Kilted at the Altar (Clash of the Tartans Book 2)

by Anna Markland

  He lovingly patted her dry, then took hold of her ankles. “Bend yer knees,” he said, pushing gently.

  She lay completely open to his gaze, uncertain of his intent when he licked his lips and bent his head. When he put his mouth on her and suckled, intense delight overcame the shock of the invasion. She clutched the linens as previously unknown sensations crept up the back of her thighs, spread their glow up her spine, played havoc with her nipples and spiraled into her womb.

  She arched her back and surrendered to the need to purr like a contented cat.

  The purring stopped abruptly when the sensations all came together in a climactic spasm that robbed her of breath as she left the earth and soared in heavenly bliss. She floated on a cloud, seemingly weightless, her rapidly beating heart echoing deep within the place that cried out once more for Darroch’s manhood.

  As if he knew, he slid slowly into her pulsating sheath. She whimpered when he withdrew, just as slowly, but screamed out the incredible feeling of fulfillment when he plunged again, and again, and again. They flew together, higher and higher, until she lost herself in his euphoric cry of completion.

  Afterglow

  Darroch wanted to stay inside Isabel’s warm, throbbing sheath forever but, inevitably, his tarse slowly softened and slid from her body. “Let’s get to bed and cuddle,” he whispered. “In a while we’ll make love again.”

  “I’ll learn to do it better,” she murmured, apparently misunderstanding.

  He blew out the candle in the lantern and cradled her in his arms. “If it gets any better, I’ll think I have died and gone to heaven.” Then he wondered if he’d been mistaken and she hadn’t enjoyed their lovemaking as much as he had. “Was it too painful for ye? I’m a big mon.”

  She twirled a finger in the curls on his chest. “Only for a fleeting moment. Ye took me by surprise the first time. Who’d have thought lying with a mon could be so wonderful? Ghalla wrinkles her nose and snorts whenever sexual congress is mentioned. But I thought I hadna pleased ye.”

  He lifted her into the box-bed and climbed in after her. “I’ve only to look at ye to want to make love again,” he assured her. “We fit together weel.”

  He scooted into the corner and pulled her into his arms, feeling all was right with the world when she snuggled into him. “We’d best rise early on the morrow to take advantage of the tide.”

  “I’m anxious to meet Kyla,” she confessed. “I hope she likes me.”

  “She’ll love ye, as I do,” he replied. But looking down at her as she fell asleep with her head on his chest, his thoughts went to Ywst and the bairn who refused to speak. He’d have to warn Isabel, but that was a problem for another day.

  *

  Isabel always wore a nightgown when she slept in her comfortable chamber at Dungavin. She’d never shared a bed with anyone. Yet waking up naked with an equally naked male in a cramped box-bed seemed perfectly natural.

  The heat from Darroch’s body chased away the morning chill. His growl of contentment as he woke had her arching her back. She was disappointed when he eased her away and sat up, flexing the fingers of his injured arm. “What’s amiss?”

  “Naught,” he reassured her. “My elbow’s just a wee bit stiff. ’Twill be fine once we get underway.”

  Guilt swept over her as she laid a hand on his bandaged arm. She hadn’t given a thought to his injury. “I’m a poor wife.”

  Shaking his head, he pecked a kiss on her lips, then slid past her to get out of the box. He seemed preoccupied, but she supposed he was anxious to set sail for Ywst.

  He’d just tucked his plaid around his waist when the back door opened and the bleating sheep ran out. “Yer cousin’s letting us know she’s here,” he said.

  A minute or two passed before they heard a loud banging on the front door. “I’ve come to make ye oatmeal,” Fanny shouted before entering.

  Isabel drew the linens up to her neck and peeked out just in time to notice a brief scowl on the old woman’s face.

  Blue bounded into the croft, wagging his tail, and rushed to sniff everything in sight.

  “He fretted all night,” Fanny explained.

  Darroch gave the hound a hearty slap on the rump, then leaned over to kiss Isabel again. “Oatmeal sounds good,” he said.

  “Aye,” she agreed, “but I think she’s disappointed not to get a glimpse of ye.”

  He arched a brow. “Only for my lovely wife to see,” he replied with a chuckle, his face reddening. “I’m off to yon privy.”

