and warm. He looked up, his cerulean gaze a combination of heat and bewilderment. She had caused it, and the idea made her giddy.
“No and no.” She looped her finger into his belt and pulled him forward a step.
“What?”
She licked her lips. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry. “No, I shouldna keep looking. No, he’s no’ the one for me.”
Brodie nodded, his gaze now on her mouth, one brow arched in question. She swallowed.
“The only one in my heart is ye, Brodie MacNaughton.” Kirstine lifted a finger and traced the square jaw, ran it down his neck. Her heart hammered in her ears as loudly as the drums during the May dance.
“Me?” Confusion skittered across his face, and then he nodded in understanding. “As yer best friend.”
She gave him another tug, and his weight set them both off-balance, pulling her forward. When her back settled against the tree, his hands planted against the trunk and framed her face.
“That and more,” she whispered. Her eyes closed as her courage slipped, and her knees tried to buckle. The rough bark bit into the skin between her shoulder blades.
“Look at me, Kirsty,” he said, his voice soft and placating. “I care for ye as much as I do my own sister. But ye’re my best friend, it would be like kissing Brigid.”
Her lids flew open. Frustration and anger replaced the hesitation. Was she not pretty enough? Not flirtatious enough? What did all those other females have that she didn’t?
“Is that what ye’re worried about?” She pushed away from the tree. Brodie stumbled backwards, and she grabbed a handful of his shirt in both fists. When she pulled him down to her and pressed her mouth to his, Brodie stilled. His lips were velvety soft, and Kirstine was sure this was what ecstasy felt like. A low growl sounded from deep in Brodie’s throat, and his hands wrapped around her waist to pull her roughly against him. Lightning struck through her center. Merciful heavens! She’d kissed a boy or two, a chaste kiss from one of her rare suitors. There was nothing chaste about this encounter, nothing boyish in Brodie’s embrace.
Kirstine drew back, her body trembling, and gazed up at him. His expression had lost all humor, a storm brewing in his blue eyes. Her stomach twisted a bit at her own brazenness, but she didn’t regret her actions.
“See if Mairi can boil yer blood like that.” She moved past him to make a dramatic exit and save a scrap of her dignity.
A hand grabbed her elbow, and he eased her back against the tree. She closed her lids to block him out, embarrassment heating her face. Now he would appease her, spare her feelings.
“What the devil just happened, Kirsty?” His voice was husky, and it sent her pulse racing again. “That was no’ the reaction I had expected. Did ye feel it too?”
His hand cupped her cheek while his thumb stroked her skin. A shiver ran through her as it brushed over her mouth. She concentrated on her breathing, then opened her eyes. He studied her as if they’d just met, and he liked what he saw.
“Aye, I felt it. And it was nothing like kissing a brother.”
“No,” he agreed, “and ye’re right.”
His breath was warm against her face. She tried to calm the thud of her heart. “I am?”
“Mairi could never boil my blood like that.” His gaze focused on her mouth again. “But let’s make sure it wasna some chance spark the fairies flung at us for their amusement.”
Both hands cupped her face now, and he bent again, claiming her mouth. The blood pounded in her head. Heat rushed through her, and the only sensation she knew was his lips on hers, his touch, the fire licking at her skin.
Her hands lifted to his neck; her fingers slid into the dark curls. More, I need more, her body pleaded. His lips moved across her cheek, nibbled her ear lobe.
“By the saints, ye taste divine,” he whispered. “I dinna understand what has happened between us, but I canna deny this stirring inside me. It’s as if ye’ve bewitched me.” He pulled back and held her gaze. “How long have ye kent?”
“Forever.” The word had slipped out before she could stop it.
“Like a woman loves a mon?” he rasped in her ear, his warm breath fanning her cheek. “Are ye sure?”
Again, she nodded. “I ken my heart, Brodie.” She shivered as his lips grazed the sensitive spot just below her ear.
