Loving Two Highlanders

by Loving Two Highlanders (lit)

  “I’m trying—”

  “Try it elsewhere,” she growled. “I’m sick of looking at you.”

  For some reason he smiled, although he wondered how the muscles of his face were even working.

  “So we’re back to that?” he asked. “We cannae be in the same place at the same time?”

  “Get out of my house,” she snarled.

  “So you have a problem with me in your house?”

  “Numerous problems.” She started toward him, brandishing the spoon. “I mean it, Campbell. Get out.”

  He held up his hands and took a slow step toward her. “Put the spoon down, Megan. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  For one moment she paused, clearly confused. Her glance shot from him to the spoon in her hand, then she shrieked and tossed it toward the hearth where it slapped against the stones and fell to the floor in a puddle of porridge.

  “You are mad! What do you want, Campbell? Did you come in here to watch me cry? Gloat over how bad you can actually make me feel? I’m not here for your amusement!” She glared at him. “Get your stinking carcass—”

  “I washed.”

  She waved her hands around as though his words had no meaning. “Then get your clean carcass out of my house and back to your cage!”

  Alex winced. “You’re making my headache worse.”

  Megan folded her arms across her chest and actually gave him a smile. It wasn’t warm, or caring, or pleasant, but it was something. “The only thing worse than a hangover is still being drunk when you get it. You’re in for a very rough day. I’ll be sure you’re given lots of work to keep your mind from it.”

  Alex smiled. “I know a cure for a hangover.”

  “Oh, really? And what might that be? Another old Highland recipe? Something gleaned from your craggy mountains or buried among your giant stones?”

  He lurched toward her and caught her wrist, dragging her toward him. She dug in her heels, shaking her head so furiously her hair whipped around her face, but not before he saw the heat of the blush that covered her cheeks. It was anger, but he didn’t care. He’d take her any way he could get her.

  When she was within grabbing distance, he scooped her up and carried her back to the storage room, closing the door. When he reached his room, he dumped her on the bed and kicked that door closed. He threw the bolt and heard her furious little cry when she realized what he’d done.

  “Take off your nightdress.”

  “I will not!”

  “I’ve a need to feel you naked against me. It will help me sleep.”

  “I can’t be in here with you.”

  He pulled off his shirt and kicked off his boots, lowering his breeches. He dropped to the bed, and she swayed against him as the mattress sagged. She caught herself against his shoulders, and a tiny whimper escaped her lips.

  “You don’t even love me.”

  “Aye,” he said softly. “I do love you, Megan.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  “’Tis crazy I am, but I do love you. You can be here, and you can be here with me. ’Tis where you belong.”

  He tossed the breeches to the floor, then turned quickly and lifted her nightdress before she could make another sound. Her naked body fell against his and slid as his arms wrapped around her. He lowered her to the bed, tugging the covers over them. He pulled her into the curve of his shoulder.

  “No more tears. Sleep now. You’re tired.”

  She yawned against him, her breath soft and warm on his skin. “You’re still going to have a hangover.”

  “Aye, but it willnae seem so bad if you’re not fuming and fussing at me, making my life a living hell.”

  He felt her mouth curve into a smile against his chest. He listened to her quiet breathing for a few moments and tightened his arm around her.

  “I’m sorry, Megan.”

  She didn’t answer because she’d already fallen asleep. He kissed her forehead.

  “I do love you, lass, but I cannae risk you loving me.”

  * * * *

  No matter how hard Alex tried to ignore it, the booming would not go away and got louder and louder. He couldn’t believe a headache could cause such a massive sound in your head, like a new drummer boy tapping an annoying irregular beat, like a battering ram being thrust repeatedly against an iron drawbridge, like a huge fist hammering on a rickety door. And what the hell was that metallic noise? It sounded like too many keys, too many shackles, a jangling, jarring clank that punctuated the booms, rattling and clinking like a lock about to break under stress. The striking became more rhythmic, and whatever it was seemed to be doing damage because other sounds joined the medley, becoming a symphony of destruction. The noise thumped and echoed, cracked and splintered, thumped again, pounded, clinked, then boomed.

