by Amy Jarecki
She rested her forehead on his chest. “How are we to do this with our injuries?”
“Can ye no’ lie on yer back?” Bran chuckled into her hair. “There are other ways, if ye’re an adventurous lass.”
Enya’s insides leapt. “Have you been keeping secrets from me now?”
“Nay, but ye are a fine lady, one who mightn’t care to be bent over the bed or taken against the wall.”
The insides of her thighs quivered. She rose up on her toes and kissed him, his manhood tapping against her abdomen, sending her insides fluttering with desire. “Are you full of undiscovered pleasures?”
“Would ye like to try?”
“Have you ever known me not to be willing to face adventure?” She lifted her arm slightly. It hurt, but she wouldn’t let on. “Besides, my arm is healing. What would you have me do, sir knight?”
Bran rubbed his member against her belly, and then led her to the bed. “Bend at the waist and lay yer torso across it. Ye can rest yer head in the crux of yer good arm.”
Enya did as told. Her anticipation grew hot with her bare bottom presenting over the edge of the bed. “Like this?”
“Aye, perfect.” His voice trembled. “Now spread yer legs.”
Enya did as he asked, and Bran slid a hand under her belly and stroked the spot that turned her sex molten. She arched her back. “Mm. That feels unbelievable.”
He placed his manhood between her legs and stroked her with it, back and forth until it was slick with her moisture. Enya could see nothing, but his stroking took her excitement to a level near bursting.
Bran leaned over and showered kisses across her neck as his hand worked its magic. “I want to enter ye.”
“Aye. I need you inside me.” God, did she ever. She moved her hips with his rhythm. “Now. Please.”
Bran tickled the front of her mons as he slid inside. “Does this please ye, Enya?”
She could scarcely breathe, let alone reply. “Faster,” she uttered, pushing against him, his finger making her frantic with the need to burst. She rocked back with each thrust, his finger working in circles around that spot. She closed her eyes and dug her fingers into the bedclothes, every inch of her skin on fire. “Take me, Bran. Take me!” Her body tensed as spasms racked through her. Bran thrust deep inside and roared, moving his hands to her hips and holding his manhood inside as it pulsed.
Panting, he bent over her, his manhood still pulsing inside her body. “I love ye, mo leannan.”
She relaxed into the soft folds of the mattress. “And I you.”
“Ye must marry me, for soon I’ll have ye with child.”
Enya’s heart swelled. “I would marry you with child or not.”
He nuzzled into her neck. “I shall ask the friar to set the date and it will be done.”
Enya rolled over and pulled him onto the bed beside her. “My father will not rest. I haven’t had a chance to tell you I nearly shot Robert during your escape. He and my father were giving chase.”
“Aye, Calum expects retaliation, but they willna come after us without ships and cannons. They ken the might of Raasay. No one walks onto our beach and makes demands.”
Enya curled into a ball. Must her every action cause disaster? “’Tis all my fault.”
Resting on his side, Bran gently caressed her. He ran his hand down the length of her good arm. “Nay, lass. Ye helped me escape. ’Tis yer father who’s wrong. He doesna understand I love ye and will dedicate me life to seeing to yer happiness.”
“I am happy, Bran.” Her insides fluttered with his kisses teasing her neck. “So how many other positions are there for us to try?”
He cupped her cheek and chuckled. “Och, ye are full of surprises. Mayhap we can concoct a few of our own.”
“I’d relish that.” She stroked her hand along his member. “Shall we start now?”
“I’d like nothing more, but we’re expected in the hall.”
Enya’s bottom lip jutted out. “Ah yes, the gathering.”
Chapter Twenty-five
It took longer to dress than it did to undress. With no head covering in her pile of borrowed clothes, Enya opted to wear her damp hair in a braid down her back. They managed to arrive at the great hall just as everyone was being seated. The chamber swarmed with family groups and people of all ages. Halkhead had entertained large groups, but it was a family manse, and the crofters who tilled Ross land and paid fealty to her father all lived and dined in their own cottages.
