Her righteous anger flushed her cheeks. His heart hitched as his mind ordered him to grab her. “I agree and will not allow them to forget themselves with you. You are a MacKenzie.”
She plucked at his plaid. “I am a Grant as well.” Her brows pinched. She looked so troubled. He ran his finger just on the edge of her hairline to her ear. He traced over its delicate shell and along her soft jawline. Her gaze darted to the side, trying to see what he was doing. The brown of her eyes were as dark as the bramble spreading across Scotland and reflected his own face. Tucking his fingers under her chin, he lifted her face. She licked her lips.
“You are a beautiful woman, Brenna,” he said on a rush of breath.
He lowered his head and brushed his lips against her pliant flesh. She grasped his forearms and rose to the tips of her toes, pressing her puckered mouth to his. He curled an arm around her waist. With the tip of his tongue, he traced the seam of her lips and then slipped his tongue inside her moist mouth. Um…she tasted good. A fresh taste, like water, set off his senses. The same ones that overloaded so that he couldn’t tell if the warm feel and sweet scent were the real essences of her or something his firing body imagined.
Her tongue curled around his own. Her nails brushed across the nape of his neck. He groaned. Needing to breathe and some distance before he moved this kiss in to something more intimate, he ripped his lips away.
Brenna popped her forehead against his ragged chest. As the red heat cooled and his ability to think returned, he knew he had the right to claim her. He wouldn’t. She was his and when he laid with her, it would be for them and not to beget an heir. There wasn’t much he could control in his life but for that.
“Prepare for mealtime, Brenna.” He placed a quick peck on her lips again and then left.
Though he hated to bring stress to his father, he had to speak to him. He headed to the laird’s chamber, hoping his father wasn’t asleep. He knocked and then entered. Father sat in a chair, cocooned in blankets, with his thin face peeking out.
“Caelen,” father whispered on a short breath.
“Where’s Mother?”
“I sent her away.”
Caelen leaned against the mantle. “What is happening with the Grants?” He explained about the letter.
“For a while, they had been demanding we send for Brenna. They are fighting with the Frasers.”
“And they want you to send men?”
“Not of yet. They want the king to bestow the sherrifdom upon them. It can propel them to higher positions of power in the lands and control the Frasers.”
“And they wish for you to use your influence with him to get it.”
He inclined his head, setting the flaccid skin jiggling. “They are speaking of petitioning the king and bishops to annul this union.” His weak, hazy eyes laid on Caelen.
“Because I failed to gather her, I’ve abandoned her and we can lose everything.”
Caelen found he was not willing to give up Brenna.
* * * *
Caelen stared out at the great hall. He sat in his father’s chair. He pushed his shoulders back, trying to find a comfortable position. As the tanist, he had the right to it. That knowledge failed to calm his unease. He palmed his cup’s rim and drummed his fingers against the side.
Tavish, Finian, and Gilroy joined them this eve along with the one person Caelen liked—Rowen. Brenna sat at his left.
At the lower tables, his father’s commanders sat, staring up at him. Caelen sat back as the meal was served. Every eye was on him, some out of curiosity and a few out of judgment.
One of the hall’s doors opened and closed with a crash. His baby brother rushed to his chair. Where both Rowen and Caelen were blond and blue eyed, Manus was dark, with black hair and eyes, appearing much like their maternal grandfather. Every generation, one child claimed the coloring. Manus thought it meant he was blessed. Caelen believed it was chance.
“Forgive me. I was at the outer fields.” Manus slid on the bench, bumping into Finian.
“Visiting Alastronia,” Rowen asked in a singsong voice.
“Alastronia?” Caelen aimed his gaze at his sister.
“The most beautiful MacKenzie in the clan. Her elder brother has set up his house on the opposite side of the land and her mother has gone to help. Poor Alastronia is there all by herself. In order to break her loneliness, the men, especially Manus, visit her daily.”
Manus glared at his sister.
