by Mary McCall
She released her feline trill and clawed his shoulders. “If she suffers much more, the only comfort The MacPherson receives will be from the binding of his manly pride with a yellow ribbon."
"Do you threaten me, MacFury?"
"I'll do more than threaten if you do not move. I'll change tactics."
"Oh?"
Pressing her feet against his taut buttocks, she nipped his chin and breathed an erotic moan against his lips. “Please, Leonce."
Waves of commingled love and lust coursed through him. His world was filled with only her. They were soon wrapped in more than a spell of sensual desire. Their frantic mating became a recommitment of joined hearts and intertwined souls, taking them to shatteringly new heights of ecstasy. Her climax was a violent surrendering. Leonce girded his response until her shuddering throbs began to recede. With one last, powerful thrust, he roared and collapsed into a satisfied languor on top of her.
"I truly love you, Lion, but you're bloody well squishing me."
* * * *
Down in the hall, the roar shook the rafters. Freya hid her blush by leaning over the hearth and stirring the lamb's wool. Aonghus and Bowyn exchanged grins, while the other warriors in the hall sighed their relief.
"Forget the cider, Freya, my pet. Break out the whisky. ‘Tis a celebration we'll have tonight, for the surly lion is sated and become a lamb."
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Chapter Fifty-Eight
* * * *
Time ceased for the lion and lioness as they made love, cuddled, talked, cared for their sons, or simply relaxed in the intimacy of harmonious silence. Hope's melodious laughter became Leonce's heart- song. He cherished the return of the joyous dance in her eyes and her glow of vivacity. Contentment abided in his heart as he watched her tending their bairns, tossing him her impish grin, or forcefully making her point, trying to drag him into debate. She could nurture their sons with maternal love one moment and leap upon him with savage passion the next. The many sides of Hope combined into the dynamic woman who was his soul mate. Leonce realized she did for him something no one else had ever done; she made him truly happy.
The only person allowed into the chamber during the week, which turned into ten days, was Bertie. Strong family bonds were forged. On the fifth day, Bertie asked if he could take his brothers downstairs for a visit with Freya and Aonghus. Tears rained on the lad as Hope clasped him in an exuberant embrace, expressing her pleasure. Bertie fled the room, saying mayhap he would come for the twins later.
Each night while everyone slept, the couple ventured forth on the only errand capable of enticing them from their haven. Hope simply had to visit her friends and take them treats, so they wouldn't think themselves abandoned. The first night they raided the kitchen for Diable's apples and a piece of salt pork for Harry. Having never made love to his wife in a kitchen, Leonce knocked everything from the worktable and took her right there, leaving a mess of broken pottery, half-risen bread dough and utensils strewn across the floor.
The next evening, Jeannie entered the hall and set on the high table a covered bowl containing four apples and a piece of salt pork. Aonghus asked about the unusual gesture and learned ‘twas necessary to keep a couple of insatiable varmints out of the kitchen. Peeking under the napkin at the contents, Aonghus chuckled.
Late in the evening of the tenth day, Leonce lay on his back, basking in the afterglow of a drawn-out and tender joining. Hope snuggled against him, resting her head on his chest. A forlorn sigh escaped her.
"You would crush my pride if you didn't find the same satisfaction as I,” he said.
"'Twas magnificent, Leonce.” She petted his chest. “I was just thinking."
"What has put my heart in such a melancholy mood?"
"Must we leave the chamber tomorrow? There are two months of winter left.” Her lower lip pushed out into an enchanting pout.
"Are you wanting to carry on for the month and have the clan think you're wanton?"
"I want to carry on for the next two, and I do not care if they think I have an uncontrollable desire for constant mating."
Leonce chuckled. “If I do not show you tomorrow, they'll think I have mated you to death and will break down the door."
"Our clan is too cursed intruding,” Hope griped.
"'Twas not me who blurted our carnal agenda into the ears of Bowyn and Aonghus,” Leonce said with a gloating twist of his lips.
She raised accusing eyes. “According to Bertie, ‘twas your bloody roars that let them know every time we did it."
"What?” he asked incredulously.
