by Sandy Blair
Birdi fought her way through her throat-seizing blackness in search of the source of the soothing words. The deep, burring voice, the smell, the heat surrounding her meant safety. She took a shuddering breath and finally managed to open her eyes.
Breath hitching, she whispered, “Angus.”
“Aye.” He wiped the wetness from her cheeks. “I dinna mean to wake ye, but ye were deep in a nightmare, and none too happy about it.”
Feeling the fool—her heart still beating at a frantic pace—she struggled to sit. “I’m sorry, I dinna—”
“Sssh, we all have them.” He pulled her into his side, holding her close with an arm. “‘Tis naught to be ashamed of. Are ye better now?”
Taking another shuddering breath, deciding there was no harm in taking comfort just this once, she relaxed against him. “Aye, much better.”
He smiled. “Ye had me fashing for a moment.”
“Sorry.”
“Do ye have these terrors often?”
“Nay.” Only when she healed another. She’d then wake so parched and hoarse she’d wonder if she’d screamed the night away.
He stroked her back with a gentle hand. “Would ye like to talk about it? Mayhap it will make them go away for good.”
“‘Tis naught but an old memory.” She yawned, deciding it must be time to feed Wee Angus. Then the day’s events crashed down upon her with the swiftness of a giant tree felled by lightening. A great, racking sob escaped before she could grab hold of it.
Her wee precious babe was gone.
“Ack, lass, sssh.” Angus rolled onto his side and drew her closer. As she buried her face into the massive warm muscles of his chest, he kissed the top of her head. “Have ye ever seen a dolphin, love?”
She shook her head, unable to speak as she tried to cope with the pain squeezing the life out of her.
In a voice barely above a whisper he told her, “They’re wondrous creatures—part fish, part man—according to legend. Gray and white, slick and smooth as polished steel, they roam the seas in herds of tens, leaping and gliding as if they had not a care in the world.
“‘Tis a good omen when they frolic about a man’s boat. They occasionally whistle as they keep pace with ye, their wide mouths smiling. Aye, they’re verra fine, have been known to save drowning men by keeping them afloat with their powerful snouts and fins until help could arrive.
“When I was a lad of eight years—the year my own mam died—a lone mother dolphin and calf came into Drasmoor Bay. Since this had never occurred before it caused quite a stir. Some claimed ‘twas a good omen. Others claimed ‘twas a sign something dreadful had happened or was about to happen at sea. ‘Twas not until a few brave souls rowed out to greet her that the truth was known.
“The babe with her had been attacked, and from the look of the wounds, by a fearsome shark or whale.
“Much fashing then ensued about what to do to help them. Since the fishing was poor within the bay, some men went out to sea each day and hauled back fish for the mother. Women concocted salves made of lanolin so they wouldna dissolve in the salty sea when applied to the babe’s raw wounds. Being a bairn myself, I could do little but go out and watch the elders tend them, pray, and give the pair names. I named the mother Bigly, for she was indeed beautiful, and the wee one Dautie, for all thought of him with great affection. Days passed.
“Then one morn I awoke to the news the babe hadna made it through the night. Lass, I greeted ‘til my heart nearly broke.
Birdi opened her eyes to find tears glistening in Angus’s. So, he’d loved and lost, too—his Minnie and the dolphin all in one year. He understood.
She traced the gentle curves of his lips with a finger. Then to her own surprise she stretched a bit so they were face to face and kissed him. Softly, just as he had kissed her.
As she pulled away he smiled and cleared his throat. “Bigly left and life went on,” he told her. “Then one morn we awoke to a trumpeter’s blast. We all raced out to see what was amiss—we were having our fair share of troubles with the Bruce at the time—and found Auld Brian jumping and shouting on the shore looking fit to be tied.
“To our amazement, there, out in the harbor—bobbing and arching between Castle Blackstone and shore—was Bigly, the mother we’d all come to care about.
