The bridge appeared too quickly for her and before she got over her disappointment, they had arrived in the courtyard. She pried her hands away from him. His solid support was gone and her arms felt empty. The truth was, she didn’t want to let him go. He might leave her again. Foolish thought—aye since with the circumstances facing him he wouldn’t.
His large hands grasped her by the waist. His fingers touched. A quick tightening and she was in the air, and then on her feet. Caelen stared down at her. His black pupils intensified the blue of his eyes. The color wasn’t what captured her attention. It was the softening of them. The corners of his eyes lost their hawk-like intensity. He swung down.
She braced her hands on his chest and kissed him. His lips were malleable, like the softest feather bed. She moved closer. His heat cloaked about her. He still hadn’t touched her, yet nothing felt chaste about this caress. He tasted of the fiery uisge beatha, the flavor dizzying her as if she drank a cupful. He had kissed her before. Not like this…not as a wife and a woman.
The kiss broke. She sucked in choppy breaths. He ran his thumb over her trembling lower lip. The corners of his mouth twitched. He grabbed the reins and headed into the stable.
She smiled into the darkness before she followed him. Either Caelen was a fast worker or she had stayed outside longer than she thought, but he was wiping down the Spanish mount. The large beast stood there as Caelen rubbed the cloth over the flanks. His other hand trailed over the same path as the other. The gentle, caring motion mesmerized her. These were the hands that had cut down men, wielded a sword the same height as Brenna. Yet, they were as gentle as that of a mother cradling her bairn.
When he touched her…her lashes fell and a little sound came from the back of her throat. Hopefully, he’d be more interested in her than the horse. Like the laundry girl and the stable boy she caught behind the brewery. They had been grunting, moaning. She couldn’t wait to do that with Caelen. After all, she had been a bride for too long, and time called for her to be a wife.
He led his mount to the stall. “Let’s feed you. You need some substance.”
“Do you speak to me or the horse? I have plenty of substance; however, you cannot see it under all this plaid.”
He tilted his head as he ran his gaze over her. The slow, heated appraisal set her afire. Little tremors quaked through her. She straightened, not one part of her body wishing to be neglected under his regard. A half-smile tugged at his lips. He palmed her hip. His gaze returned to hers. It felt like a slam to the heart.
“Let’s get you fed so we can add to your substance.”
With slight pressure, he guided her from the stable. He never removed his touch. She peeked over her shoulder to see his strong hand touching her. Her hips swayed more and her boldness grew to the point when she thought of nothing more than jumping into his arms and kissing him again.
He guided her to the kitchen. Sadly, he removed his hold as he pulled out a stool. The piece of flesh tingled and heated. Her legs weakened and she was grateful for the seat. She sat. The kitchen boy peeked out from beneath his covers. Caelen waved him back.
She gave a ghost of a smile. The man was kind. The kitchen boy had to awake before the sun to gather water and firewood to light the fires.
Caelen plopped down a flagon of wine and a platter. He whipped off the cloth covering it. Tossing it aside, he settled on the stool beside her.
He ripped apart the bread. “Put some more substance on you.”
She laughed as she took it. He waved her to take a bite. She tore into it and ripped a chunk of it off.
“My mother told me you have been a help to her. I’m glad. I know she wants to be with her husband. The clan is accepting of you?” he asked, around a mouthful of bread.
“Aye, they remember me from when I was fostered. They said I either watched everyone or talked without taking an inhale.”
“’Tis good to know where your loyalty lies.”
“Has it been questioned?” She chewed on her bread instead of spitting out a comment that would cause an argument.
“Tell me of these men that have followed you here.” He popped a hunk of cheese into his mouth.
She bit the inside of her mouth to stop herself from demanding to know what he thought of the men. She heard the council’s grumblings about the Grants. “Men who are seeking a better life, land to work, and a family. You have spoken to the council. They were not happy about their arrival.”
“What happened at their arrival?”
“They seemed welcomed. The council locked themselves away with your father. After time, they were added to the tenant rolls and given land to work. You will learn more than I did. I had gone before the council to seek what was promised.”
“Why did they leave their clan?”
She cut a piece of cheese and added it to the bread. She picked at the cheese. “I imagine they cannot build a life back on Grant lands. They are single men. Most are looking to improve their life. One isn’t a Grant, but was raised by a couple that have died and doesn’t have a home there any longer. Each one will fight.”
“Good. Tomorrow, you can accompany me to meet these men.”
“Very well. Just please give them a chance.”
He nodded. “Eat.”
She chewed thoughtfully to build up her courage. When she swallowed, she asked, “Why didn’t you send for me as you promised?”
* * * *
Caelen didn’t blink at her question. That didn’t stop her blunt tone from slamming into the center of his chest.
“The time wasn’t right. I couldn’t care for you properly,” he said, avoiding the core of the question and the truth of his answer. He wasn’t ready to be a husband.
She threw back her shoulders and held out her hands. “Don’t be fooled by my tiny hands. I am stronger than I appear.”
“I’m learning that.” He cupped her hand. Beautiful hands. He ran his touch over her small palm, feeling the lines grooved into the soft flesh.