"'Twas what he was whispering about the other day. Bowyn said he had never heard so much roaring off the battlefield. Bertie feared you hurt me."
Leonce burst into laughter.
She punched his shoulder. “'Tis not amusing. You need to talk with him about mating."
"You cannot be serious. He is only seven summers."
"Just wait until he asks you some of his questions. He has been watching Diable and Raven and has figured out a few things."
"Raven isn't even in season."
"Bloody well doesn't stop you. Does not stop me either, and I am too cursed embarrassed to face everyone.” She leaned her pink cheeks into his neck.
"You honestly think they don't know we mated afore?"
"They did not know how often. You need to work on your volume."
"I promise to be quiet from hence forth."
She snorted. “Leonce, I am worried about something."
"Tell me.” He slid his fingers through her hair, enjoying the cool texture.
"Come spring, you plan to go after Baron Nevilles, do you not?"
He rubbed her tense shoulders. “Aye. You're not to fash over it."
"I know you'll not take me with you. I want to help, though. ‘Tis my game, after all."
"How do you wish to help?"
She rose up and looked at him. “I could draw you a map of the passages under the holding. No sense meeting the baron on a field of honor when he has none. You should sneak up on him and slit his cursed throat."
Leonce traced a finger across her puckered brow. “With The MacKay, The MacDougall and The Fraser riding with me and thinking they have a right to the kill, they may not take kindly to such a strategy."
"Of all the people in the game, who has the greatest right?"
"'Tis probably betwixt me and The MacKay, but—"
"Nay! ‘Tis me. I have the greatest right. You play for me. Leonce, you do not know the baron as I do. Nothing is too evil for him if he thinks ‘twill help him win. I know you're a fierce warrior, and I do not disparage your skill. I just do not want you to risk my heart when it is not necessary."
"We have a few months left, love. Draw your map, and I'll think on the matter.” He slipped his hand down and stroked the crease in her bottom.
"My thanks, Leonce.” She purred and petted his cheek. “You're the best chieftain in the Highlands."
He rolled her onto her back and branded her with burning amber orbs. “And you're the best damn treasure."
* * * *
Hope survived her embarrassment and resumed her duties within the clan. Many warriors sought training from her in the use of the lash, but she escaped that particular task by promising to help Courageous make the whips. She made it clear to the warriors that instructions must come from their chieftain, once he had mastered the weapon.
She encountered a challenge teaching Leonce, who proved exacting in his approach. He analyzed her movements and technique, putting into words some of the finer points she had never thought about. He could soon shatter his targets with remarkable constancy. By the end of his second week, he could coil his lash about her throat with such extraordinary control that he left no abrasion, and she felt no sting.
As he removed his lash from her throat, Hope raised surprised eyes to his. “Zounds, Lion! I'm glad the baron had not your skill. Why such ruthless determination?"
"'Tis a l
ethal weapon worthy of deference.” He studied the whip in his grip and looked at her. “I enjoy the lessons and watching you work your lash, but I always approach such training with the concentration it deserves. Someday my life may depend upon it."
Hope clutched his arm. “Promise me you'll not face the baron with a whip?"
"'Twould be a fitting end for the buggerin’ boar."
"Nay, Leonce! You do not know.” She tightened her grip and fear shook her words. “His battle whip is embedded with shards and nails. The cursed thing cuts like a razor."
"Mine could be so armed."
"Aye, but you'll be stealing the glory of another proud weapon, Chief MacPherson. Justice deserves her due. ‘Tis her right."
Leonce studied Hope's earnest expression and nodded. “You're correct, Lady MacPherson. The baron will die by Justice."
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Chapter Fifty-Nine
* * * *
The remainder of the season passed quickly. Though Hope tried to conceal her anxiety, Leonce saw through her fragile composure. His efforts toward relieving her distress failed. He realized she wouldn't lose her fear until the battle was done, and he arrived home in one piece.
Three days after the last snow had fallen, Leonce summoned The MacKay, The MacDougall and The Fraser. They would convene on the last day in March and leave the next morning for England.