“I was simply beside myself with joy and scrambled into the first boat launched. We rowed out to greet her, and discovered she’d come to show us something—her new bonnie calf. He was a lighter gray than the other and bigger, his smiling mouth clicking and clacking at a pace so fast I could barely distinguish one from the other.” Angus brushed the loose strand from her face and kissed her ever so gently. “Ye’ll have another bairn in time, love, as bonnie as yer foundling, but one of yer heart and blood that no one can ever take away.”
He silently studied her, no doubt hoping she would nod in agreement.
He cared that she ached near beyond breathing, but he didn’t—couldn’t—ever know her deepest heartache: that all he’d promised would never come to pass. She was cursed...a near-blind spae.
Wishing she could share her grief, but knowing she never would, she nodded for his sake.
Grinning, he squeezed her a wee bit. “That’s the lass.” He then whispered, “I dinna ken what transpired while ye were alone with Kelsea Fraser, but I do ken ye are beyond any doubt the bravest and most generous woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. I’m verra glad I ken ye, Birdalane.” He stroked her cheek. “I mean that sincerely.”
She fell in love with Angus MacDougall at that moment; heart, mind, and essence, she toppled. Seeking the warmth and strength radiating from him, she reached up and placed a hand behind his neck as he had once done to her and drew his mouth to hers.
He groaned into her mouth as she parted her lips. A heartbeat later he took control, his kiss searing a path deep into her being. Heat flashed in her belly, and miraculously, the pain squeezing her chest eased. Light-headed and breathless, she gave in to the heart-warming sensations and need she had no words to describe.
Chapter 11
Angus’s heart thundered, his mind and body totally consumed with need for the beauty in his arms. He pressed firm hands to her back, bringing her soft curves into perfect alignment with his harder planes. Aye, this lass with her secret had been made for him, molded to him as none before. Her compassion, her foibles enchanted him.
His tongue played across hers in shameless abandon, stroking, tasting, and teasing. When she mewed deep in her throat, lightening flashed through every vessel and organ he owned. She then arched, pressing closer, and he rolled instinctively.
He settled above her, his weight on his arms. As his hips gently rocked, pressing his swollen need between her quaking thighs, heat radiated off her with an intensity that nearly took his breath away.
Good God, the woman was made for loving.
He buried one hand deep into her luxurious hair just as he had dreamed of doing for four long days. He stroked her cheek. The soft press of her heaving breasts against his chest called to him and he gently slid his lips across her satin-smooth jaw, nibbling here and there as he eased down toward the glorious prize awaiting his eager hands and mouth. She smelled of babe and grass, of lust and woman, of all any man could ever want as her breath caught in uneven pants. His lips grazed along the column of her long slender neck, licking at her pulse, stroking that tender place above her collarbone. To his delight, her flushed skin pebbled and quivered. Her blood thundered under his fingers as they caressed her throat. Aye, lass, ye heart bounds as mine does.
He nuzzled at the edge of the gaping tunic she wore—his—and her hands fluttered up his ribs. Do ye know, lass, what I want to do—nay, need do—to satisfy this hunger ye’ve stirred in me?
His mouth had no difficulty finding the delicious, high swells he sought. Each quivered with mesmerizing delicacy with each hot lick. Ack, and the cloth hid the best. He could see in his mind’s eye the deep rose-tipped crests that lurked lower st
ill, with nipples now ridged and straining against the fabric that once had covered his chest.
His right hand slid up and over her delicate ribs. Cupping one soft swell with the palm of his hand, he groaned and eased lower, his lips seeking the hard nubs making wee tents in the fabric. Ack, she’s more than any man could ever hope to have. Hands buried deep in his hair, Birdi mewed her approval. Good God Almighty, he wanted her, ached with tight painful need.
As his free hand slid down her thigh, seeking the hem of her covering, he heard a faint knocking at some great distance. Dismissing it, he turned his attention to her other breast. Drawing the tip into his mouth through the fabric, he heard her gasp and felt her back arch, giving him better purchase. “Aye, lass. ‘Tis the way.”
He sucked again and her legs wrapped about his waist. Her hips lifted, pressing moist heat into his bare stomach. “Oh, Birdi.”
She was panting now, anxious for what she didn’t understand fully, but he did. Oh, aye, he most certainly did.