  *

  Seemingly satisfied after a thinly veiled inspection of the bedsheets, Fanny prattled on about the oatmeal being too lumpy, which it wasn’t. “It’s as delicious as always,” Darroch replied, sensing the nonstop chatter had more to do with putting off bidding Isabel farewell. “Dinna fash, I’ll take good care of her.”

  “I should hope so,” she declared, glaring at him.

  He glanced across the table at his wife. She’d spent the night in a cramped box-bed, been obliged to use an outdoor privy and complete her ablutions at the unreliable pump inside the croft, yet she smiled and preened with the glow of a woman well-bedded. His heart swelled with pride and he felt very smug.

  She’d donned the riding habit, as if sensing that’s what he wanted her to wear, and his mouth went dry at the memory of the high boots.

  He hadn’t yet told her about Kyla, not wanting to broach the subject in front of Fanny. Better to wait until they were under sail.

  He worried about Blue. He’d at first thought Kyla would love the dog, but the creature was rather fearsome, and who could say how a dog might react with a bairn? The beast had been the center of Isabel’s attention and might not take kindly to her lavishing love on Kyla.

  Or perhaps he was expecting too much of his new wife. His daughter was a bastard after all.

  Lost in his thoughts, he startled when Isabel reached for his hand. “Ye seem preoccupied. Is yer elbow bothering ye?”

  “Nay,” he replied, wishing it were that simple.

  Boo

  Isabel had lived her whole life by the sea. She loved to ride out to the cliffs and watch the ever-changing moods of the Little Minch. But she’d never learned to swim and wasn’t comfortable being on a boat, even though Ywst was already visible from Roghadal before they cast off, and the waters were calm.

  “Ye’ll be in good hands,” Fanny assured her.

  Isabel smiled and hugged her cousin. “How is it ye always ken what I’m thinking?”

  Fanny eased her away. “’Tis simple to discern what’s in the mind of an honest and straightforward lass like ye.”

  Isabel glanced over at her husband who was saying goodbye to Hammond. “I thank ye for all that ye’ve done for me, and Darroch.”

  Fanny frowned. “Wheest. ’Twas as much for yer mam, God rest her soul.” She nodded in Darroch’s direction. “She’d be happy ye married such a braw laddie.”

  Isabel wagged a finger. “Ye liked him from the moment ye first saw him.”

  Fanny’s wizened face reddened as she elbowed Isabel in the ribs. “Just because a woman’s getting on in years, doesna mean she canna look.”

  Isabel laughed aloud, drawing Darroch’s attention. “Ready to go?” he shouted, wading towards them through the shallows.

  Suddenly she was in Fanny’s embrace, barely able to breathe. The tears came. “I’ll ne’er forget ye,” she croaked.

  Her cousin pushed her into Darroch’s arms. “Aye, weel,” she replied hoarsely, “ye’ll always find a welcome here on Harris.”

  “Me too?” Darroch asked mischievously.

  Fanny punched the bicep of his good arm. “Aye. I suppose now ye’re wed to Isabel…”

  He feigned injury, then lifted her into a hug so her feet left the ground. “Ye’re a marvel, Fanny Beaton, and I thank ye. I’ll miss yer oatmeal.”

  *

  Darroch sensed Isabel’s uneasiness as the galley pulled away from shore. Content to hand over command to Grig, he stood beh
ind her and folded his arms across her breasts. He nestled his chin atop the endearing hat.

  Blue sat by Isabel’s side, sniffing the wind and yawning occasionally, as if he sailed the seas every day of the week.

  “’Tis a short voyage,” Darroch assured his wife.

  She crossed her arms over his and leaned back against him. “I ken. I’m nay a good sailor.”

  “Good thing ye have me then,” he replied, nuzzling her neck.

  He inhaled the intriguing perfume that always clung to her, even in the salty air, content to be back on the deck of his galley, the woman he loved in his arms, free to roam again as he pleased.

  Many men deemed marriage a detriment to their freedom. He’d been of that mind while pacing the chapel in Sleat, waiting for the bride who never arrived. Isabel had not only freed him from the clutches of an enemy clan. Her love had banished the oppressive loneliness and resentment that had weighed him down for many a year. He would be her willing slave for the remainder of his life. Responsibility for her wellbeing had given him a new reason to live. The desire to avenge the treachery perpetrated against them had lit a fire in his gut.