This was more akin to what she’d read about from the times of the great kings like Robert the Bruce. Of course, she was well aware Highland clans still lived as a community within the bailey walls of big castles, but it was not as common to see in Renfrewshire. After all, this was the sixteenth century.
Bran led her to the table where Sir Malcolm sat with Heather. “Do ye mind if we join ye?”
Malcolm gestured to the wooden bench. “Please do.”
Bran helped Enya to sit then Calum bellowed from the dais. “I expect me henchman to dine with me.”
Enya shot Heather an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. Are you settling in?”
Heather’s cheeks glowed rosy red with a sideways glance at Malcolm. “Aye.” She gestured toward the dais. “You’d better go.”
“I’ll find you later?”
Heather nodded and shooed her away with a flick of her hand. When the kitchen doors burst open, Enya’s mouth watered with the tempting smells of roasted meat and fresh oat bread. Her stomach growled and she smiled inwardly. She’d worked up quite an appetite with the activities at Sir Bran’s cottage.
Calum stood to greet them. “I see ye found a cake of soap.”
Everyone at the table laughed. Prickly heat crept up Enya’s cheeks. They all looked at her as if they knew what she and Bran had been up to—most likely they did.
Anne gestured to the seat beside her. “Miss Enya, you must sit beside me. I see Mara’s kirtle fits you perfectly.”
Enya reluctantly released Bran’s hand as he took a seat across from Calum. She hated to be separated from him even for a minute. Mara sat directly across from her, and Bran sat next to Mara. If Enya stood, she’d be able to stretch across the table and touch him. Calum had his retinue with John, Bran and Calum’s brother, Norman, at one end, and Lady Anne, Mara and Enya at the other. Friar Pat sat on Enya’s right.
“Where are the lads?” Enya asked.
“We’re allowing them to eat at their friend’s table tonight.” It was odd hearing Lady Anne’s proper English accent in contrast to the Highlanders.
Mara leaned in. “They’re with me Samuel, on strict orders to behave themselves.”
“That’d take a miracle,” Friar Pat mumbled into his tankard of ale, making the sign of the cross.
Trenchers of meat and vegetables arrived. Enya poured a tot of ale into her tankard. “Lady Anne, you must tell me how you ended up on Raasay, married to a Scottish laird.”
She exchanged a knowing look with Mara. “Hasn’t Bran told the story?”
“Only you were the daughter of an English earl, and Calum fought an entire English armada to win your hand.” Enya fanned herself at the romantic adventure of the story.
Lady Anne glanced at Calum, who nodded his approval. “Well, my uncle arranged for me to be wed by proxy.” She stabbed a piece of meat with her eating knife and looked up with a frown. “To a much older, despicable man.”
“How awful.”
“I thought so too, but then the ship taking me to him was pillaged by pirates.”
Enya clutched her fists against her chest. “You must have been terrified.”
“I was.” She grasped Calum’s hand and kissed it. “Until Laird Calum kicked in my door, brandishing his mammoth sword, mind you.”
Enya gasped and gaped at Calum, her gaze trailing to Bran. “You’re pirates?”
Bran stuttered with a panicked grimace, but Calum raised his tankard. “Privateers, if ye will.”
“I call Calum the
Robin Hood of Raasay,” John added. “He’s responsible for the clan’s livelihood.”
Wide-eyed, Enya again looked at Bran and mouthed, “Pirates?”
He leaned back in his chair, spreading his palms apologetically. “What can I say? I told ye we sailed to Tortuga—just like Captain Drake.”
Drake? He was Queen Elizabeth’s sea captain. Enya studied the jovial faces at the table and wondered what other unsavory things she might discover about them.
Lady Anne patted the back of Enya’s hand. “Calum limits his activities to goodwill cruises for the health and wellbeing of the clan.”
“Aye,” Bran said. “We’d never plunder a ship that didna deserve it.”
Enya dropped her jaw. “Deserve it?”
Calum winked. “An enemy vessel.”
“I see.” Enya looked to Friar Pat, who was now taking a swig from a whisky flask. “And what say you about their privateering activities, friar?”
His nose shone red as he stoppered the flask. “The good Lord has seen fit to provision us with bounty from the sea. Calum’s a worthy laird, lassie. Near eleven year ago, the clan would have starved if weren’t for him and his philanthropic ways.”