“Will you care for me now?” She leaned closer. The soft rustle of her breath breezed across his cheek.
“Eat more. You barely had any.”
Her head tossed back as the lightest, ringing sound came from her. A small lock of her hair brushed against the creamy length of her neck. The delicate curve of her earlobe peeked out from the cover of her fine hairs. A piece of flesh never enraptured him as that did. He wanted to nibble on the fleshy lobe and whisper all the things he planned to do to her.
“You ate most of it.”
He forced his attention to the platter. “I like to eat. Let me find more.”
“Nay, Caelen, I’m full.”
“You ate nothing.”
“I shall be quicker next time. Does that make you happy?”
“Pleased.”
She dipped her head. He smiled at the top of it as she chuckled. She laid her bare hand atop of his forearm. Her hands were cooler than his skin. Her touch was delicate. She dragged her hand away. Her nails scraped against his skin, like a tingle.
“Perhaps we should head to our chamber.”
Her head flew up. Her eyes widened. The various yellows blended to create her unmarred browns. “Aye—Aye.”
“I’ll have a bath sent up for you.”
She continued to nod. Her mouth slightly parted. Her lips glistened. Then she stopped nodding and stared at him. “That would be lovely. I have been at the clattan since morn. I must be covered with dirt and sweat.”
He shook the kitchen boy awake. “Heat water for the countess. Come along, Brenna.”
When she rose, he rested his hand on the small of her back. He liked—nay, appreciated the piece of her flesh, where her back curve and her buttocks flared. Her delicate appearance deceived him. As a wee lass, she appeared as if a strong breeze off the loch would topple her. She wasn’t the delicate female he believed. Brenna possessed femininity and a backbone. After all, he had never known a woman to be straightforward.
Passing the
laird’s chamber, he spotted his mother slipping out. “Caelen, your father wishes to speak to you.”
Brenna excused herself after bidding his mother a good night. “And you as well, Brenna. Son, wait.” She grasped Caelen by his arm.
Brenna climbed the stairs.
“I am glad you and your wife are building your relationship. It will ease some conflict, especially if an heir comes soon. Your brother will be your heir, and though I love Boyd, he still requires a guiding hand and Manus…well, he is Manus.”
“I understand, Mother. Do not fret. You have enough to deal with. I will go see my father now.”
Mother followed him in to the chamber. She settled in the chair before the raging fire.
His father laid still. His eyes were closed. His chest appeared not to rise or fall. A chilled grip squeezed his throat. “Father,” Caelen said with more force than necessary as he shook him.
His eyes popped open. But the corners were pinched along with his mouth. Caelen could do nothing when he wanted to cut out this illness that rotted his father from the inside. He had to do something.
“The council,” he asked. He motioned to be raised. Caelen cupped him under his arms. The wetness of his underarms drenched Caelen’s hands. The staleness of dry sweat and blood stung his nose. With one lift, Caelen sat him up.
“Aye.” Caelen crossed his arms. “They ran to you.”
“They worry you don’t know the clan and how things are, especially since Grant is stirring a fuss.”
“I heard. We made an arrangement and my wife is here now.”
“He has gone to the king to complain. He thinks you wish to invalidate the marriage. The monies and title have increased this clan’s standing that we now have power in the lowlands and court. Deal with this. I cannot help much.” Father’s head drooped forward. His thinning, gray locks hung in a tangled mess. A sharp twist cut through Caelen’s chest as he stared at his father’s clenched jaw. Even in sleep, Father had not escaped from his pain.
Caelen scooped his father up and laid him down. His mother buried him under the linens and bear covering. “You must stop these troubles and work with those pestering, old men. They whine to your father. Though he commanded them to present all the happening to him, they come to him with every small worry and complaint. I cannot have him trying to get up from the bed, let alone vowing to cut off their heads. He needs his rest and peace. Can you please give it to him? Can you give me that as well?”
“Aye, I shall.”
* * * *
Caelen sucked in the night air to banish the miasma of sickness that lodged in his nostrils and clung to him. He marched straight to the sea wall. He opened the gate and hooked his clothes on it. Naked, he dove into the loch. He cut through the water, letting the cold, refreshing water surround him.
He continued on until his chest burned and his body demanded air. He broke the surface. He flicked back his hair and saw the walkway of the castle walls as the numerous braziers’ flames licked at the darkness.
With his father’s death and the council, he was in a difficult situation, but with Brenna and her father making demands, he had much more to deal with. His marriage along with the lands and titles raised the clan’s standing and he had to do more than keep it, he had to increase the MacKenzies’ standing. First, he needed to bring peace to these lands for his parents’ wellbeing. No matter that he wasn’t a man of peace. He’d figure it out.
The second problem he faced was Brenna. He wasn’t sure how to solve that one. He swam back. Wearing only his plaid, he returned to his chamber.
He paused just inside his childhood chamber. It had been invaded. The scent of roses, cloves, and balsam filled his nostrils. Leines hung from every peg and draped over an elaborate trunk. A decorative pitcher and bowl rested on a small table along with combs and two wooden boxes. He shut the door.