  But there remained the quandary of his daughter, and the impasse with his father, not to mention finding the best way to reconcile their feuding clans.

  As the galley scythed its way through the waves, he tried to form an explanation for Kyla’s refusal to speak, and his father’s hatred of his own granddaughter.

  He feared if he said the wrong thing, Isabel might think the bairn cursed and Stewart MacKeegan mad. The words died in his throat at the prospect of her rejecting the lass. He’d have no choice but to protect his daughter.

  His heart told him Isabel would love Kyla, but his mind kept his mouth sealed. By the time they pulled into the dock at Loch nam Madadh, he’d said nothing, coward that he was.

  When Grig had the boat secured, Darroch climbed out and turned to lift Isabel. “Welcome to Ywst,” he said.

  Before she could reply, Blue suddenly began barking and leapt onto the dock.

  Isabel grimaced. “Come back, daft dog,” she shouted to the hound. Then she gripped his shoulders. “There’s a bairn, Darroch.”

  He swiveled, almost dropping his bride, alarmed at the sight of Blue galloping full tilt towards his daughter.

  Kyla stopped abruptly when she saw the hound.

  Darroch’s feet seemed fixed to the wood of the dock. Outpacing the dog would be impossible. “He’s going to attack her,” he rasped.

  “Nay. Blue, Blue,” Isabel shouted frantically, wriggling out of his arms.

  The dog skidded to a halt in front of Kyla, circled her twice, then began licking her face.

  Isabel sagged into him. “He’s just being friendly,” she murmured nervously.

  Darroch gulped air in an effort to slow the too-rapid beating of his heart.

  Kyla laughed, wiped a sleeve across her face, and exclaimed, “Boo!”

  Stunned, Darroch quickly gathered her up when she ran to him, arms outstretched, Blue on her heels. “Kyla,” he whispered as she showered kisses all over his face. “I was delayed. I’m sorry.”

  When she calmed, he turned her to face Isabel. “Ye recall I promised to bring ye a mother, weel, this is Isabel, my new wife. Aye, the one I was to wed afore. There was a mix-up. I’ll explain it to ye.”

  He avoided looking at his bride, fearing she must have noticed he’d rambled on, conducting a one-sided conversation.

  “Hello, Kyla. I’m very happy to meet ye,” Isabel tried.

  His daughter buried her face in his neck.

  He looked down at the hound patiently watching the proceedings. “Blue is Isabel’s dog.”

  Kyla looked at Blue, then stretched out her arms to cup Isabel’s face. She pecked a kiss on each cheek before wriggling to be put down.

  Hooking her little hand into the dog’s collar, she smiled and said, “Come, Boo.”

  Bairn and hound wandered off towards Grig’s cottage.

  “I get the feeling Kyla just adopted him,” Isabel said with a smile.

  Choked with emotion, Darroch was now the one at a loss for words. It took all his strength not to fall to his knees in humble thanksgiving.

  *

  Isabel sensed something momentous had happened. Darroch’s joy at being reunited with his daughter caused tears to well. But there was more to it. The bairn hadn’t spoken at all, except to Blue. Her father had been the recipient of kisses and hugs, but no words of love, though it was plain she adored him.

  Yet the bright-eyed Kyla clearly wasn’t a dullard. Blue had immediately recognized the goodness in her.

  Darroch stood watching his child as if in a trance. She took his hand and meshed her fingers with his. “She’s beautiful. I can see why ye’re so proud of her.”

  “Aye,” he said hoarsely. “I should have told ye she doesna speak.”

  “Except to Blue.”

  He chuckled. “’Tis a miracle.”

  “Blue has often been my only confidant,” she replied, as they walked away from the shore. “Sometimes ’tis easier to place yer trust in animals.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders. “I’m more certain now that she’ll eventually speak to me…and to ye, o’course.”

  She heard the hesitation in his voice. “But?”

  He inhaled deeply and looked to the sky. “Then there’s her grandfather, but that’s a whole other tale for a different time.”

