by Aubrey Wynne
But I canna wait forever.
Those words sobered him. He was not a man who appreciated being pushed. He needed time to adjust to this revelation. But Kirstine understood him and would not nag him as other women had, his mind reasoned. Perhaps that was the magic between them. She recognized his strengths and shortcomings. Brodie would never have to play the courting games of a polite beau with her. He could be himself. Always.
“There’s my grandson,” declared Calum. “I have a question for ye.”
He followed his grandfather away from the raucous group of men passing around flasks of whisky. “Nothing serious, I hope.”
Calum shook his head. “Mairi’s father asked about ye. She seems quite smitten. He hinted he would approve of a match between the two of ye if we were so inclined.” His grandfather held up a hand. “I dinna want any problems with the family. They all work with us, so try to keep yer—”
“Mairi’s a bonny lass,” Brodie interrupted, “but something peculiar has happened since I’ve been back. I believe my affection has found a permanent home.”
“And who might it be this time?”
“This time?”
“Aye, ye’re Cupid’s favorite target. I dinna have enough fingers to count how many lasses ye’ve fancied since ye were fifteen. A dozen cases of calf-love, at least.” His grandfather grinned, but his next words were serious. “Hence, my concern with yer intentions toward Mairi.”
Brodie snorted. “This is different. It’s unexpected but feels right… and true.”
Calum guffawed. “I’ve heard this before, but go ahead and surprise me. Who has stolen yer heart this summer?”
“Kirsty.”
Calum was silent for a moment, then slapped Brodie on the back, sending him forward. “I kent it! I told yer grandmother, I said, ‘Peigi, if that lad had a crumb of sense, he’d see she’s wearing her heart on her sleeve.’ We’re both fond of the lass.”
“Weel, since I have yer approval.” He gave Calum a thump in return. “I’ll join ye in a wee swallow.”
After the festivities, Brodie rode behind the wagon, his belly full and his heart light. The leather saddle creaked beneath him as he leaned back to take in the beauty above him. The sky was a shimmery black, the stars winking at him as if they were in on his secret. Love always filled him with optimism. The anticipation of the next meeting, stolen glances and kisses, an unexpected touch that sent the heart racing and heat surging through the veins. It was unpredictable and spontaneous. The notion of being in love with Kirstine made him hard with desire. He began humming, softly at first, and then louder as his momentum grew. A verse bubbled out, and his deep voice hung on the still night air.
Like dew on the gowan lying,
Is the fall o’ her fairy feet,
And like the winds in summer sighing,
Her voice is low and sweet.
Her voice is low and sweet,
And she’s all the world to me…
Brigid pulled back on her reins and sidled her pony next to his. “I see ye’re in fine spirits again. I’m glad she finally told ye, regardless of what happens in the future.”
“Finally? How long have ye kent she had feelings for me?” His grandfather had also seemed wise to Kirstine’s affection. Had he been the last to know?
“Och, brother, anyone with eyes could see she’s been dangling on ye.”
“Except me.”
“Ye didna look. Kirsty always makes it about ye, and ye always let her. When was the last time ye noticed if she was Friday-faced or worried? That’s right, she always puts on a smile for ye.” Brigid wagged a finger at him. “Ye best no’ break her heart in a month or two, or I’ll come after ye myself.”
Brodie guffawed. “I could take on my own sister.”
“I’m just warning ye. She’s one of the few females who understands me. One of the few that I call friend.” Brigid gave her pony a nudge and trotted ahead to the wagon to ride beside their mother and grandmother.
The devil take him, his own sister raising a breeze about him and Kirstine. He pondered her words and his earlier conversation with Calum. Sure, he’d courted a few of the villagers. He’d never made any promises, told any bouncers to lead them on. In fact, his intentions had been pure each time that familiar surge filled his chest. He couldn’t help it if the luster dulled after a month or so.