Two days before the gathering, Hope met Leonce in the hall and gave him her crude sketch of the passageways under the baron's holding. She cried throughout her explanation, constantly touching him just so she could feel his strength. She finally turned toward him, slipped her arms around his waist, and pressed her cheek against his chest. “Forgive me, Leonce. I do trust you to win. ‘Tis just that I've feared the baron my whole life. I will not be free of this cursed feeling until I know he is no longer a threat."
"I wish I could ease your torment, love.” He kissed her brow. “I can only promise to come home as fast as my mount can travel when this is finished."
"I feel guilty for asking you to play my cursed game. If I had known you would keep me, mayhap I wouldn't have cast such rotten bait."
He nudged up her chin and gazed into her eyes. “As I recall, you never asked me to play. ‘Twas my choice. You have nothing to feel guilty about. How about a diversion for the rest of the afternoon?"
"There is not enough snow left to stage an avalanche. I doubt anything else could divert me."
"You could feed the bairns and put them down for a nap. Garia can sit with them. We'll get Bertie and go for a limb-swinging lesson. What say you?"
"I say ‘tis still too cursed cold outside. There is still snow in the forest."
"You'll not mind the cold if you put on enough layers."
"'Twould weigh me down, and I couldn't swing properly."
"Wear your usual one layer. If you get too cold, I'll send Bertie to collect throwing stones and warm you myself.” He leaned down and breathed hotly in her ear. “Can be done without taking our clothes off."
"Well...if you promise to keep me warm.” She perked up. “I will go feed wee Leonce and Artair and change."
He grinned. “I'll find Bertie, and we'll be waiting."
* * * *
After a half day of play, Leonce, Hope and Bertie headed home and met the MacKays in the meadow setting up camp. Hope's father wanted to spend time with her and his grandsons before their departure.
As the day wore on, the warriors’ excitement battled with Hope's mounting fear. She repeatedly apologized for her cursed poor company. By the end of supper, her tension had become palpable. The warriors cast worried glances in her direction. She excused herself, saying her babes needed sustenance, and the strain in the atmosphere left with her.
Not expecting her return, Leonce frowned when Hope reappeared. He crossed the hall to her side and halted her. “Is something wrong, love?"
She raised a surprised gaze. “Why ask me such a question?"
"I thought you'd retired for the night.” He tucked a stray curl behind her ear.
"'Tis story time. I wouldn't retire until after that."
"No one expects a tale tonight. All know how distraught you are."
Determination lit her eyes. “A duty is something one does even though worry weighs the mind. ‘Tis important to me that we not break this routine afore you leave, Chief MacPherson. ‘Tis my duty to tell this tale."
Leonce read a sense of purpose in her demeanor. “Come, Lady MacPherson, and address your clan."
She gripped his arm, and an anxious quiver entered her voice. “You'll stay with me while I tell it, please, Leonce?"
"Aye, love. Through every word.” He slipped an arm around her waist and guided her to the chair by the hearth. He pulled her onto his lap, her back against his chest. She grasped his hand and laced her fingers through his.
As if on cue, the clansmen took their places. The MacKay and Julien moved chairs nearby. Bertie tossed a pelt on the floor before the story chair and raised expectant eyes.
After a prolonged silence, Hope looked up and cleared her throat. “Tomorrow night ‘twill probably be a revelry in anticipation of your leaving, so this is the last tale most of you will hear from me till your return. Parts of this story are cursed hard to tell. I beg your patience now. Some of you have heard it in bits and pieces. Some of you have been a part of it. Only one of you has heard it all, and ‘twill stay that way—though I'll tell you most.” She squeezed Leonce's hand and looked at Bertie. “I have been told ‘tis a sad tale, but I like to believe that is because it has no end."
Hope raised a hand to her brow. Leonce leaned close to her ear. “You do not have to do this."
"Aye, I must.” She cleared her throat again. “May I please have some cool cider?"
The beverage was handed to her. She took a swallow, set aside the cup, and looked out at her clan. “Once upon a time there was a beautiful Highland maid named Marcail. And ‘twas fitting, for she was truly a great pearl beyond price."
