by Caroline Lee
Nessa’s mother had died when she’d been young and had never been a caring sort of woman. But Moira had been there throughout Nessa’s childhood, helping to raise Alistair and Kiergan, and later all of Da’s sons. She’d been the one to dry Nessa’s tears when she’d fallen, or explain the facts of womanhood to her such as why in damnation her tits hadn’t shown up until she was fourteen. Moira had always been there and had always been a mother to her.
“Happy Christmas, Moira,” she whispered. “I’m so happy for ye.”
Beaming, the other woman gave her one last squeeze and set her back. “I couldnae ask for a better way to start the new year. I’ll confess I took some convincing, but yer father can be quite the charmer.” Da laughed and Nessa rolled her eyes, as Moira continued, “A Hogmanay wedding!” Her tone turned sly. “Of course, a double wedding would be nice.”
Nessa’s smile felt fixed, forced. “Oh, I dinnae ken…” she hedged, determined not to turn to look for Brohn once more. Where had he gone?
Her father harrumphed gruffly. “Are ye no’ going to hug me, lass? Wish me congratulations? I ken Moira is no’ yer mother, but ye were the one who finally made me see sense—”
It was the uncertainty in her father’s face which jolted Nessa into action. Launching herself at the older man, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and was comforted when he hugged her in return.
“Of course I’m happy for ye, Da. Many congratulations, and I could never be sad about such a development. Moira is a wonderful woman and has always been a mother to me.”
His arms squeezed around her. “Ye really dinnae mind?”
Her throat tightened. “I’m happy for ye, Da, I really am.” A band around her heart seemed to squeeze as well. She was happy for him, but desperately wanted the same happiness for herself. “I love ye, Da.”
“I love ye too, lass,” her father whispered hoarsely.
Suddenly, Moira’s voice cut through their embrace. “What’s that sound?”
Da stiffened, pulling Nessa away. She saw him cock his head and narrow his eyes.
And then, she heard it too.
“It sounds like…” Moira hummed. “Drumming?”
Moira, Nessa and her father exchanged shocked looks. If Brohn’s story had been right, then the Ghostly Drummer of Oliphant Castle had actually been the two people standing before her, but if they were here, then who was…?
“The ghost?” she whispered to her father, her eyes wide.
Moira hummed again, planting her hands on her hips. “William, that sounds like our code!”
Da nodded slowly, then his lips pulled upward under his beard, and he winked at Moira. “So ‘tis. Ye want to meet me in my chambers then?”
Nessa blurted, “What?”
“ ’Tis our code, lass. She needs me and wants to meet me in my chambers. Hear how it’s repeating over and over again? It means she’s desperate for—”
Shaking her head, Nessa stepped back, tempted to slam her hands over her ears. “I dinnae need to hear this, Da!”
“Well, it could be me drumming for Moira, I guess. A man has needs—”
“Da!”
“What?” Her father was grinning now, she was sure. “I’m still a lusty, virile man, aye?”
Thankfully, Moira interrupted him. “William, I ken ye are, love, but if I’m here, and ye’re here, who’s doing the drumming?”
Nessa nodded in relief, surprised talk of a ghost made her feel relieved. But anything was better than thinking of her father’s needs. “Do ye think ‘tis the ghost?” she asked.
The drumming—whatever pattern it was—was coming closer. Slowly, all three of them turned to face the stone wall in the rear of the great hall, where the drumming seemed to be approaching.
The secret passages?
And then, as if answering her unspoken question, a section of stone to the right of the great hearth swung open…and Brohn stepped out.
He was holding a drum, and he was grinning.
Nessa had taken two stumbling steps toward him before she remembered she was angry at him. Or was she angry at herself?
Wait, am I angry at all?
The two of them stared at one another, and his smile slowly faded.
“Brohn?” she whispered, not sure what she was asking.
He placed the drum down on the chair Aunt Agatha had so recently abandoned. Holding his hand out to her, he stepped forward.
“Nessa, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making ye doubt me, and I’m sorry for placing my duty to the clan above my duty to my heart.”
Duty to his clan?
