by Caroline Lee
“I ken the legend of the drummer goes back a hundred years, aye. But everyone says he—the drummer—has been particularly active in the last dozen years or more. I dinnae ken how long our parents have been—have been carrying on together, but my mother died when I was wee, and I recall hearing the drummer banging away through the walls, even when I was a lassie.”
Her explanation rushed out of her, the words tumbling across one another, until they reached the end, when she closed her mouth with an audible snap.
Brohn took a deep breath, feeling his chest brush against hers as he did so. “Aye…” he began cautiously, “I think ye’re right.”
“I am?” She sounded surprised.
“My mam was from the Lowlands, aye? Her mam was English, if ye can believe it. But when she came here to the castle to marry my father, she heard the legend of the drummer. And after my father and yer mother died, and the—the carrying on started, as ye say…”
“Aye?” Nessa breathed.
He shrugged again. “Have ye no’ noticed the drummer used different beats on different days? Because the beats meant something different each time, such as a signal or code of where to meet.”
“The ghost was sending a code?”
A chuckle burst out of him, and he scrubbed his free hand across his face even as he squeezed her fingers to let her know he wasn’t laughing at her.
“Nay, Nessa. Our parents were sending codes to one another. I dinnae think Lara kens it, but I found a wee drum under Mam’s bed years ago and realized the truth then. I suspect yer father keeps one in his chambers. Of course, they may have gotten rid of them in the last few months. Ye have noticed, have ye no’, that since their affair was made public, the drumming has stopped?”
Her fingers tightened around his. After a long moment, her voice came out in a strangled whisper as she asked, “Ye think our parents are the Ghostly Drummer of Oliphant Castle?”
He had to chuckle at the incredulity in her voice. “Nay. I think our parents just made use of the legend. Ye have to admit, their drumming did get better over the years.”
To his surprise, she burst into laughter. And not just chuckles, but full-on guffaws, which propelled her forward, slamming against him. Instinctively, he reached up and held her arm, keeping her upright, as her laughter slowly faded to giggles, then began again.
“Well, ‘tis glad I am the passages are no’ completely secret,” he muttered.
She gasped, then asked, “Why?”
“Because the ghost drums, Nessa. He doesnae laugh.”
And no’ such delightful feminine laughter, for certes!
She was still giggling when she relaxed against him, allowing him to take her weight as she reached down to adjust something—her shoe, mayhap? It was an easy movement, one which showed she was comfortable with him, and his body.
The thought had him squeezing his eyes closed and willing his desire under control.
Blowing out a breath—her laughter had been like a balm—Nessa straightened, her fingers still entwined with his. When she shrugged, her shoulder bumped into his chest, reminding him of just how close they were.
I’d like to be closer.
Down, lad, he reminded his cock, she’s no’ for ye.
Except…once, she was.
“Well, Brohn, ye certainly ken how to show a lass a good time.”
He managed a strangled, “Hmm?” in reply.
With another giggle, which turned into a sigh, she stepped away. “Dragging me into a pitch-black secret passage I didnae ken existed and revealing the truth of a century-old legend.”
She was moving again, and he was content to follow behind, pleased beyond expectation she still held his hand.
“I must protest, milady, the truth only applies to the last few years, honestly. The legend is older than that. And ye seem to be the one dragging me.”
“Aye!” He could hear the smile in her voice. “Exciting, is it no’?”
He had to smile as well.
When they reached the notch cut high in the outer wall—letting in weak light and plenty of cold wind from the storm outside, she barely paused. “Which way to my chamber?”
Nudging her aside, Brohn slid past her. The passage was only wide enough for one, so her breasts brushed him when he passed…and he was certain she could feel his erection. In the faint gray light, he saw her eyes widen and her lips curve upward.
“This way,” he whispered, not sure if he should be worried or pleased about that smile.
