by Aubrey Wynne
A hand clamped over her mouth, wet and sticky, and she recognized the iron-like taste of blood.
“Aye, lass.” His breath was hot and rancid against her cheek. Ross Craigg pressed her back against his chest, his arm like a vise around her waist. “We’ll mount my horse together, ride to yer cottage, and ye’ll doctor my gash. Then I’ll be on my way.”
He must be the reason Brodie had been called away. Had Brodie inflicted the wound or someone else? Had Craigg hurt anyone before he’d been attacked?
She shook her head and struggled against his hold. She doubled over, trying to kick at him, but her soft leather shoes made no impact except for a grunt of pain.
“I have a loaded pistol. If ye dinna come quietly, whoever ye alert will find a bullet in their brain.” His lips moved against her skin; his hand squeezed her face. She gagged against the pervading odor. “Tell me ye understand.”
She nodded, panic freezing her limbs. Stay calm. Think! ordered her brain.
“Put yer hands on the saddle and dinna move,” he ordered.
Kristine’s forehead rested against the saddle. The horse’s soft breathing sent white puffs into the chilly evening air. Craigg’s free hand fumbled with the ribbon at her waist and sheer terror sucked the breath from her lungs. She inhaled deeply, relieved when he wrapped it around her wrists. “If ye try to run while I bind ye, I’ll shoot ye in the back. There’ll be plenty of time to reload before yer hero finds ye.”
She nodded and closed her eyes while he knotted the ribbon, winced at the satin digging into her tender skin. The steel barrel poked her ribs, and she scrambled into the saddle. Looking down, she saw the blood seeping through his coat. Sweet Mary! she thought as Craigg heaved himself behind her and kicked the horse into a gallop.
Kirstine took a deep breath to clear her mind. She would tend his wound, and he would leave. Ross Craigg would become a distant memory for all of them. She prayed for strength and blinked back tears. This man fed on weakness and fear. Kirstine refused to give him that power over her.
When they reached the cottage, Charlie’s dark form ambled from the blackhouse. He stopped several yards from the horse and gave a soft warning growl. “Stay!” she ordered the hound, and he lay down with a soft whine. Craigg would have no compunction about shooting her dog. Sliding to the ground, Kirstine ran to Charlie and gave him a reassuring rub.
“If the beast even snarls, I’ll shoot it.”
“He’s well trained and will do as I say. Charlie is also an excellent lookout and will let us ken if anyone approaches.” She thought of Brodie and her parents. They would be frantic by now. “Let’s get ye inside, so I can take a look at the damage.”
“I’ll stay right here where I can see who comes for me.” He sat down heavily and leaned against the cottage, next to the door. Waving his gun with a grunt, he motioned her inside.
Kirstine rummaged in the pantry for the powder of cleaver, whisky, honey, then to the sitting room for needle, thread, rags, and winding cloth. When she returned, his eyes were closed. Could she run?
“Dinna consider escape until ye’ve doctored me,” he mumbled.
With a sigh, she knelt beside him and concentrated on maintaining a steady hand. He had removed his coat and pulled up his shirt to reveal the deep laceration in his side. “I need to get some water from the well to clean this.”
Before she could rise, he had her wrist in an iron grip. “Use the whisky.”
“Fine, but it will hurt,” she warned.
“It already hurts.”
Kirstine poured the alcohol over the wound, and he let out a blood-curling screech, then whimpered softly while she cleaned it with a cloth. The man beat defenseless women but whined like a baby when pain was inflicted on him. Her lip curled in disgust.
“I could give ye some laudanum to ease the discomfort,” she offered.
“Do ye think I’m addlepated? Just finish.”
She sprinkled the powder over the wound and waited until the bleeding stopped. Threading the needle, Kirstine poked it into his skin and cringed at the pathetic keening. The seven-year-old boy with the broken arm last summer had been braver. Craigg’s wails provoked the dog into low rumbles, and she had to hush Charlie several times before she finished. Her hands no longer trembled, her mind focused on finishing the task and sending the scoundrel on his way.
“How did this happen?” Perhaps she could distract him with conversation and find out if everyone was fine.
“I took retribution, or tried to.” He grunted as she pulled him forward and wrapped the bandage around his back. “Had the young widow and lured the English grandson into the wood. If I’d shot him right away, my hired help wouldna be dead.”
“Gideon killed a mon?” She remembered meeting him that afternoon. A handsome, polite man. Her stomach quaked. “And then ye shot him?”
“That feckin’ Lachlan snuck up and ran me through. Lost a good dagger in his leg first, though.”
“All of this because yer daughter married my cousin?”