  Alex bolted up and was immediately sorry. Flashes of red and blue burst in his head, and for one moment even the dark room became darker. Then, to make things worse, a bright white light flashed behind his eyes, and a gripping nausea poured through his body. He thought his entire stomach might be trying to find a way to exit, and he wasn’t sure which end he should be worried about more. Either one would be bad. Both would be inhumane.

  He took several deep breaths, pulling them in hard and releasing them slowly, trying to will everything to stay put. He clamped his hands around his head, pushing inward, hoping to keep his brain from flooding out through his ears. It felt like liquid.

  Yet the pounding continued. The door shook in the frame.

  “Get your ass up, Campbell!”

  Alex dropped his head into his hands. It couldn’t be morning already. He felt like he’d slept a total of fifteen minutes. He picked up the pillow and wrapped it around his aching head. The booming sounds were muffled, but the echoes still vibrated through the bones of his body. Sam Tinsdale was nothing if not persistent.

  Alex mercifully closed his eyes against the dim light peeking over the edge of what passed as his window.

  “Go to hell, Sam,” he muttered.

  Another round of pounding, followed by a swift kick at the bottom of the door. Then another.

  “Open the bloody door!”

  “Fuck off!”

  The sound of his own shout drilled into his head and threatened the puddle of his brain. It sloshed around and any moment would conspire with the contents of his stomach to spill on the floor. He wasn’t going to win this, but he might put a pistol to his head to end the misery.

  “I can’t fuck off!” Sam shouted through two inches of wood. Christ, the man had the lungs of a whale. Why did he sound closer, louder, more irritating? “We need you to cook! The porridge is ruined and Meggie is still asleep.”

  “No one could sleep through your bloody noise,” Alex muttered. He wrapped the pillow more tightly around his skull and yelled, “Who the fuck cooked before I got here?”

  His eyes flew open.

  Megan.

  He got the strength to turn his head, and even that slight movement made him so dizzy he wondered how in Christ he was going to stand up. But when he saw the face staring up at him, the dizziness vanished and was replaced by a light-headed, lighthearted feeling that took him completely by surprise.

  She was beautiful in the meager light spilling through his tiny window. She was beautiful any time of the day, but suddenly Alex was glad for the blinding, brain-shattering light of dawn. He couldn’t believe she was still here.

  “It must be morning,” she whispered.

  “’Tis either morning or Sam’s just hungry. Could be either one.”

  “How long can you stall him?” she asked.

  “You’re the owner’s wife. You tell me.”

  “Maybe for five minutes,” she said, “but I’d not count on ten. Sam’s not a patient man when it comes to food.”

  “Campbell!”

  “See?” Megan said. “I’ve known him a very long time. He won’t go away.”

  “Jesus, Sam, calm down. You’re not going to starve to
death in the next ten minutes. Give me a bloody minute.” Alex leaned on his elbow and played with a strand of hair across Megan’s shoulder. “I’d like to kiss you, but I fear I’d make you drunk.”

  She ran her nail across his lip and studied him seriously. “Aye, it could happen, but I’ll risk it. After all, apparently I’m still in bed. I’ll sleep it off.”

  Alex captured her mouth, teasing it open, savoring the sweet taste of her, seeking to replace the whiskey taste in his own. He found the soft fullness of her breast, cupping it in his hand, and she had wrapped her arms around his neck when it began again.

  Sam seemed to like shouting through the door. “Eggs are in the basket on the table. Bacon’s on the hearth. There’s bread in the box. Meggie made it yesterday. And I want jam, not butter!”

  Alex swiveled his face toward the door and tried to keep his voice at a moderate level. The shouting wasn’t good for his equilibrium or for the discomfort caused by the horseshoe nails that someone had apparently pounded into his head while he slept. The pain was immense.