The faint light receded behind them as he led her down the passage which traveled behind the walls of the family’s personal chambers. The laird’s chamber was nearby, and he wondered how many times Mam had climbed the hidden staircase and crept along these passages. Mayhap that explained why there was so little dust. His mother always had been one hell of a housekeeper.
Mayhap Nessa was thinking the same thoughts, because suddenly she said, “Ye ken, ‘tisnae fair.”
Many things weren’t. But he just hummed questioningly.
“My da cares for yer mother, ‘tis obvious. And there couldnae be a better woman for him than her. Oh, aye, he loved a woman long ago, and obviously, at least cared for my brother’s mothers a bit, aye? But Moira…?” Nessa blew out a breath, which was a half-sigh, half-chuckle. “Moira is special. He loves her.”
“And she loves him,” Brohn whispered, knowing it was the truth.
“Exactly!” In one, violent motion, she yanked her hand from his and stopped in the dark passageway. “And when two people love each other, they should be together.”
Unable to see her, he still turned in her direction, frowning. “What are ye saying?”
“They deserve to be together, to be married. To stand up in front of God and their clan and say, ‘We love one another and pledge our lives to each other!’ ”
She wasn’t speaking of their parents. Or rather, she wasn’t just speaking of Moira and William.
“Nessa,” he whispered, reaching for her, agony in his heart.
And then she took his hands, finding them unerringly in the dark. “Our parents arenae the only ones who deserve happiness, Brohn.”
Choking on his own desire and grief, he managed to whisper, “Ye’ve always deserved happiness, love.”
Her sharp bark of laughter was sarcastic as she pushed herself forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek against his chest.
He knew she could feel his hardness straining against the inside of his kilt, pushing against her warmth. But it didn’t frighten her; —naught frightened his Nessa. She was a woman who understood her own body, and her own yearnings, and took what she wanted.
It was one of the things he loved about her.
“Ye deserve to be happy too, Brohn. So I’ll ask ye, here in the dark, where ‘tis easier to be truthful with one another: What would make ye happy? Would ye be happy to see me married off to some distant Henry, visiting my da and brothers, and ye, mayhap once a year? Would that make ye happy?”
She was right. ‘Twas easier to be truthful in the dark.
Shuddering, he confessed in a whisper, “Nay.”
“Then what would make ye happy, Brohn?”
Squeezing his eyes shut, he buried his face in her hair, inhaling the flowery scent of her soap. Here in the frigid dark, he admitted the truth.
Ensuring his clan’s future was his duty, but ‘twould not make him happy.
“Ye, lass. Ye make me happy.”
She didn’t speak or move for a long time. And, pressed between them, his desire only grew.
Finally, she straightened, her hands falling to his hips. “Brohn, are there any more of those mistletoes around?”
The question surprised him. Frowning, he blinked. “Nay, lass, no’ here in the passage, no’ that I ken.”
When she hummed, she sounded…disappointed?
“Mayhap we could pretend there are.”
“Nessa, are ye saying…ye want me to kiss ye?”
&nb
sp; He heard her smile, heard it. “Nay, Brohn. I’m saying I want to kiss ye. Are we near my chamber?”
Not trusting his voice, he reached out and knocked on a section of the wall. It sounded solid, so he slid away from her and knocked again until he found the brick which sounded differently, and his questing fingers located the little notch he knew would be there.
With a click, a section of the hearth swung open.
He turned back to her in time to see her grin. Then she took his hand and tugged him into her chamber.
And he, doomed man that he was, gladly followed her.
Chapter 5
Nessa didn’t bother hiding her giddy grin as she pulled Brohn into her chamber through the secret passage. She had an entrance to a secret passage right here in her room, and never knew! Luckily, he did, because it meant they were now alone, together, in her chamber.
The things he’d revealed in the darkness—about the legend of the drummer and their parents—were swirling around her head, but she couldn’t give them the attention they deserved, not with words like “bed” and “kiss” and “Brohn’s penis” looming larger.