“Foolishness, to speak to a female who most likely doesn’t wish to speak to any of the men. Now I know where to find those who shirk their duties.”
“The men do not trek there as much,” Manus said.
“And you? You ride there to converse. You have duties here requiring your attention unless you are afraid you shall lose her to another.”
Manus flicked back his black hair in that annoying gesture he thought enthralled the females and pissed off Caelen.
“Never. There was a Grant paying court to her.” Manus shot a glance at Brenna.
Caelen’s gut tightened.
“Those men shod return to their hame. This isna the place fae them. We ha’e our own people to care fae.”
Rowen rested her hand on Brenna’s forearm.
“We canna have her latching herself to a man outside da clansmen. There wod be unrest.” Finian frowned “Which one was it?”
“He has brown hair.” He lifted a shoulder. “I’m taller than him. He looks weak, but he appears to be their leader.”
“Oran,” Brenna muttered under her breath, though Caelen heard.
“He should be punished.” Manus jabbed his finger against the table. His goblet shook.
“Because he spoke to a lass,” Caelen said. He managed to swallow back his snort.
“That lass,” he sneered, “is to be my wife.”
“You think you have a say in who you wed.” Caelen leaned forward, daring Manus to retort.
Manus tossed his dirk on to his platter. The silverwork blade pooled in the wine and onion sauce. “Who would want to marry a third son? Brother, you must learn to think such things through. We all can’t bind ourselves to an heiress.”
“So, why would she want you?”
“I can raise her position without having to be paid to wed her.”
Caelen rose with deliberate care. With measured steps, he moved beside Manus’ chair.
Manus craned his neck back and raised his brows, daring Caelen to touch him. Caelen edged closer, bumping in to his shoulder. His brother rose and put his face into Caelen’s. With one punch, Manus landed on his arse with a crash. His plaid flew up.
A heavy silence hung over the hall. Rowen locked her gaze on Manus while Brenna looked to Caelen.
Manus climbed to his feet. He dusted off his plaid and straightened the folds across his chest. “This isn’t the end.” He stormed out.
Another problem Caelen would have to deal with. What else could go wrong?
* * * *
Brenna watched Caelen make his way to the sea gate. From the light of the torches, his shoulders seemed to be slumped. She knew her duty was to help her clan. At this moment, she didn’t want to add to Caelen’s burden. He might not be able to help in the situation. Her father yearned for the sherriffdom. The power that came along with the office would help keep the Fraser clan under control. The difficulty lay with the fact that the influence lay with the laird. Would King Alexander III bestow the same favor with Caelen he granted to the laird?
If she failed, her father would petition for a divorce. That was one event she refused to let happen. After all these years, she could be with no other man.
She ambled her way to the gate, following the line of the wall. A plaid and leine hung on the gate. She halted in the archway, staring out at the darkening loch. The quarter moon hung halfway to its apex. Clouds stretched across the sky. The splash of his stroke cut through the quiet.
His pale, blond head peeked out from the surface. “Why are you here?”
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“I thought to join you.” She knelt and dipped her hand in the chilled water. “Another night.” She shook off the water.
“Remember your words,” he warned. Caelen climbed out. The torchlight flickered over his nude, wet body. Water caught in the cuts of muscle and the tips of the finely spun blond hairs. Her curious gaze dipped lower as her blood plumped faster, heating her. His manhood hung. She didn’t look away. She felt her eyes looking this way and that trying to see every part. A fine sheen of sweat broke over her.
Caelen grinned. “You are a wicked woman.”
Her gaze cut back to his face. “Nay, I am a married woman with a wicked husband.”
The slap of his wet, bare feet against the stone path reached her ears as he closed the distance between them. Water dripped from him and landed on her plaid. His own scent, a heady musk, blended with the freshness of the water, surrounded her. His body heat seeped into her pores but did nothing to ease her.
His cool, blue gaze had vanished, replaced by heat, which seemed at odds with the iciness of the hue. “You are a desirous woman and I yearn to explore every sliver of your flesh.” He halted.