“Philanthropic?”
“Aye, he saved the clan.”
“What a remarkable place this is.” Of course, Enya had heard the Highlands was a place that harbored lawless thieves and pirates, but had thought it all balderdash. She watched the happy faces at the table—they were definitely not scowling with danger, as the Gypsies had been when they attacked her in the forest. Privateers? That definitely did sound more respectable.
Lady Anne clapped her hands. “We shall have music and dancing.”
Tables at the far end of the hall were being pushed aside while the piper filled his bagpipes with air, the familiar bray filling the hall.
Once they’d eaten, Bran walked around the table and bowed. “Will ye dance with me, Miss Enya?”
She loved it when he acted with chivalry, but she couldn’t resist teasing. As she stood, she pressed her lips against his ear so only he could hear. “Aye, if ye’ll promise to plunder me again this night.”
He flashed on of his devilish grins. “On that ye have me word.”
Enya couldn’t recall seeing him smile quite so broadly as they moved to the dance floor for a high-stepping reel. She stood across from Bran, and down the line of dancers, Heather and Malcolm were a pair. Enya loved how they looked at each other. She would have to find out more when she could steal some time alone with Heather. How wonderful it would be if the matron had found love.
The music started and Enya curtseyed. Careful not to pull on her injured arm, she and Bran swung in a circle, but when they sashayed down the line, she was partnered with a man who looped his arm through hers and barreled around for the turn. Enya doubled over with the pain, clasping the sore arm against her body.
Bran was instantly beside her. “Enya! Are ye all right?”
The music stopped. “’Tis just my arm. I should have put it in a sling.”
“Ye’re white as a calla lily.” He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Come—mayhap we should watch the dancing tonight. Ye need to rest yer arm lest it start bleeding again.”
They spent the remainder of the evening sitting on the dais with Calum and Anne.
Calum tugged on Bran’s shirtsleeve. “We can expect an attack, ’tis for certain.”
“When?” Bran asked.
“A week, mayhap two. I want to meet with the guard on the morrow.”
“Have ye sentries posted?”
“Aye, of course. We’ll see them coming a day ahead. I want ye to stay in the keep.”
Bran’s gaze darted to Enya. “After tonight, m’laird?”
Heat crawled up her face when Calum raised a red brow and shot her a sideways glance. “Agreed, but be in the courtyard at dawn.”
***
Before heading to the cottage, Bran took Enya to the kitchens. A woman he dearly loved, with a careworn face, her head covered by a grey wimple, opened her arms. “Son. ’Tis good to have ye home.”
Bran encircled her in his arms. He inhaled the familiar sent of fresh bread and the cooking fire as his mother’s matronly body embraced him. “I have someone I’d like ye to meet.” He grasped Enya’s hand. “This is Miss Enya, I’ve asked her to marry me.”
Enya curtseyed, bowing her head. “’Tis an honor to meet you, mistress.”
Mother grasped Enya’s shoulders and studied her face. “Ye are a lovely lass. I can tell by yer eyes ye’ve spirit.”
Bran chuckled. “Aye, that she does.”
“Well, ye’ll need it being married to the likes of Bran.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “I never thought I’d see the day when a lassie would steal my lad’s heart.”
Bran gave her a peck on the cheek. “I need some oatcakes for the morn. Can ye fix up a basket?”
“Aye.” She pulled a basket from under the table and lined it with a linen cloth. “I hear ye’re from Renfrewshire, Miss Enya.”
“Halkhead. My father—” Enya looked at Bran, biting her lip.
“Her da’s a land baron. He’s none too happy she’s here.”
Mother placed a handful of oatcakes in the basket and folded the cloth over it. “I ken there had to be a catch. Ye couldna come back here with a lass from Lewis, or Skye?”
“Well, what’d ye expect? Calum got his baroness.”
Mother chuckled and handed him the basket. “That he did, and ye always had a fondness for Lady Anne. I suppose ’tis fitting.” She clasped Enya’s hand. “Ye have me blessing.”