  Isabel resigned herself to be patient. There was obviously much to learn about her new family. Everyone in the Isles knew of Stewart MacKeegan’s legendary temper and she looked forward even less to meeting him now.

  That would have to wait until she and Darroch had solved her own family’s problems.

  Three in a Bed

  Darroch, Isabel and Kyla spent the night in his cottage, all three curled up in the same bed. If his daughter had gotten her way, Blue would have slept with them too. Only the telling of her favorite tale about the toads and faeries of Dun Scaith had appeased her.

  Sleeping naked was out of the question, as was lovemaking, not easy in a small bed with a tempting female body cuddled into him. But Darroch felt oddly at peace with the situation, and Isabel voiced her contentment to lie with him in his own little house for the first time. Once Kyla fell asleep, his wife confessed in whispered giggles her misunderstanding about the toads when he’d mentioned them in Harris.

  The next morning, they set off to walk to Grig’s croft. Tilly had said she would make oatmeal to break their fast. As they left the cottage, Kyla slipped her hand into Darroch’s. He hoped she’d do the same with Isabel, but she took hold of Blue’s collar.

  “Dinna fash,” his wife said softly, linking her arm with his. “In time.”

  She was right. Kyla could be stubborn and there was no use pushing her. He pecked a kiss on his wife’s lips. “What did I do to deserve such a patient bride?”

  “Ye jilted her,” she quipped.

  Kyla picked up the pace, pulling him to go faster, but it was to Blue she explained, “Til’s teaching me to weave. She says I’m nay very good, but do ye want to see?”

  The dog woofed as if he understood every word.

  Darroch was torn. By rights, he should scold his daughter. All this time, she’d known very well how to speak properly. However, Isabel’s reassuring wink kept him on an even keel.

  They hung back outside the open door when Kyla and the dog disappeared inside. She put her arms around his waist. “Ye ken her words were really meant for ye?” she asked. “Make sure ye praise her efforts. Little girls like to please their fathers.”

  *

  Isabel sensed Grig must have explained the mix-up about the wedding to his wife. Tilly was much friendlier this morning as she spooned oatmeal into bowls, which Isabel carried to the table.

  Her instinct was to go to the little loom Tilly had dragged out for Kyla who was showing off her weaving to Blue, but in the long run patience would be more effective. She sat o
n a wooden stool, resolved to wait to be invited into the bairn’s confidence.

  She praised Tilly’s oatmeal, though the first spoonful left her with the feeling it wouldn’t measure up to Fanny’s. She gritted her teeth, irritated she hadn’t paid more attention in Fanny’s kitchen. All her life, she’d relied on servants to cook food.

  The notion raised questions about the kind of life she and her new husband would live; they’d both been raised in comfortable castles by wealthy families, but were outsiders now. The words of advice about fathers and daughters she’d offered to Darroch haunted her.

  There was a time when her father had found the most insignificant thing she did pleasing. That had changed after Ghalla’s advent.

  It grated that she had the makings of a much better clan chief than Tremaine, and one day Ian would be old enough. Yet Rory MacRain seemed determined to grant Tremaine that high honor and disinherit his own flesh and blood.

  “She’s a clever little thing,” Tilly said softly, jolting Isabel from her preoccupation. “Listen to her prattling on to yon hound. Didna utter a word to me.”

  “Aye,” Isabel agreed. “Life seems unfair sometimes. Lasses are destined to weave and make oatmeal while boys inherit the earth.”

  Tilly eyed her as if she had two heads. “But Kyla’s a base-born bairn. She’ll ne’er amount to anything.”

  Isabel made a silent vow to do everything in her power to ensure such would not be the case.

  *

  Darroch would have liked nothing better than to spend the day with his family. The desire to hear his name on his daughter’s lips tugged at his heartstrings.

  However, preparations had to be made for the voyage to Dungavin. He planned to take the men who had accompanied him from Sleat, but also hoped to persuade Ywst islanders to join the crusade. Sailing to the MacRain stronghold on Skye was a far cry from raiding a few crofts on Harris. They’d have to set a course for Trumpan and then travel a fair distance in hostile territory. His bride was a MacRain but that was no guarantee Ghalla wouldn’t send forces to challenge them.