Brodie had always prided himself on remaining a gentleman. When they came to him a virgin, he left them intact. Perhaps the kisses became heated, but then, he wasn’t a saint. Did Kirstine have the same opinion of him as Brigid? Did she worry his affection wouldn’t last? Their kiss had been different. More powerful, more urgent than any he’d known before. Yet, unease chafed at his joy, a whispered warning he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Perhaps his family was right. Was he fickle? Self-centered? The revelation slapped him in the face. Yet, he was well-liked within the clans. A favorite, most said.
He remembered his mother’s frequent scolding from childhood.
Ye inherited yer grandfather’s charm and win the day most times. Dinna let it blind ye to yer own shortcomings.
Maybe his conversations with Kirstine were a bit one-sided. He thought back to one in particular.
Her flushed face danced before him, full lips parted, chocolate eyes bright with passion. He wanted to explore these new sensations with her, discover what made her love him and why. Tomorrow was the beginning of a new adventure. And no one enjoyed a quest better than Brodie MacNaughton.
*
They were in the woods, kissing as they had the day before, but Brodie touched her in secret places. His fingers traced her breasts, lazily trailed down her stomach, between her legs, to cup her mound. Caressing, sliding, the friction of his touch sent currents of pleasure through her…
Kirstine threw back the counterpane, her skin damp. A dream. She clutched at her chest, willed her heartbeat to slow. Such an ardent dream.
Something clattered below. Her mother was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. The aroma of sausage wafted up to the loft, and her mouth watered. After the tryst with Brodie, she’d been too excited to eat. Her stomach gurgled, and she scrambled from the bed. Bare feet hit the thick wool rug covering the floor planks.
Kirstine poured water from the pitcher and quickly splashed her face and combed her hair. Pulling back the curtain from the tiny window, dust motes floated in the sunshine. Another beautiful day. The first day of her new life as a woman in love and Brodie loving her in return. The day she had waited for since she’d been five years old.
Dressed in her work clothes, a durable, russet wool skirt and bodice, she clambered down the ladder. Her mother’s back was turned, busy cutting turnips for mashing. The rapid sound of the knife as she sliced against the scarred cutting board, matched the bob of her head. Charlie’s cold nose poked at her hand, and Kirstine scratched his head.
“Ye look like a woodpecker hard at work.” She giggled, kissed her mother’s cheek, and grabbed a chunk of cheese. “Ye should no’ have let me sleep so late. I can help ye after I gather the eggs and milk the goats.”
“The turnips are almost done, but ye can start on those when ye come back.” She nodded at the potatoes in a basket. “I promised yer father neeps and tatties for dinner.” She looked over her shoulder. “Then ye can tell me all about yesterday while we eat breakfast.”
Kirstine grinned. “Ye just want to say ye were right.”
“Words a woman never hears enough,” her mother agreed with a snicker.
In the smaller storage shed, she scooped some feed into her skirt, holding it out like a pocket. The hens were already out, their feathers ruffled and clucking loudly at Charlie. She scattered the seed around the yard, and their squawks ceased. Beaks blurred as they quickly pecked at the ground; their black and white feathers shimmered in the morning sun. Entering the blackhouse, she breathed in the odor of hay and manure, grabbed a basket from the mudded stone wall, and walked to the far end where the chickens we
re kept. There were a dozen nests for the hens, plus several roosters. The hound snuffled the straw as she filled her basket with half a dozen brown eggs, which she left at the front door for her mother.
Kirstine hummed a favorite tune as she headed out to the small pasture behind the blackhouse. The two buckets she held brushed against her skirts. The goats baa’d at the intrusion, but a soothing melody soon had them standing patiently while she milked them. When both buckets were half-full, she lugged them back to the house, daydreaming about her rendezvous later with Brodie. He had whispered in her ear just before they’d left the festivities last night.
“Our spot, tomorrow afternoon.” His breath had been warm against her skin. “We’ll talk more then.”
She remembered the surprise in his blue eyes after their kiss. The hunger that had replaced the usual spark of humor, his lips, his hands—
“Kirstine, be careful. Ye’re slopping over the sides of the pails,” yelled her mother through the window.
Startled, she looked down and saw the milky liquid dribbling down her skirt. Heavens! she thought, Get hold of yourself. Her mother met her at the door and relieved her of the buckets.