Panting through gritted teeth, he shifted his weight to better lift the tunic blocking his access to the rose-tipped breasts he craved. He wanted her naked.
“Claim her,” something deep within ordered.
As the tunic rose above her waist, a hard rap sounded and Fraser shouted through the door, “MacDougall, I’ve ye sup!”
Ack! Not now, man. I’m about to—
Ah, shit!
He was about to tup the stuffing out of the woman he’d craved for days and thereby consummate the handfasting he’d sworn to break. God’s teeth! What was he thinking?
And there it was...the truth. He hadn’t been thinking past comforting her, not at all. His brain had deserted his head and run to his bags o’ sweeties. “Augh...”
He reluctantly eased the tunic back down over Birdi’s hips. Heart still beating at a breakneck pace, he reluctantly rolled onto his back.
As the knocking on the door resounded around the croft yet again, he blew out a frustrated breath and pulled Birdi into his side. He brushed a lock from her forehead. “I’m sorry, lass, but Fraiser’s apparently determined to feed us or ken the reason why.”
And thank God.
The man would never know he’d unwittingly saved Angus the Blood’s sorry arse and Birdi’s virtue, but Angus did, and would never forget it.
Birdi—her cheeks flushed, her gaze a bit unfocused, ran a slow hand across the fine hairs on his heaving chest. “But I’ve no desire for food right now, Angus.”
Sorely tempted to ask what she did desire, he thought better of it. He’d likely give it to her, pledge or no pledge, Donaliegh or no Donaliegh, for something beyond lust, beyond compassion, whispered “Mine!” whenever he held her gaze.
“Aye, I ken, love—more than ye’ll ever know—but we’d best let the man in before he breaks down the door.”
And they sure as hell couldn’t spend the night together in this bed. He’d best sleep on the floor.
Birdi, lower lip caught between small even teeth, her brow furrowed, nodded. Using his chest as a fulcrum, she sat up. Fingers splayed like the teeth of a comb, she pushed the hair off her face and looked about as if confused.
Guilt rippled in his gut. “Are ye all right, lass?”
She shrugged as she contemplated his question. “More befuddled than anything, I think.” When the pounding started again, she murmured, “Mayhap ye best let the man in.”
Angus rolled out of bed, painfully aware of the swollen tightness pressing against his belly. Raking his hands through his hair, he took his time getting to the door.
Fraser, arms nigh on to overflowing, greeted him with a smile. “Good eve.”
Angus, a full head taller, grunted and waved the man in.
Fraser headed for the table. “I’d have let ye sleep, but experience has taught me these fish pies are best eaten hot.” He chuckled. “My Kelsea may be fair on the eye but she’s rough on a man’s gut, though God kens she tries.” He dropped the basket of singed pies on the table along with a round loaf of dark bread and a crock of honey. A pitcher of ale followed with a loud thunk. “If ye’re still hungry after all this, just shout. There’s more, mores the pity.”
Fraser turned as Birdi stood. “And how are ye feelin’, lass?”
Birdi managed a brittle smile. In truth, she felt awful, like she’d been hauled through brambles feet first, then trounced upon. Her skin felt too tight, still tingled with the memory of Angus’s hands and mouth. Her belly still churned—with what, she didn’t know—but churn it did, while her heart felt like a lodestone sat in the middle of her chest. “A bit better, thank ye.”
“Good. My Kelsea’s been fashin’ somethin’ awful about ye.”
Birdi only nodded. She wanted to cry, as goes yer daughter’s joy, so goes my anguish, but she couldn’t. She never had and never would let those she healed know what helping them did to her.
“‘Tis yer burden alone to bear,” Minnie had warned on her deathbed, “should ye, too, have the gift. ‘Tis yer penance.”
Birdi took a deep shuddering breath, wanting but unable to ask after Wee Angus; understanding that if she did the fragile wall—the levee Angus had somehow created with his kisses—would break and the mind-bending pain still lurking within her would rush out and wreak havoc once again.
Fraser eyed the dwindling fire and threw a few blocks of peat into it. He then turned and smiled. “I’ll take my leave now and let ye eat. If ye need anything, ye’ll find me at home.”