He winced, as if realizing what he’d said as well. “The duty I thought I had to my clan. I should’ve spoken to ye, and I would’ve understood where yer happiness lay. I thought I was doing the right thing by stepping back and letting yer father marry ye off to someone to strengthen alliances.”
He took her limp hands in his and lifted them both to his lips. “I loved ye then, lass, and I love ye now, I cannae let ye go.”
He didnae desert me!
The realization came slowly, and her smile followed.
Behind her, Da cleared his throat. “Is there something ye want to ask me, laddie?”
Brohn took a deep breath, but Nessa beat him to it. Whirling around, she pressed her back up against Brohn’s chest—was she protecting him?—and pierced her father with a glare.
“I’m done, Da! I never wanted to marry some far-off Henry, and I’m tired of being thought of as a curse because they all keep dying! Ghosts and curses—the Oliphants are getting a reputation, and I’m done!”
Her father was frowning as he crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. Beside him, Moira was wringing her hands and biting her lip, and Nessa hoped it wasn’t a bad sign.
“Ye never said aught against the betrothals, lassie,” Da finally rumbled.
“That’s no’ true! I told ye I didnae want to be married to—to—well, I lost count of which Henry ‘twas, but I didnae want any of them.”
“Och, aye, ye fussed a little, but I ken ye. If ye’d been serious, ye would’ve burned down the castle to get out of it.”
“Da, the castle’s made of stone.”
Her father’s lips twitched. “Ye ken what I mean.”
She huffed and crossed her arms, mirroring her father’s pose. “Ye think I should’ve made more of a fuss? I could’ve, aye, but…”
She felt Brohn step out from behind her. “But she didnae, because she was waiting for me to make a fuss. I am ashamed to say I didnae.”
Her father nodded thoughtfully. “All that about duty and happiness, eh?”
Brohn placed his hands on his hips, looking ready to do battle.
For her.
Be still, my heart.
“Milord, I thought I kenned ‘twas best, but I was wrong. I didnae think to ask Nessa her feelings on the matter, and I suspect ye’re guilty of that as well.” Before Da could get in a huff about that, Brohn continued, “I love her, and she loves me. I should’ve stood up and requested—begged—for her hand, before ye even started betrothing her.”
Da was frowning.
Figuring they should go ahead and tip the balance, Nessa piped up, “And I’ve had sex with him, Da! Lots and lots of sex. All the sex—”
“Shut up, Nessa,” Brohn hissed, but her father had heard her, judging from the way his eyes widened.
She nodded happily. “I really enjoyed it, Da. I have needs, ye ken. I’m a virile, lusty woman, and I—”
“Stop!” roared her father, clapping his hands to his ears. “I dinnae need to hear this. Besides,” he frowned fiercely at her, “a woman cannae be virile. ‘Tis a man’s word.”
“Why?” Nessa challenged.
“Aye.” Moira elbowed the laird. “Why can a woman no’ be virile?” When he turned to her with a scowl, she grinned. “My son is a good lad, William, ye ken that. He’s worked hard for the clan and will make a good husband.”
“Aye…” Da looked hesitant. �
�But Nessa…”
“Nessa is a woman who kens what she wants, my love. And I’ll remind ye of all the things ye told me this afternoon to convince me to marry ye. Her happiness matters as much as yers does.”
Nessa nodded. “Thanks to my brothers’ marriages, ye have the alliances ye wanted with other clans. And luckily, the Henrys’ clans havenae blamed me for their untimely deaths, so we’re still coming out better than we were last spring—”
“Fine!” Her father threw up his hands. “I’m going to have to let ye marry the man, am I no’?”
He was scowling, but there was a twinkle in his eyes when he held out his hand to Brohn. “Welcome to the family, lad.”
Brohn grasped his forearm, then let out a little yelp when his laird pulled him into a back-pounding embrace.
Looking a little bruised, Brohn stepped back, grinning broadly, and turned to Nessa.
Before he could speak, Moira called out, “Ye still have to ask her, son.”
His grin turned downright wicked as he scooped Nessa up into his arms.