“I’ve made extra cheese for MacDougal and his boy. He and yer father made an agreement yesterday. We’ll provide them with butter, cheese, and eggs in exchange for labor.” Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose ye dinna want to deliver it for me now that ye’ve stars in yer eyes?”
“I’ll do whatever ye need me to, Ma.”
“Ye’re a good daughter. Now, sit down and fill yer belly. We have a busy day.” She filled Kirstine’s bowl with porridge and placed it before her. There was already a plate of scones, toast, jam, and soft cheese on the table.
“I’m so hungry, I could have eaten the chicken feed,” Kirstine said around a mouthful of toast and soft cheese. She added a dollop of honey to the porridge and then her tea. “I was too happy to eat last night.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Kirstine began with Brodie’s jealousy at the bonfire and then his reaction after the May pole dance. While she didn’t give her mother details, she admitted Brodie kissed her.
“So, he’s courting ye now?”
She nodded, heat coloring her cheeks.
“Ye’re sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure. I did what ye advised—told him my feelings—and he said…” What exactly had he said?
I canna deny this stirring inside me.
But he never actually said they were courting.
“I dinna want to crush yer joy, but I will look out for my child. I’m happy for ye, truly. Only dinna forget how fickle the mon can be. I’d hate to see ye pass up a good offer because Brodie canna decide what he wants.” Her mother held up a hand when Kirstine opened her mouth to protest. “I have nothing against him. He’s a MacNaughton and to be respected. I just worry he will break yer heart if he is no’ serious in his affections.”
She nodded, pushing away the pinprick of anxiety in her chest. “We are meeting at the swimming falls later this afternoon. I’ll make sure we are of the same mind.”
It turned out she didn’t make a delivery to MacDougal’s. Several hours later, young Liam knocked at the door. His hands were behind his back, a red curl hanging in one eye. “I come to collect, if ye please.” He squinted up at her. He wiped his dirty hands on his homespun pants and offered one to her.
Kirstine accepted the handshake but doubted the boy had come by himself. “Did ye come alone?”
Liam slapped his knee and guffawed, and she wondered who he mimicked. “Me and Da are tied at the ankles, he says. We go everywhere together. He’s just a wee slower than me.”
“That’s a long rope binding yer ankles, then.” She peered around the doorway and saw MacDougal ambling up the lane. He waved, and she raised an arm in answer. “Ye should come in and have the last scone while ye wait.”
“Aye, it might take him a while. Da says to have patience with old folk,” he agreed with a serious face. “I dinna think I’d need so much for ye, Miss MacDunn. Ye’re too bonny to be old.” He wiggled onto the bench, his hands clasped on the wood table, waiting to be invited to eat.
“Ye have fine manners for no’ having a mother to raise ye,” Ma said from the hearth. “Go ahead, have that last bit and finish off the jam.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The boy’s hand swiped up the scone, dipped it into the jam, and shoved it into his mouth. Sticky red smeared his lips, and a loud smacking noise came from his end of the table as he grinned and munched at the same time.
“I’m afraid ye spoke too soon,” Kirstine said with a smirk.
“Liam, slow down or ye’ll choke,” said MacDougal from the doorway. His lanky form filled the doorway and blocked out the sun, turning his red hair a deep copper.
Kirstine had to admit, if it weren’t for Brodie and the widower’s gap in age, she’d be tempted. He was kind, handsome, and a good father.
“And close yer mouth when ye’re chewing, son. No one wants to see yer cud.” He held his cap in his hands and nodded at the women. “Please excuse Liam. We’re used to eating alone and dinna always worry about proprieties.”
“Nonsense, he’s a good lad,” disagreed her mother. “Are ye hungry? Or can I get ye some tea?”
He shook his head. “Och, no. We just left yer husband in the field and still have work at home. Perhaps another time?” His question may have been directed at Mrs. MacDunn but his pale green eyes were on Miss MacDunn.