He sneered. “The MacNaughton will understand I’m my own mon, no’ bowing to anyone’s orders. He’s lorded over my family and pushed me around since my da died. Nessie was too much.”
Kirstine pushed away and stood. Relief washed over her. No one had been hurt, save for a ruffian. Craigg would flee the Highlands, and she would find Brodie.
Ross struggled to his feet. “Help me onto my horse,” he ordered. “Then I only have one last chore before I bid ye goodbye.”
“She’s done enough, ye stinking blaggard.”
Brodie stood in the shadows of the yard. Her heart hammered at the sight of him, just as an arm pressed against her neck.
“Stand down, MacNaughton, or I’ll blow her bonny little head to bits,” Craigg rasped, holding the end of the long barrel under Kirstine’s chin.
Charlie growled and slunk toward the horse.
“Down,” Kirsty ordered in a quivering voice. She’d been so close. If Brodie had been a few minutes later…
“I’ll no’ let ye hurt her, Craigg. We both ken ye’d have shot her before ye left. That was yer plan, eh?” Brodie spoke in a calm, almost conversational tone. “The satisfaction of taking something from the MacNaughton. He’s taken enough from yer family.”
“Ye dinna ken the half of it.” His arm tightened around her neck. “It was a good plan. Killing his grandson and the poor young widow under his nose. He’d never hold his head so high again. Instead, I had to settle for yer betrothed.”
“Ye needed her first, though,” Brodie continued, moving slowly forward.
Kirstine swallowed. She would have helped him onto the horse, and he would have shot her as he rode away. A wave of nausea rolled over her.
Concentrate! Help Brodie save ye!
Brodie’s gaze locked with hers. His eyes made the slightest movement toward Charlie, then the fingers of his right hand wiggled. She glanced down at his right calf and saw the dirk he kept always kept there. He had a plan. If Charlie was on her right, she had to pitch to the left. She nodded and hoped, if things went awry, that he saw the love in her eyes.
“If ye let her go, I’ll make sure no one follows until dawn.”
“Dinna move another step.” The hammer on the flintlock clicked.
“Dìon!” bellowed Brodie, ordering the dog to defend as he pulled the blade and flung it forward.
The deerhound vaulted forward, and Kirstine leapt to the side. Craigg’s arm jerked up to ward off the snarling dog, and the gun went off, just as the dirk landed in the saddle, just missing Craigg. Then Brodie sank to his knees with a curse.
“No!” she screamed and scrambled to him. A tremor ripped through her body. Fear squeezed her heart; she couldn’t draw in a breath. Behind her, Craigg kicked at the hound as he struggled onto his horse. “Charlie, come!”
Kirstine fell to her knees beside Brodie. “Please don’t die, please don’t die,” she panted over and over, her fingers searching for the wound.
; “It grazed my arm and knocked me off balance. Ye’ll no’ get rid of me that easily.” He sat up, scowling at the retreating figure. “The mon must have the devil riding on his shoulder.”
Tears streamed down her cheek. She threw her arms around him, sobbing against his chest.
Brodie pulled her onto his lap and stroked her back. “Shhh, now, love,” he murmured. “Ye’re safe now.” He chuckled at the sudden thumping. “I think yer other hero wants some thanks.”
Kirstine wiped away her tears and hugged the deerhound, burying her wet cheeks in his wiry coat. “I love ye so.”
“Me or the hound?”
“Both,” she giggled, relief making her giddy.
“Then marry me.” His hand cupped her cheek, his eyes dark as a stormy ocean. “Make yer promise to me, Kirsty.” He kissed her, a soft whisper of a kiss. A gentle declaration of love.
“Yes,” she said with a watery smile, letting the tears fall again.
“Up with ye then. Ye’ll need to doctor one more mon tonight.”
But when she turned to go into the cottage, he stopped her. “Wait,” he said, turning her around so her back was to him. His fingers laced through her hair, and the curls fell against her neck.
“Turn around, love.”
Kirsty watched as he looped the hair ribbon into a knot, took her finger, and placed the knot over their joined hands.
“A handfasting?” A slow smile turned up her lips. “It’s no’ legal.”
“We’ll still have a ceremony at the kirk, but this assures me there will be no more catastrophes between now and then.”
“Aye, then, a handfasting it will be.”
Brodie tipped her chin. “In the joining of hands and the fashion of this knot, so our lives are bound, one to another.”
“May this knot remain tied for as long as love shall last,” Kirstine whispered, fearing her voice would crack. The love in her heart for this man would fill a loch. “May this cord draw our hands together in love, never to be used in anger.”
“May the vows we have spoken never grow bitter in our mouths.”
Together they finished, “May it be granted that what is done before God, may not be undone.”