She gasped, her arms instinctively going around his neck. “What are ye doing?”
He winked, then lowered his voice. “Asking ye properly.”
As he headed for the stairs—hopefully to carry her up to her chamber, because he had needs, according to his drumming, at least—she began to laugh joyfully.
Chapter 10
He’d intended to be romantic, but it didn’t exactly work out that way.
The moment he stepped into her chambers, kicking the door closed behind him, she kissed him. It was awkward, because she was still in his arms, but she pulled his head down to hers, and he stopped worrying about elbows and chins, and even his sense of balance.
Somehow, she squirmed out of his arms, and he, desperate, reached for her. But then she was back, and kissing him again, and he forgot what he’d been concerned about.
When he next came up for air, her dress was hanging off her shoulder as she held one hand high in the air. She was holding…
He squinted, not sure if his desire had made his vision blurry. “Is that holly?”
Humming, she glanced upward. “Is it? I thought ‘twas ivy. Oh well.” She tossed it aside.
“Are we pretending ‘tis mistletoe?”
She shrugged. “I thought it would be helpful.”
With a groan, he caught her in his arms again. “Lass, I dinnae need mistletoe when it comes to ye.”
And that’s when she cupped his bollocks through his kilt, and his good intentions had to go and have a lie down.
And so did he.
“Oh, saints in Heaven, Brohn! Do that again!”
“Gladly,” he murmured against her skin, right before he dragged his tongue across her nipple. He loved the way she arched against him, the way she tugged on his hair, the way she gasped his name.
She was the one who pushed him down, naked, across her mattress. Smiling wickedly, she climbed atop him.
As he reached for her, she straddled him, shifting until his cock nestled against her curls. As he gripped her hips, she stroked him.
“Can ye feel how ready I am for ye, my love?” she murmured, gyrating against him so her wetness coated his bollocks. “Are ye ready for a real feast day gift?”
By St. Odran’s beard, he loved this woman!
“Aye, please,” he managed to choke out past his desire.
And then she sunk down atop him, fully sheathing his cock in her tight core, and they both moaned.
It damn near killed him to stay still, to allow her ride him, as he fought for control. But Jesu Christo, it felt good! The sweet torture had him sweating, his jaw muscles rigid, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he tried to keep from flipping her over and pounding into her.
Her little noises—mewls and pants and pleas—didn’t help either. He wanted to shut his eyes, to try to maintain control, but doing so felt like a sacrilege. Not when she was so—so—so wildly beautiful, her auburn hair spilling around her tits as she rode him and moaned.
And then she gasped his name, and he felt her inner muscles tightening around him.
Thank ye, St. Odran!
He grasped her hips then, and warned, “Brace yerself, lass,” before lifting her up off his cock, just far enough so he could slam upward into her hot, weeping core.
The noise she made was somewhere between a yelp and a plea, so he did it again. She threw back her head and moaned, then tipped forward to plant her palms against his chest.
It only took two more thrusts until she came apart, and the sensation caused him to explode with pleasure as well. He roared her name as he spilled his seed into her, exalting in the knowledge she was his.
And would be his forever.
Panting, she collapsed beside him and rolled off. He wanted to gather her in his arms, but he was too busy gasping for air.
“Well, ‘tis one way to make up for lost time!” she murmured beside him, and he began to chuckle.
Of course, he still didn’t have his breath back, so all that emerged was a sort of choking sound.
Verra romantic, laddie.
Finally regaining his composure, Brohn pushed himself up on one elbow to smile down at her. She was sprawled naked across the coverlet and didn’t seem to mind the room was chilled. Her red curls spilled around her shoulders, and she was grinning up at the bedcurtains.
“I’m thinking about embroidering the canopy with mistletoe. What think ye of that?”
“So I can always kiss ye beneath it?” he murmured.
“Ay—” Her agreement was interrupted by a lusty yawn, and he had to smile.
Gently, he placed his hand on her stomach, sliding his fingertips across her skin. She was his, and he’d say his vows before God and the clan as soon as possible to ensure that. And mayhap, one day, her stomach would swell with his—nay, their—bairn, and she’d raise a daughter who’d be just as perfectly headstrong and feisty as she was.