She saw his jaw clench then he said, “We shall consummate our marriage; however, I don’t wish to because the council demands an heir. I want you beneath me, with your legs spread. We shall have our moment when we choose.”
She rested her hand on his bare chest. “I choose now.” His skin was thicker than hers, firm from the sculptured muscles. His warmth even heated the water drops. Beneath her palm, his heart pounded a strong, steady beat. Her own sped when she was with him but lacked the strength of his.
Caelen stroked her arm. “Give it time.” An intimate note deepened his voice. He stepped back.
“Much like the council’s attitude on the men,” Brenna said, tucking her arm to her side.
Caelen put on his plaid as he said, “They are old men who don’t like change and don’t wish to lose their status. That increases my problems. If they see the benefits the Grants add to the clan, that will make everything much easier.”
“The benefit might not be seen for months or years.” She couldn’t wait that long. “And Manus, he will surely stir up trouble.” There had to be a way to show the council and the clan that the new followers were their brethren.
“The council may not care for their presence, but their laird agreed, even providing them with supplies to build a home. They have agreed to the rents and to fight for this clan. They cannot go against their laird.”
She bit her lower lip. “But Manus, he can go against his father. Sons do. And when he passes? Will they try to break the deal?”
“I shall handle Manus and we shall handle the rest together. And rest assured, Brenna, MacKenzies are honorable.”
“I hope you are correct; otherwise, the highlands may tremble from the war that may rage.”
* * * *
Storm clouds hung thickly over the mountain peaks of the Five Sisters, yet over the castle, the sun peeked out. A perfect day to show the elders that the boy they remembered had turned into a powerful man.
Ten men trained in the shadow of the castle wall. Paired up, the men practiced their strikes, slashes and parries. Keir stood at the head, calling out his commands.
Caelen joined him. The man turned his face a fraction and peeked at Caelen. “What are they doing?”
“Trainin’, my lord.”
Caelen ignored his crisp tone. “Training. It seems more like dancing.”
Keir faced him. “MacKenzie men ha’e been training this way fae generations. The Viking Hammer”—he referred to Caelen’s grandfather—“trained this way an’ yer father, even ye ha’e trained this way.”
“My grandfather, father, nor myself have fought this way. You choose the five best men and I shall take the five worst and my men shall best yours in a fight.”
His nostrils flared. “Aye. Remember Caelen, men might call ye the Viking Highlander, but I ha’e fought mae than ye e’er had.”
“Because you are old. Call your men.”
Frustration notched up Keir’s volume as he called his five men forward. The men were broad as they were domineering, standing with their feet planted waist-length apart, as if they owned the parcel of earth beneath their feet. Their demeanor could spark fear in Sassenachs and their hard gazes reinforced their brutality.
Five men remained. They milled about, sharing looks. They weren’t scrawny men. Each seemed fit, with capable bodies. Yet, Caelen knew with a glance that each lacked direction. “The rest of you come here.”
They dragged their feet forward. Once they had gathered around, Keir explained the wager. “Ye two belong wit the earl.” He motioned them over with a tilt of his head.
The two hovered behind the others. “I na belong he’e. Ye didna ken us men, my lord.”
“The choice was Keir’s, not mine. What is your name?”
“Reamon.” He lifted his chin. Reamon appeared to be a strong lad with a long nose, pale skin, and nearly black hair chopped close to his head and spiked up.
“Since you spoke first, you are the leader of these men. You will be responsible for their actions, failures, and accomplishments. Can you handle that?”
“Aye.”
“You will answer to me and meet here every morn. We will train and I will not be easy on any of you. I demand your all and will not put up with anything less.”
The men nodded.
Keir walked up to him. “Do ye ken how ye hurt these men? They’ll only learn frae the better men.” He turned to the others. “Return to training.”
The men lingered. Keir glared and then faced them. “Did ye hear?”
Caelen gave the nod when his men looked to him for their order.
“Ye dinna ken wat ye have dun. I’ll show ye.”