Disgust, rage and loathing for Baron Nevilles crossed every face as the story unfolded. The MacKay crushed an earthenware beaker with his fist as Hope described her mother's death. Hands throughout the hall caressed weapons when she related that a man had looked her over for purchase.
Lighthearted chuckles rumbled over her first attempt at fishing and the finding of the warm chamber with divine assistance. The pain showed in her eyes when she spoke of the trap closing about her leg, and this brought about renewed outrage.
Hope's reminiscences about old Elda had Leonce wishing he had met the wise and witty healer. Some of the scrapes his dear wife had gotten into with Cassie left him wondering if the two should ever be allowed to spend time together again.
The story took the clan through an emotional maelstrom. She covered everything up to the present, leaving out only a few personal matters between Leonce and herself.
Hope finished another glass of cider and turned intense eyes upon her audience. “I know my cursed frettin’ has some of you concerned. I've tried to hide it, but the Highlands have softened me. I cannot cover up so well anymore. I never belonged anywhere until Leonce tricked me, and Clan MacPherson welcomed me. ‘Tis a good feeling—being wanted. You're my family now. All of you are important to me. When you ride from here, my spirit travels with you. You know the object of my game. Now you know my story. It's not finished. Please remember that no matter how horrid the tales I tell, I prefer happy endings. I wish you Godspeed. May the Good Lord's angels guard you and guide you safely home."
Hope rose, yelped, and plopped down on Leonce's thigh. Reaching down, she rubbed her calf. “Well, cursed bloody rot and zounds!"
"What is wrong?” Leonce asked, concerned.
"Here I wanted to make a dignified exit, and my cursed leg fell asleep."
Leonce chuckled, and suppressed chortles escaped around the hall.
"Zounds! Go ahead and laugh.” She glared at her clansmen. “'Tis not as if you all do not know
I wasn't raised to be a proper chieftain's wife."
"Do not fash, lass,” Aonghus said. “You're the perfect lady for our chief. Not one of us would have you any other way."
"Aye, milady, Aonghus is right,” Bowyn called from the back of the hall. “'Twas an honor to have you dump me on my arse with your whip."
"And to have you raid away my Melba,” Davey yelled from the rear door.
"Melba nothing!” Robbie exclaimed. “She raided away one of Logan Fraser's Clydesdales."
A merry mood seized the clan. They continued shouting out Hope's accomplishments, trying to outdo each other.
She twisted around and glowered at Leonce. “Are you going to let them keep proclaiming my improper behaviors, Lion? ‘Tis embarrassing!"
Before Leonce could stop chuckling, Aonghus stepped forward. “Nay, lass. Remember we're all heathen Highlanders up here. What is proper in England doesn't matter to us. The day you returned Justice, the gloom that had shrouded this mountain since the slaughter lifted. The sun shone brighter. The birdies started chirpin’ a cheerful tune. Our heather bloomed a deeper purple. Our grass grew greener. ‘Tis the truth; there is a wee bit of MacFury in all our hearts. We just needed you to remind us ‘tis all right to play."
"Saint Columba, Aonghus!” Bowyn called. “Didn't know you were a cursed poet."
"You have nothing to be ashamed of, Angelaspera.” The MacKay addressed her with a serious mien, and the laughter faded from the hall. “With little guidance, you grew into a brave and deft woman—more worthy than Marcail and I ever dreamed of. By ending this feud, you lived up to your name. And never forget your legacy. You are the Gifted MacKay. ‘Tis proud I am to call you daughter."
Stunned, Leonce looked at her. “Good God, I never made the connection. She is the gifted one?"
"Aye, she is,” her father said proudly. “Her presence is a blessing to Clan MacPherson."
Murmured awe passed through the clan.
"My thanks, Father. I...I...I am so happy and sad right now that I am going to cry.” Hope draped her arms around Leonce and hid her face against his neck.
Slipping an arm beneath her legs, Leonce rose and carried Hope from the hall. As they disappeared up the stairs, a lash snapped. All eyes turned toward Bertie, who stood on the story chair with hands on hips, mimicking Hope's challenging pose.