  “Aye, Sam, breakfast. One minute. No…make it five.” He paused and glanced down at Megan. “Can we do it in five?”

  “I think so,” she said. “Can you?”

  “Madam, I can do it riding on a horse, at the edge of a battlefield, between musket shots or as a husband walks up his own stairs. I’m not proud of it, but ’tis been necessary at times.” He took her hand and pulled it against him. His cock was already hard, willing and able to accept the challenge. “As you can see, I’m more than ready, but I’ll not take unless I give. Can you do it in five?”

  “Aye, Alex. I can do it in five.”

  “That’s my girl.” He swiveled his face back toward the door. “Five, Sam. Definitely five.”

  “Five, Campbell! Or I’ll be back with a sledgehammer.”

  Alex thought it was the best five minutes of his life. When he slipped through the door and closed it behind him a mere six minutes later, he was happier than he’d been in maybe forever. Sam was just walking into the storage room with a sledgehammer. Alex gave Sam a bright smile and went into the keeping room to make breakfast.

  * * * *

  Megan combed through the vegetation, searching for the perfect cluster of carrots to add to her stew. She skimmed through the patch of garden, glancing at each leafy bunch, looking for just the right color.

  “Damn it!” She hunkered down, muttering to herself, and tugged on a riotous stalk that had no business in her garden. “The weeds are taking over this year.”

  The root offered more resistance than she’d expected, and she took a better grip, tugging harder. It sprang from its earthy shelter and flew upward, spilling her backwards and spewing a whirlwind of dirt. She sputtered, spitting out bits of debris, and tried to catch herself by grabbing at a tomato trellis. But she overestimated its strength, and it ripped from the ground, tossing fruit into the air and around the ground. She landed on her bottom, and the squishy sound of pulverized tomato blurted through the air. She tossed the trellis away with an irritable huff and reached beneath her, her hand slipping into a pile of sticky goo.

  Sam’s hearty laughter filled the garden.

  “Planning to make us eat that mess?”

  She tossed her hair back, then glanced down. Red, pulpy, barely recognizable slime coated her hands, but it smelled great, and she realized she should pick some and take them to the market. She knew a few in the village who loved them as much as she did. She might be able to add to her own little account. She smiled and leaned back, splaying her hands into a puddle of spongy muck.

  “You’ve got seeds in your hair,” he said.

  She gave Sam a sweet smile as she curled her hand around what felt like a good amount of tomato. When he started to hunker down, she lifted her arm and hurled her surprise in his direction. It hit him right in the center of his forehead and dripped pulp and juice down his face. She burst into laughter at his startled look.

  “So do you.”

  Sam swiped a big paw across his face and, with a pretend growl that made her giggle, rose and lumbered toward her. His big arms swung at his sides, his large feet dropping with heavy clomps even as he gingerly sidestepped around each delicate plant. She laughed and scurried backwards on her elbows, her feet sliding in the slippery soil, her skirt trailing through the mess.

  “You’ll pay for that, wench.”

  She grabbed another handful and held it out, squeezing until the juice dripped through her fingers.

  “There’s more where that came from, giant. Don’t come any closer.”

  He growled again, barely controlling the smile that threatened to curl on his lips. He lurched toward her, his fingers snatching at the hem of her skirt. The quick jolt pulled Megan off-balance, and her head fell into a patch of greenery as she squealed and began to slide through the garden. She tossed her handful toward him, but he swiped at the air and flung it away.

  His voice rumbled through her. “Little girls that mess with giants don’t last long. Should have learned that long ago, missy.”

  When he’d pulled her into the grass, he dropped her legs and pretended to pounce. Megan squealed again and curled into a ball as his hands grabbed at her waist, his fingers tickling until she giggled helplessly beneath him.

  “Sam! I’ve had enough. Please!”

  He gave her one more tickle, then pulled back to sit beside her. She took advantage of his moment of weakness. She scrambled up and leaned toward him. He figured it out too late and was about to protest when she pushed her hand filled with more tomato mess into his face. He sputtered and slapped at his mouth, leaning over to spit out the warm flood of seedy mess.