“Of course, of course.” The older woman handed him a burlap bag she’d filled with cheese and a small crock of butter. “Return the pot when it’s empty, and I’ll refill for ye.”
“Who’s feeling lucky?” Kirstine held up a small basket with the eggs she’d gathered earlier. She smiled as young Liam shook his head.
“Da says if there’s something to break, I’ll find my way to it,” he proclaimed cheerfully as he left the table, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He held out his chubby hand for the sack and tried to sling it over his shoulder.
“Easy there, lad.” MacDougal caught the burlap before a mishap occurred. “Ye’ll be covered in butter.” He tied a knot in the material and handed it back to his son.
“Sorry, Da,” he said without a hint of apology in his voice, clutching the parcel to his chest.
“Make yer polite goodbye, and we’ll be off.”
“Thank ye for the verra. Tasty. Tidbit.” Liam pronounced the words slowly then looked up at his father with a huge grin. “Did I say it right?”
“Aye, lad. Ye said it right.” MacDougal gave the women a crooked smile. “We’ve been reading at night, and he has to practice a new word every day.”
Kirstine’s heart went out to the two males fending for themselves. Men weren’t meant to be alone. Little boys weren’t meant to be without mothers. She’d speak with Brigid about the MacDougals. Perhaps they could find someone to help the pair with some cooking and housekeeping. In the meantime, Kirstine would see what she could do for them.
One problem solved, she quickly changed her clothes to meet Brodie. She called out to her mother that she’d be back in a couple hours and ignored the older woman’s snort as she skipped across the yard. After a quick stop in the drying shed, where the herbs and flowers were hung until ready, she noted what plants to keep an eye out for as she walked.
Never waste time, her grandmother had always told her, for ye never ken how much ye have. Kirsty still hadn’t decided whether that was good advice or a morbid warning. Grandmama had been full of both.
Puffs of white cluttered the pale sky and cast rolling shadows over the glen. Her eyes swept over the varied shades of green broken by the jutting rocks. She dashed across the meadow as Charlie loped ahead of her. He paused and sniffed the air, then tipped back his head and let out a long howl. She stopped at the top of the bluff. Brodie was spread out on the boulder they used for diving, his hose and boots cast to the side. His eyes were closed, hands behind his head, and knee
s up. The kilt rested against his muscular thighs and her eyes were drawn to the shadow between them. Heat spread up her neck at the image of what lay beneath the material.
“Ye beat me here,” she yelled to give him warning.
His eyes opened, but he didn’t move. A wicked grin curved his mouth. “I missed ye.”
Chapter Seven
Revelations and Romance
The sun warmed his skin, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the heated rock against the bottom of his bare feet. Brodie pillowed his head with his hands and waited for Kirstine. He reflected on Calum and Brigid’s words and thought of what he would say. His shock, at his feelings toward her and the unexpected certainty that they were meant to be together, had not diminished. Nor had his desire.
He’d talked to his mother before he met with Kirsty and asked how she’d known she’d found love. He’d been surprised at his mother’s openness. His father had died when Brigid was only a toddler, thrown from a horse and suffered a broken neck. Brodie had known his parents were cousins. Step-cousins, to be precise. His paternal grandmother had married into the clan, bringing a young son with her.
“Yer father and I saw each other at family gatherings. We always got along well enough. I remember when I was sixteen, and they’d come for the Beltane celebration. He’d grown into a mon over the winter.” His mother had sighed, a wistful smile on her face. “He’d grown tall and broad and ever so handsome.”
“So ye kent right away he was the one?” Disappointment pricked Brodie’s chest.
“Och no, I liked the mon, but I was courting someone else. Yer da was relentless, though, and I enjoyed the attention. He pursued me all that summer and I grew verra fond of him.” She chuckled. “But I kent it was love with the first kiss.”
Brodie smiled. His mother’s words had given him confidence. He and Kirstine were friends who cared about one another and trusted each other. It was a good foundation. They’d been raised with similar philosophies and looked at life much the same way. A shout interrupted his rumination, and he looked up to see a shaggy hound and a bonny lass, tail and arms waving at him from above.