When he left, Birdi held her breath, anxious to know what Angus would next do. Would he take her in his arms again, reinforcing the levee he’d built? She could only hope and pray to Goddess that he would.
Angus cleared his throat and then pulled out a chair, indicating she should sit. She did, wondering why he appeared so uncomfortable. He found two cups, then sat across from her, broke the bread, put food before her, and started eating.
All without touching her, without saying a word.
Confused, she reached for his hand, and he snatched it away, but not before she sensed his need for avoidance, withdrawal.
Stinging pain erupted within her chest; though all too familiar, it hurt far more than usual. Appetite gone, she swallowed the thickness burning at the back of her throat and folded her hands in her lap. What had she done or said that he now wanted to keep his distance from her? Had it been her kiss? Had it been her refusal to ask after Wee Angus? If she asked him, he’d no doubt deny anything was wrong, just as the villagers always did when she’d found the courage to ask. Finding the room suddenly stifling, fearing she’d start to keen and never stop, she pushed back her chair and rose. Without thought she held out her hands, seeking the door she kenned to be at her back.
“Where are ye going?”
Ah, he speaks. “Out.”
Chapter 12
When the door slammed in his face and Birdi, back rigid, disappeared into the night, Angus jumped to his feet. What had he done? Said? “Augh, women!”
He wrenched open the door, expecting to find Birdi standing before the croft, back to the door, arms folded across her chest, mouth in a firm line, as he’d seen Lady Beth pose whenever she was really annoyed with Duncan. Instead he found naught.
His own annoyance forgotten, he strode out and scanned the road for her. Nothing. No Birdi, just black and gray shadows that came and went under the light of a reiver’s moon. One—thanks to fast roaming clouds—that offered just enough light to see where one set a foot down, but not enough to be seen by.
Where the hell had she gone? He shivered as the wind kicked up off the loch, pictured what she wore, and cursed again.
She knew no one here save for Kelsea and her da...That’s it. She went to see Wee Angus. And she’ll, nay doubt, catch the flux in the process. He strode toward Fraser’s croft.
The trail of peat-rich smoke rising from the Fraser chimney, the warm light peeking out from behind closed shutters, eased his mind considerably. At least she was warm. He knocked.
&
nbsp; Fraser answered. “MacDougall, come in. Come in. We were just talking about ye.” He smiled as the door swung wide.
Angus, feeling the idiot for worrying for no reason, stepped over the threshold. His gaze swept the room. Finding only Kelsea and the babe by the inglenook, his heart stuttered. He told himself to remain calm—that Birdi had to be close at hand but his hands began to sweat.
“Has Birdi come by?”
Fraser’s brow furrowed. “Nay. I’ve not seen her since I brought yer sup. Why?”
“My apologies for disturbing ye.”
Angus left a bemused Fraser and Kelsea in his wake and raced to the Boar’s Head Inn. He couldn’t imagine why she’d go there, but it was the only other place he could think of that she was even the least familiar with, would feel comfortable walking within given her limited sight.
Back hunched, he pushed through the first and second doors and came to an abrupt halt. The tavern room was still crowded with shouting and grumbling men, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and stale ale, but it held no Birdi. Cursing, he shouldered his way through the crowd, ignoring the men who hailed him, hoping she’d sought refuge—from what he still didn’t know—at the back of the room where the shadows were deepest.
No Birdi.
He’d run out of logical places to look, and the clan’s talk of the marauding Gunns did naught to relieve his anxiety.
Should he raise the alarm, send the men out looking? She’d pitch a hissy if she’d simply gone to relieve herself...Ah, that’s it. He blew out a breath. She’s not gone, but only relieving herself.
He turned to go and came nose to nose with Ian MacKay, an old friend and knight he hadn’t seen in years, not since they fought side by side in Burgundy.
Ian clapped a firm hand on Angus’s shoulder. “MacDougall, ye auld charger! What the hell are ye doin’ this far south?”
Angus grinned. Ian hadn’t aged a day. He was still as handsome as ever. “Looking for my ladywife. I seemed to have misplaced her.”