“I need time to understand these new feelings, but I canna imagine life without ye, Kirsty. So let’s see what happens.” He closed her eyes with his mouth, and she breathed in his virile scent. Leather and soap and pine.
“There is no’ a mon to compare with ye, in my opinion.” A tempest brewed inside her. “I’ll give ye time, but I canna wait forever.”
He pulled her from the tree and held her close, his mouth creating a fiery path down her neck. “I was jealous, I expect. It’s an odd sensation, and I dinna like it.”
Kirstine pressed her body closer, an ache between her legs that she instinctively knew he could ease. His hardness pushed against her skirt, and he moaned. The sound, the power from that whisper of a groan, thrummed inside her and made her bold. Her hands traced the hard muscles of his neck, his shoulders. To finally tell him, to be able to touch him in this way filled her such sweet pleasure and… need.
“We should get back,” he mumbled against her temple. “If yer mother catches us here, I’m a dead mon.” He brushed the ringlets from her neck, blew on her hot skin. “We can continue this conversation later.” He stepped away, then took her hand.
Kirstine took in a ragged breath and smoothed her gown, then touched her hair. “How do I look?” She didn’t want to appear like a disheveled wanton.
“Like I’ve kissed the breath from ye,” Brodie said with a hint of wonder. “Where have ye been all my life?”
“Under yer nose, ye blunderhead.”
“There’s my sweet lass,” he said, lacing his fingers through hers. “We should have had this talk a long time ago. I swear ye ken me better than I do myself.” He kissed the top of her head and drew her out into the sunshine.
They barely made it back to the edge of the crowd when Brigid spotted them. She was like a fiery tornado, clearing a path through the horde, an arm waving.
“Grandda has been look—” She narrowed her eyes, studying Kirstine, Brodie, then Kirstine again. A huge smile lit her face. “The goddess of fertility is alive and well, I see.”
“Brodie needed to talk…”
“Kirsty needed to talk…”
Kirstine blushed as they both mumbled the same excuse together.
Brigid took her
arm. “Go see Grandda. I’ll keep Kirstine company. We need to talk, I’m thinking.”
Kirstine’s eyes followed Brodie’s retreating back, the kilt hugging his hips. The soft yet sturdy material swayed against the back of his muscled legs.
“Ye finally told him?”
A grin tugged at her lips. “I did.”
“I’m guessing he listened.”
“He did.” She gave her friend a side glance.
The sun shone copper against Brigid’s hair; her blue eyes glinted with humor. “So, my brother isna as buffle-headed as he pretends. I’m happy to hear it.”
“He kissed me.” Kirstine was bursting. She had to tell someone. “It was as wonderful as I hoped it would be.”
“I’m happy for ye, sister.” Brigid gave her a hug. “So much for my matchmaking with the widower, MacDougal. It’s a good thing I have other talents.”
“As does your brother,” Kirstine said with a giggle.
“Och, spare me the details, please,” Brigid groaned. “There are some things a sister should never ken about her brother.”
Chapter Six
Budding Bliss or Fickle Fervor
Brodie shouldered his way through the men surrounding his grandfather. For the love of saints, what had just happened? Desire pounded through his veins, and he could still taste her, like the first honey of the season that stays on the lips. When he’d seen MacDougal smile down at his Kirstine… aye, his Kirstine.
Without thinking, he’d plowed over to the couple like a bull on a rampage. By the time he was alone with her, his blood had been up. He’d dragged her into the woods, arguing with himself over his own sanity. But those words of love had struck him hard in the chest. Her trembling lips, her heaving chest had struck other body parts. This time, he’d been helpless against his instinctive response and kissed her. Brodie had not been prepared for what happened next. The kiss had enchanted him, made him crave her touch, her taste with an intensity he’d never known before.
There is no’ a mon to compare with ye.
He tried to wipe the grin from his face, but he felt so damn… happy. A woman who kept him steady and stirred his blood. Kirstine loved him, in that way. A month ago, he would have scoffed at the idea of returning such romantic affection. But he was a man who listened to his gut, and it told him this was right. She was right.