So, aye, she was giddy when she tugged him away from the hearth to stand on the rushes in the middle of the room. Both of them were surprisingly clean, considering their tromp through the passageway, and she assumed Moira’s housekeeping skills had extended even to the secret spaces in the castle.
How many more existed?
And did that even matter, with him here, finally?
“Wait!” she blurted, wanting to do this right.
She dropped his hand and whirled for the hearth once more. There, on the mantel, was a bundle of dried herbs from Merewyn’s garden. She hurriedly tied a loop at the end of the ribbon which held them together, then stood on her toes to hook it over a peg beside the hearth.
Then she took his hand once more and tugged him over to the wall to stand beneath the herb. He had the most adorably confused expression on his face when he peered up at the bundle.
Smiling, she tilted her head back. “See? Mistletoe.”
She’d had a chance to kiss him under the mistletoe twice now, but missed both of them. But after his confession in the darkness, about her being what would make him happy, she knew this was her chance.
He was frowning. “Nessa, that’s no’ mistletoe. ‘Tis…” He sniffed. “Rosemary?”
Giving him the come-hither-est come-hither look she could manage, while swallowing her excitement, she lowered her voice sultrily, and asked, “Can we no’ pretend ‘tis mistletoe?”
And, miracle of miracles, the man seemed to understand!
His lips curled upward into a slight smile, and he settled both hands on her hips. “Aye,” he murmured, his gaze on her lips, “I think we can.”
In her fluttering giddiness, Nessa wasn’t sure what to do with her hands. But as his lips lowered to hers, she settled for clasping his upper arms, as much to anchor her as to ensure he didn’t disappear.
When his lips brushed against hers for the first time in months, Nessa’s eyes closed on a sigh. The worry, the excitement, the need… were all calmed by this gentle kiss.
It was the merest brush and over far too quickly.
He straightened, and she sighed again, opening her eyes. Her heart was still pounding, her skin still prickled with need for him, but now they weren’t at odds. ‘Twas obvious he wanted her as well.
She just had to convince him to take what he wanted.
Glancing around the room, she saw what she needed. Moira and Lara had decorated the castle for the holy season, hanging pine boughs and ribbon in everyone’s chambers. They would serve Nessa’s purpose perfectly!
Squirming out from his hold, she clung tightly to Brohn’s hand and tugged him toward the closed door across the room. There, under one of the boughs, she turned into his arms once more.
“More mistletoe?” she murmured, darting a glance up at the decorations so he would know what she meant.
His lips curled lazily. “That’s pine,” he drawled.
Shrugging, her attention on his lips, she murmured, “I’ve never been much of a gardener.”
And then he was kissing her again. This kiss wasn’t gentle, thank the Virgin, but leisurely. His lips covered hers, tugging and playing; their tongues reacquainting themselves with the feel of the other.
St. Margaret, bless me!
It had been so long, so very long, since she’d tasted Brohn, and it was just as wonderful as she remembered.
Despite the unhurried pace, they were both breathing heavily when he finally straightened, and she was surprised to discover her hair had been pulled from its net, and the neckline of her red and green gown had become skewed.
Her own grin suddenly blooming, Nessa knew what they both needed. And knew exactly how to get it.
Darting from his arms, she lunged for one of her small trunks and threw it open. Pawing through the velvets and silks her father had bestowed upon her over the years, she found what she was looking for.
Her breasts heaving against the festive silk of her bodice, she whirled to face Brohn once more.
Certain she had his attention, she held the green handkerchief between her thumb and forefinger and lifted it over her head.
He chuckled, then shook his head as he crossed the room, prowling toward her. She lifted her chin, met his eyes, and reminded herself that if she felt like prey in his sights, she wanted him to prey upon her.
Please and thank ye!
“Nessa,” he murmured, half-growling as he settled in front of her, his hands on her hips, and his erection jutting between them. “Are ye trying to find excuses to kiss me?”
She fluttered the green silk and smiled coyly, trying to hide just how much she needed his lips on her skin. “Is it working?”