“And now, I kiss the bride.” He scooped her into his arms.
“Brodie, yer wound,” she cried, but not letting go of his neck.
“Ye’re all the medicine I need, Kirsty.” He pressed his lips to hers, the gentleness replaced with need and desire. “Ye’re all I’ll ever need.”
Epilogue
The Allusiveness of Love
February 1820
MacNaughton Castle
“When does Brigid leave for London?” asked Kirsty. “Ye ken she’s refusing to cooperate once she’s there. Says she’ll be the ‘Terror of the Ton’ if she’s forced to go.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“As her future chief or her brother?” Kirsty raised an eyebrow, then slowly pulled the strings to her chemise. A wicked grin curved her lips.
“Both,” Brodie replied.
His grandfather had finally agreed—while they had scoured the Highlands for Ross Craigg—that Brodie was a better choice to lead the clan. “When I decide to step down,” Calum had clarified. It still rankled that they’d never found the traitor Craigg. Though his wife and daughter didn’t mourn his loss.
Brodie lay on the bed, bare as the day he was born, propped against the bolsters. His gaze lingered on his wife as she slowly removed her clothes. They had been married last October, and his love for her, his passion for her had only grown. He watched Kirsty undress and decided this was his favorite part of the evening. Alone and discussing their day, naked. He moaned as her shift pooled on the floor, and the vixen sauntered toward him. She laughed as his manhood swelled, running a finger up the length and over the tip. His ardor for her never diminished; the sight of her affected him every time. Every. Single. Time.
He grabbed her and flipped her body beneath him. “I’m no’ concerned with my sister right now,” he growled. He nibbled her ear lobe, then left a trail of kisses down her neck and across her collarbone. She had such a lovely neck. “And soon, she’ll no’ be yer concern either.”
He cupped one breast and rubbed the pink tip until it pebbled, licking and then sucking the other. She wriggled beneath him, sending fire through his core. His mouth slowly eased down her stomach, to the soft skin just above her mound, while his hands continued their caresses.
“Brodie,” she gasped. “Love me.”
“Aye, right.” He grinned as he parted the soft petals of her womanhood. His tongue found her secret spot, circling it, pulling it into his mouth until it hardened. His finger slipped inside and out again, her hips following the rhythm. He loved to watch her, the ecstasy on her face as release claimed her. Kirsty cried out, grasping his hair as her body rocked with tremors of pleasure.
Brodie moved over her and entered her slick passage, sinking his staff in deep with a loud groan. He stilled, gave her time to adjust to his member, and gain control of his hunger. Her hands roamed up and down his back. His mouth covered hers, their tongues dueling as he plunged into her, feeling the muscles tighten then relax.
“Brodie, oh God, Brodie!” She arched into him.
His thrusts came faster and more urgent, the desire spiraling, then bursting in an all-consuming release. He threw back his head, and the shout bounced off the ceiling as collapsed on top of her.
“I love ye, Brodie MacNaughton,” Kirsty whispered into his ear. “But ye really need to learn to be more quiet.”
He rolled off her and pulled her close, skimming her bare hips with his fingertips. She kissed his neck, and he sighed, waiting for his heart to slow. “Why? We’re the only ones on this floor. They canna hear us below.”
She gave him a wicked smiled. Her finger traced circles on his chest. “No, but ye may wake the bairn when it comes.”
He blinked. “Ye’re with child?”
Kirsty nodded. “Aye, ye randy goat. There’ll be a wee Brodie next fall.”
Brodie sat up against the bolsters and pulled her onto his lap. “Just when I think I canna love ye more, ye surprise me again.”
Love was an allusive faery, he had decided, dancing around and in front of him, surrounding him in a cocoon of tenderness and trust. A warm breath on his cheek, a random touch in the middle of the day, a shared look that no one else would understand. Kirsty’s love had always been a part of him, intimated and whispered, waiting for him to listen. He kissed her soft lips, his hand spread across her belly, and thought of what he might have missed. It had taken an entire clan, but he had finally heeded the subtle call.
THE END
About the Author
Bestselling and award-winning author Aubrey Wynne is an elementary teacher by trade, champion of children and animals by conscience, and author by night. She resides in the Midwest with her husband, dogs, horses, mule, and barn cats. Obsessions include wine, history, travel, trail riding, and all things Christmas. Her books have received the Golden Quill, Aspen Gold, Heart of Excellence, and the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence.
Aubrey’s first love is medieval romance but after dipping her toe in the Regency period in 2018 with the Wicked Earls’ Club, she was smitten. This inspired her spin-off series Once Upon a Widow. In 2020, she will launch the Scottish Regency series A MacNaughton Castle Romance with Dragonblade Novels.
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