A mirror rested on a small table shoved in the corner, along with a cluster of wildflowers in a pitcher. The table had never been there. All he had was a bed and a stool. He hadn’t required more. The stool had a MacKenzie plaid-covered cushion on it, along with two other stools and the same covered cushions. Brenna had taken over his space. Did she require all this? He turned to the bed. There were new bed curtains and linens. A little mound laid beneath the linens, curled in a fetal position. The sheeting emphasized the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips.
He stripped off his plaid and tossed it on the stool. He slipped into bed. A hint of heated roses swirled around him. Her soft breathing had him turning toward her. He tucked her braid against her and wrapped an arm around her waist. He drew her into him. She fit perfectly against him.
He nuzzled his cheek against her hair. He felt her wake. She rested her hand over his own as his fingers spread over her stomach.
“Stop pretending you are asleep,” he said with a chuckle.
“I am not. I’m luxuriating in this. That is all.” Pleasure lightened her tone but he heard something else, a bit of naughtiness.
She intertwined her fingers with his. With her other hand, she smoothed down the short hairs dusting his forearm. He buried his nose in the nape of her neck. He nuzzled the tender spot, smelling her soapy freshness, as he lulled himself to sleep. His body had a different plan. His manhood stirred.
She twisted around and lifted the sheets. “Are you nude?”
“Aye, that’s how I sleep.”
“Even during battle?” She sounded incredulous. “I have never seen one. I overheard the laundry maids speaking of men’s”—she pointed to his crotch— “They spoke of being poked and men boasting. I even saw servants sneaking about, but I have never seen one. Can you light a candle?”
He closed his eyes for patience. “You are not ogling me, Brenna. Tonight, we sleep because we have much to do.”
“We?”
“Aye, these men that arrived with you, we will meet them tomorrow.”
She placed a peck on his cheek. “We do have much to do.” She scooted down and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Night, tomorrow night we may have martial relationship.”
* * * *
Brenna licked a spot of strawberry jam from her finger. She had spent hours outside hunting for berries and cramming more into her mouth than in the basket. After each taste, she was never satisfied and plopped one after the other. The healers had been wrong. She did not sicken, and had filled her belly.
She tucked her tongue back in her mouth as Rowen aimed her clear, judging eyes at her. Rowen shared the same coloring as her brother, but there was a ghostly calm about her. The clan said she was a banshee, returned to the clan by birth and would warn of approaching danger. The MacKenzie clan wasn’t the only one that whispered such things. Brenna knew it must have stung Rowen, but Brenna believed it to be foolishness.
“Are you prepared for this day? This is your first appearance together before the clan.” Rowen set down the garrison rolls.
“Do you think something can go wrong?”
“Not at all. Though, the clan folks will follow you wherever you travel.”
“They haven’t ceased doing that,” Brenna grumbled. “I wish I were remaining here.”
“Once the clan feels more secure in your presence, you’ll be wishing you could be out there. Today, the clan will see both the Earl and the Countess and feel secure.”
“Caelen is returning.” Brenna peered over Rowen’s shoulder.
“Brenna, do not be happy to see your husband. It makes them get ideas.”
Caelen shot a look at his sister. Rowen arched one brow.
Caelen held out a hand to her. “Come, Brenna, we must depart.”
She took it and rose. He dropped it, and then started from the Great Hall, leaving Brenna to follow. He failed to offer his arm, so she slipped hers through his own. She watched him for his reaction but he did nothing, not even glance at her.
Reaching the courtyard, Brenna lowered her arm.
A stable boy struggled to hold Caelen’s Spanish mount. The
thick-chested beast pawed at the ground and let out puffs that ruffled the boy’s hair and left snot on his face. She struggled to form an argument against riding the beast. Not one convincing thought popped in her head. She must not let him know her fear.
Caelen took the reins while Brenna felt her legs shaking. She wished to sit.
After Caelen mounted, he lifted her and settled her across his lap. This was not what she had wanted. He gave a curt order and the beast quieted. Her natural, foolish curiosity got to her and she peeked down at the earth. It was littered with straw and manure. She rested high above the ground. She corrected herself—the hard ground. Its hooves appeared to be the size of her head and would surely stomp her among the straw and manure and into nothingness if she were caught underneath them.
“Are you scared?”
The top of her head banged against his chin. “Scared, never. I’m just respectful.”
“Of what?”
“Your animal.”
“Why are you?”
Brenna ignored his incredulous tone and said, “Horses and I do not deal well with each other. See, even now he is sidestepping.”
She gripped his leine. She tried to loosen her grip. She tried. Instead, her grip tightened until her fingers cramped.
He drew her hand away. “You’re pulling skin. You get over this fear.”
“Get over this—you just ordered me to get over. You are not the one who was thrown from these beasts. I could have died. Thankfully, I had landed on grass. My father said it was because I was always falling anyway. In my defense, the unruly beast wasn’t being cooperative. I have never been able to stay on one of these,” she ended in whisper.
“He’s not going to take your words as a challenge.”
A smile spread on her face before her laughter rang. She was being foolish. With Caelen, all should be well. She patted the animal’s withers. He tossed his head. She scooted tighter against her husband. “I may have crossed a line.”
Claiming the Highlander Page 3