His blue eyes darted up once, and his lips curled. “ ’Tis no’ mistletoe either, ye ken. ‘Tis a handkerchief.”
“Oh really?” she murmured, her gaze fixed on his lips. “I dinnae ken much about fashion either.”
With a growl, he slammed his lips down atop hers, and the wonderfully helpful piece of green silk fluttered to the floor as she ran her fingers through his hair.
Aye! Aye!
This kiss wasn’t leisurely at all. Nay, ‘twas hot and heavy and desperate. He ground his lips and his hips against hers, and she met him joyfully, cradling his hardness exactly where she wanted it to be.
Aye, Brohn!
Her entire body called his name as his hand rose to cup her breast. She moaned and arched against him, willing him to pull down the front of her bodice and suckle on her nipples, the way he’d done months before.
So much had changed, but none of that mattered now. Right here, right now, all that mattered was—
Wait.
Through the haze of her desire, something Agatha had mentioned was niggling at the back of her mind. Gasping, she pulled her lips from his, but with one ankle left hooked behind his knee, she continued to press her pelvis into his.
“Brohn!” she panted. “What’s yer real name?”
The question surprised him, judging from the way his chin jerked upright. He blinked, his eyes hazy with desire. “What?”
“Aunt Agatha said Brohn isnae really yer name.” Why in the world did this matter now? But Nessa had never been good at knowing when to keep her mouth shut. “So what is it?”
His confusion turned to incredulity, and he flexed his fingers.
The fact that said fingers happened to be cupped around her breast at the time made her catch her breath, the sensation absolutely delicious.
“Does it really matter?” he growled.
She moaned and arched her back. “Nay!” Nay, naught else mattered when he touched her like that.
His fingers inched upward, catching the neckline of her bodice and tugging at it. More skin was exposed, and he lowered his head again, his lips brushing over the tops of her breasts as his fingertips played merry hell with her senses.
“Ne
ssa,” he breathed against her skin, as one breast was exposed completely. “Nessa, why are we here?”
He brushed his thumb against her nipple, causing it to harden, and her moan turned desperate. She thrust her pelvis against his hardness, begging him to give her what she wanted.
“Ye ken,” she panted. “Brohn, please!”
But he didn’t grant her mercy. Instead, he caught her nipple between two fingers and tugged slightly, the sensation causing a flood of wet warmth between her thighs.
“I need to hear ye say it, love.”
“I want ye, Brohn. I’ve always wanted ye,” she panted, straining into his touch. “I never stopped wanting ye.”
He straightened enough to look into her eyes. “Here and now?” His grim expression belied the need she could feel pressed against her. “On Christmas Day, in yer chambers?”
She couldn’t stop her cheeky grin for all the feast days in the year. “I cannae think of a better way to celebrate.” She rubbed her leg against his, managing to pull him even closer. “Please, Brohn!”
Still he hesitated. Or at least, he continued to look unsure. Did he not believe she wanted this?
Nay…she needed this. Needed him.
Emboldened, she reached between them and grasped his hardness through his kilt. Aye, this was what she needed inside her!
With a groan of surrender, he lowered his lips to hers once more, and they fell onto the bed together.
They managed to shed their clothing, helping one another in what would’ve been a hilarious tangle, were they not both so desperate. His lips were everywhere, making her moan in ways she’d forgotten, and when she grasped his naked cock, this time he muttered a curse she’d never heard.
She was smiling as she guided his hard length to her entrance, and when he slid home, they both sighed in completion.
Then there was no time for sighing, as his thrusts took her closer and closer to the edge of the precipice. And when she felt herself clench around him, he froze. Groaning her name, he slammed into her once more, a warmth spilling against her womb, and pleasure burst over her in a million tingly bits of lights.
After, she lay against him, one leg thrown just above his softening manhood, her fingers making swirls in the hair on his chest. One of his arms was stacked behind his head and the other held her tightly, as if he too were afraid of this being over much too soon.