“I love ye,” he whispered.
“And I loved that!” She suddenly sat up, dislodging his hand, but grabbing it in both of hers before it could fall. “I didnae ken two people could make love that way. Obviously, my education has been lacking, Brohn.” Her frown was adorably false.
“Well then,” he drawled, twining his fingers through hers, “as yer soon-to-be-husband, I shall take it upon myself to education ye more thoroughly.”
“And I shall commemorate it! My next embroidery piece will have to be a side view, though some details could be lost, but it wouldnae look right top-down.” She frowned. “Mayhap if I portrayed ye with yer knees bent, the shadows wouldnae—”
Chuckling, he interrupted her. “This is why I love ye, although I’d ask ye to no’ put me in one of yer scenes.”
“I can make it vague.” She leaned forward, her breasts hanging tantalizingly near, as she brushed a kiss across his brow. “The male lover doesnae need to have such beautiful blue eyes, nor lovely pale hair.”
He hummed. “And can the woman no’ be an auburn-haired, enthusiastic wild inquisitor?”
“Well, clearly she’s enthusiastic. Ye really love me, Brohn?”
He wasn’t fazed by the change in topic. “Of course I do. Yer interests are different than others, but ye’re unapologetic about what ye like.”
Waggling her brows, she leaned closer. “I like this, being naked in bed with ye.”
“Hmm. And I like ye.”
When her lips brushed his, he grabbed her about the waist and pulled her atop him. They rolled together, kissing and laughing, until he got them both under the coverlet.
“Will ye marry me, Nessa? I meant to ask ye properly when we came upstairs, but…”
“I distracted ye.”
“Ye distracted me,” he agreed, “in the best way.”
Pursing her lips, she glanced upward, as if calculating. “If I marry ye, will ye help me try out new positions of sexual coitus, so I might expand my horizons?”
“As yer husband, I
think ‘tis only fair and just it be me to take on such a sacred duty.”
She nodded solemnly, but he could see the sparkle in her blue-gray eyes. “And will ye help me learn how to hold weapons properly so I understand how to more accurately portray battles and such?”
His brow creased in thought, and then he sighed. “Lass, ye’re no’ trained for it. No’ that ye’re incapable, but ye dinnae have the muscles.” Before she could object, he hurried to offer a compromise. “What if I hold the weapons for ye? Aye, I’ll show ye how to hold them, but then I’ll…I’ll pose for ye. Model? Is that the right word?”
She pushed herself up on her elbow. “Ye’d do that for me?”
“Of course. I love ye.”
Smiling, she brushed a kiss across his lips. “I love ye too, Brohn.”
“So…will ye marry me?”
Giggling, she rolled her eyes. “I’d say I have to, eh? Since ye’ve ruined me and all.”
Pretending to be offended, he protested, “Ye ruined yerself, lass! Dinnae drag me into this!”
“Aright,” she huffed, “I ruined ye. So aye, I’ll marry ye.” Her expression turned serious as she gazed down at him. “I’ve always wanted to be yer wife. I was never meant to be the wife of some far-off Henry.”
He couldn’t help his wince.
She noticed. “What is it?”
Sighing, Brohn pushed himself up on an elbow to mirror her. She was going to find out sooner or later, so it might as well be now.
“Well, I ken ye dinnae have a lot of nice things to say about Henrys—”
She gave an inelegant little snort. “Dinnae get me started!” Pushing herself upright, she began to tick off names on her fingers. “First, Henry Ruthven, then Henry of Elgin, Henry Campbell, Henry Duffus, and Henry Stewart—I found out he’d died only two days after I discovered Da had finalized the contract, remember?” She scoffed and shook her head. “Where was I? Oh, aye, five.” She switched hands and held up two more fingers. “Then there was another Henry Campbell—cousin to the first one, if ye can believe it. I guess Da really wanted that Campbell alliance, and the Campbells didnae like their Henrys much to agree to promise me to another. And finally, Henry of Skye. I heard he was older than Aunt Agatha!”