* * * *
Oran had come from the fields. He was sweaty, dirty, and every muscle in his body burned from the day’s work. Nonetheless, he felt charged. And that was why he found himself walking to Alastronia’s cottar.
When he neared, it dawned on him that he should have cleaned up. It was the proper act of a man courting a woman, but he wanted to show her that he wasn’t afraid of work and could provide for her. He might not have much now, but he would.
She was in the vegetable garden, on her knees and a basket at her side. She greeted him as she shielded her eyes. She stood up and smiled at him.
“I hadna expected to see ye so soon.”
Oran blushed. “I ha’e spent too much time wit’ my friends an’ wished to look upon a pretty face.”
“Weel, ye ha’e looked. Farewell.” She scooped up her basket.
Oran grasped her arm. “Nay, I wish to speak as well.”
She squinted one eye and stared at him. Oran loosened his hold and his touch dropped away. She was going to send him on his way.
Her narrow shoulders slumped. “Verra weel.”
He took the basket from her. He looked down at the vegetables. “Makin’ a stew.”
“Aye, a fish stew. How is the planting comin’ along?”
“I am pleased wit the progress.”
“Ye take great pride in that.”
“On the old lands, I worked in the castle. The kitchens exactly, so I’ve love workin’ wit my hands an’ can cook many meals.”
“Most men wad na confess to such a skill.”
“I am na most men.” She gave him that look he had seen other men receive from interested women. Cait had looked at him like that in the beginning but it had turned to disappointment. He hadn’t been able to set up a household on the lands he was born and reared. What were his chances here in these new ones? Perhaps, he should leave her alone.
Not knowing whether to make an advance or not, he blurted, “I cared for the kitchen garden and loved growing my own ingredients.” He never shared that truth.
“I only think of it as another chore. You may come an’ care for my own. Ye may ha’e better luck wit’ it than I do. May I ask ye
aboot a topic I am verra curious aboot?”
“Please.”
“The countess. What is she like? I ha’e never seen one. I’ve seen the lairdess.”
“Oh, Brenna is quiet nice.”
“Ye call her by name,” she said, her voice laced with awe.
A bit more swagger entered his step. “Aye.”
“Dinna stop. Wat else do ye ken?” Her elbow bumped against his. She didn’t move away.
He stared upon her beautiful face…her bright eyes sparkling with curiosity. “She is beautiful an verra much a lady. She loves her sweets.”
“Tell me mae.”
“She always has a bright disposition, but a temper. She never gives up until she gae wha’ever she desires. I think ye two wad be friends. Next time I am in her company, I can gat her to meet ye.”
She laid her hand on his arm. “Truly? I wod love that. Thank ye, Oran.” She ambled to her doorway. “The men ha’e come in.”
His throat closed, hoping her father didn’t send him off. The fishy scent, blended with sea air, reached his nostrils before the fishermen did. She looked over her shoulder to the rider approaching. As he neared, Oran recognized him. The laird’s son.
Manus leapt off his horse and approached Alastronia. “Forgive me for being tardy, but my duties required my attention.”
“I wasna aware ye planned to visit.” She scratched the nape of her neck.
“Nonsense. You know I come every day. You live at the far edge with no company of your own.”
Alastronia darted her gaze between Manus and him. She licked her lips and opened her mouth to speak only to close it. Manus snatched the basket from Oran. He grabbed her arm and slipped it down her slim forearm to let it hang on her elbow.
“However, I have a gift for you. I’m inviting both your father and yourself to feast at the great hall tomorrow eve, as my guests.”
“Oh.” Her free hand flew to her throat.
“Aye, it is exciting. Time has come for you to meet my brother and his wife.” He clasped her hand. She pulled away.
A sea-beaten man approached. His face was the same thickness of a cow’s hide, sun brown with patches of white, and cracked. His hair had lost the luster that his daughter still possessed, and had faded to a washed out copper. His lips smacked, resembling the fish he snared in his net daily. He was missing teeth. He wiped his hands on his trews.
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