  “Ack! I hate those things, Meggie. They’ll poison you!”

  “You’re such a silly man with your superstitions.” She leaned back on her elbows, popping her finger in her mouth. She licked the tomato goo, then held her finger up with a flourish. “I eat them all the time, and I haven’t died yet.”

  He shook his head. “Maybe not, but I expect it any day.” He wagged his finger at her. “I don’t think that was a fair tactic. You’d surrendered.”

  “When have we ever played fair?”

  Sam quirked a brow, then grinned. “Never.” He pulled his shirt up and wiped at his face, then leaned forward and wiped at hers. He fell backward and stared at the sky, another beautiful day of azure sky and fluffy clouds. “I miss my little Meggie.”

  She turned toward her and snuggled against his arm “I’m still here, Sam.”

  “True enough, but seems I have to share you with half the world now, at least half of this town.” He twisted his face toward her. “And I’ve been worried about you lately.”

  “Well, you’ve always worried about me, and probably with good reason. I’ve always been a bit of trouble.”

  His hand swept her cheek. “But lately things are different. Are you happy, Meggie?”

  She frowned as she cupped his hand. “Of course, Sam. I’ve never been…” She paused as Sam searched her face. She sat up and stared toward the cottage, suddenly uncomfortable and unable to meet his eyes. She didn’t want Sam disappointed in her. She cast a quick glance back toward him and saw the soft smile on his lips. His greatest gift was he always knew what was on her mind. He tucked his arms under his head.

  “You know you can tell me anything.” He winked at her, and all was right with the world again. “If you told me you murdered Diana Hendley at one of her fancy parties and dropped her down the community well, I’d only ask why you didn’t come to me for help with disposing of the little harlot.”

  Megan laughed. “I haven’t done that…at least not yet. I might need your help in the near future, though.”

  She tucked herself into the curve of his shoulder and was quiet for a few minutes, savoring his presence. Finally she glanced up, and he tilted his head down, his beard tickling her cheek.

  “Sam, I’m not really proud of what’s been happening around here.”

  �
��I know,” he said, softly, “and I know you struggled hard against it. I guess I should have talked to you about it. I gave my consent to the deed, as dubious as the whole thing was, but you deserve to be happy. I think you should take happiness any way you can get it.”

  She nodded against him. “I never knew the difference between existing and living until recently. Except when I’m with you.”

  She smiled, and she knew he felt it. He pulled her tighter. She loved listening to the sure, steady beat of his heart. Sam sighed, a heavy breath that lifted her up, then dropped her back down. “So you’ve fallen in love with him.”

  “I think so, Sam,” she said, quietly.

  “Are you prepared for what might happen here?”

  She cuddled closer. “I doubt it, but eventually I won’t have much choice in the matter. Campbell will leave, and my life will go on without him.” She lifted up and peered into Sam’s eyes, focusing on all the affection she saw there. “I’ve always loved Trevor, and I’m so glad to have him healthy again, but…”

  “It’s different.”

  “Aye. It’s good to know different kinds of love, right, Sam? Will it hurt too much when I have to let Campbell go?”

  Sam closed his eyes for a moment, and that small gesture scared her more than any other she’d ever seen. His throat muscles spasmed as he swallowed and took a deep breath. When his eyes opened again, there was something there she didn’t understand. But his voice was the same—Sam’s voice, the one that told her everything will be right, and if it wasn’t, he’d make it that way.

  “Oh, aye, Meggie, it’s going to hurt, but never doubt for a moment you’ve made the right decision in doing it. Love’s worth whatever price you have to pay.”

  She kissed his hairy cheek. “Can I tell you a secret, Sam?”

  His smile drifted across his face slowly. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

  She glanced toward the cottage and leaned closer to him. “I had my bleeding time. I’m not pregnant yet. So I think we have more time.”