Enya raised his mother’s hand to her lips and kissed it. “Thank you.”
Bran took her out the kitchen door to avoid being stopped in the hall. They were both exhausted and he wanted Enya alone—at least for the night. A week would be preferable, but he’d take what he could.
“What will I do when you’re staying in the keep?” Enya asked.
“I’ll try to find an empty chamber for us. Dunna worry. I’ll see ye’re cared for.” He pushed through the door to his cottage and pulled her into his embrace. “But I dunna want to think on it tonight. For right now, in this moment, there is only you and me and this cottage. ’Tis all that matters.”
***
The cock had begun to crow when Bran stood at the side of the bed and pulled the bedclothes over Enya’s sleeping form. In slumber, her hair cascaded across the pillow in silken waves of auburn. Devoid of a blemish, her profile reminded him of a goddess. He would love her forever. He would protect her with his life. If her father came, the baron would have to kill him before Bran would let her go.
Bran hated to leave Enya alone, but Calum needed him in the courtyard. Last eve they’d made love until they both were so tired neither one could stay awake for a moment longer. After finding a slip of parchment, he took a cooled cinder from the fireplace and carefully wrote, I love you. With a kiss, he rested it against the basket and slipped out the door.
Malcolm stood off to the side as the MacLeod guard surrounded Calum. Bran cuffed the former Ross captain on the shoulder. “Come. Ye’re one of us now.”
Calum stood with his fists on his hips. “Ye’re all aware we have a few new faces among us. In addition, our brother Bran was sentenced to be gibbeted at the Glasgow Tolbooth.”
The crowd rumbled with disapproval.
“I couldna stand by and allow Regent Moray’s men to send Bran to such a long, agonizing death.” Calum scanned across the crowd. “And Bran has brought Miss Enya with him, daughter of Lord Ross of Renfrewshire. There will be retaliation. Of that I have no doubt.”
“And now we have Ross’s henchman fighting alongside us?” asked William MacLeod.
“Former henchman,” Malcolm replied. “Ross left me in the tolbooth to rot along with Sir Bran.”
Bran placed his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “If any man doubts Malcolm’s loyalty, ye can take issue with me. I would fight beside him, though I’ve
four and twenty lashes on me back to tell me differently. Ross betrayed Malcolm just as he betrayed me and our cousin, Rewan of Lewis.”
Calum drew his sword. “We need to prepare for what may come. Let no enemy breach the walls of Brochel.”
The men cheered as Calum thrust his claymore into the air.
Bran drew his sword and gave Malcolm a nudge. “Spar with me today. The men will grow to accept ye. It just takes time.”
The night’s rest had done Bran some good and he lunged into action. He liked sparring with Malcolm and they would both need to rebuild their strength. The tension from impending calamity grew with each clang of the swords.
***
Calum watched Malcolm appreciatively. “Ye fight like that and ye can be a part of the MacLeod guard for as long as ye are able.”
Bran gave the older man a good run, but if Calum had to choose, Bran would be his man. He’d grown stronger since he’d left him in Renfrewshire. A grand mistake that was, coming back with a highborn lass. Calum was too old for this. He’d already met the wrath of the English nobility when he fought for Anne ten years ago. He surely didn’t need a battle now, but there was little doubt Ross would come with an army. Especially with Bran a fugitive.
“Malcolm.” Calum beckoned the Ross man with a wave of his hand. “Come. We’ve things to discuss.”
Calum led the Lowlander into the donjon and up to the solar on the second floor. He closed the door and reached for a flagon. “A tot of whisky?”
“Aye, thank you, m’laird.”
Calum poured two tots and gestured to a chair at the table. “Please, sit.”
Malcolm complied and sipped the whisky. “’Tis a fine castle ye have here. Secluded from the mainland.”
“Aye, and that’s how I like it.” Calum threw back his drink and swiped his sleeve across his mouth. “What are Ross’s forces like now the effort to reinstate the queen failed?”
“I’d reckon he has about a third of what he had when we marched on Langside—mayhap fifty men.”
Calum poured another round and sat in the chair at the head of the table. “Do ye ken if the regent will be inclined to help him?”
