Claiming the Highlander (3 page)

She shook her head, confused by all the happenings. “He seemed to become ill suddenly. Now, looking back, I saw the first signs. He paced about and complained about not using the…seeing to his needs. The stubborn man wouldn’t see the healers.”

Caelen squeezed her shoulder. He could do nothing else.

“He will not live too much longer.” Grief cracked her voice. “Caelen, do not question me anymore. You have duties requiring your attention. The council has convened and will be in place until your father’s”—she cleared her throat—“passing.”

“Who is on the council?”

“Finian, Gilroy, and Tavish.”

“Tavish.” He spit out.

“Caelen, you can deal with Tavish.”

“He blames me for Dairmad’s death.” A crack formed in his wall. That event always slammed into and rocked as if it were that night, and followed with a heavy darkness that settled within him, knowing he couldn’t change the outcome.

“Soon you will be laird and must deal with such things. That isn’t the only difficultly you face.”

“That’s why you summoned Brenna.” Not that he planned to summon her yet. He wished for a more opportune time. When that time was, he could not say.

“She is your wife. Now is the time to be at each other’s side.”

He crossed his arms. “Why now?”

“’Tis time. The Grants were questioning why she hadn’t made her home here; even the king sent a missive. Her presence isn’t a problem. She has been a great help to me; however, ten and six Grants accompanied her and have joined the clan.”

“That must please Finian.”

His mother chuckled. Her laughter was once light. Her head would tip back slightly, showing off her long neck. Now, it was hollow. The merriment never reached her eyes. “The council wishes to speak with you. Remember, you are their leader and the Earl of Wester Ross.”

“Thank you, Mother. I might have forgotten.” He placed a peck on her forehead.

Coming from the stairs, his father’s commander halted behind his mother. Keir kept his eyes from meeting Caelen’s own and fixed on the door behind him. Age had not changed him much except for dulling every part of him. His square head was still covered with hair that was more pewter than light brown. His hooded eyes hung heavier at the corners, matching his mouth. He was still fit, but not as dominating in presence as Caelen remembered.

“The council requests your appearance.” The commander’s tone scraped through Caelen.

His mother placed her hand upon his arm. Her tender touch stifled his rising urge. He was no longer a boy. Keir would learn that through smarts or fists.

“You have done your duty.”

Keir turned away and vanished down the stairs.

“Do not fret. I know what I must do.”

Caelen made his way to the great hall. The three men sat behind the trestle table. The torchlight bounced off Finian’s bald head, and his razor thin nose. The tip hung almost to his thin lips and caused his face to fall into deep shadows so Caelen couldn’t see his eyes.

“Ye are much changed,” Finian said.

Gilroy nodded, shaking his thick, gray hair like a banner stirred by the wind.

“We shal’ see.” Tavish glared beneath his thick, black brows.

“You haven’t called for me to see how I change.”

“That we haven’t,” Gilroy said. “With the laird dying, we have been seeing to the clan’s needs. Now with you arrived, there are many things you must know.”

“The Grants. We ’ave ten an’ six new members. They are set up in the north fields.”

“They’ll cause trouble,” Tavish added.

“So far, they haven’t; however, Laird Grant is doubting the ties between our two clans.” Gilroy stroked his white beard.

“Ye weren’t the one who sent fae her. They think ye wish to send her back.”

“Nonsense.” Caelen shook his head.

“Those Grants will be reporting back to Laird Grant.” Finian slid to the edge of his seat.

“Then they don’t belong here.”

“That’s nat a choice. Ye are mae MacLean than MacKenzie. Ye still wear the MacLean tartan. Ye maun learn aboot our life an our ways now.” Tavish aimed a finger at him.

“Aye, get your wife with child and then all will be well,” Gilroy said as if a bairn solved all problems.

Caelen gritted his teeth. “A child will come soon enough. She is here with me now, and that is enough.”

“Yer father winna like that.”

“My father is not to be disturbed with such issues.” He planted both his feet firmly on the ground.

“You don’t understand. With the new lands, we require more followers and allies to protect it. Other clans will be looking to cut our power. Settle these disputes.”

“We will guide ye as ye learn the details. Remember ye are a MacKenzie an’ the future leader of this great clan.” Finian drummed his forefinger against the table with each word he uttered.

Tavish rose to his feet and leaned his hands flat on top of it. His dark eyes locked on Caelen’s own. “Ye winna want yer father to gae onto his reward knowin’ the clan is lost.”

Chapter Two

“Please bring the light here.” Light flickered over Aobh’s plump face. Brenna wrung the cloth. She wiped away the last of the blood caked on Aobh’s face. The poor lass, she had been chasing after a calf and slipped, falling among the rocks and cutting up her face. Brenna had been caring for a tenant when the cry rent through the clattan.

“She shall be fine—sore and purple all over though. Keep her off her swollen foot, put the salve on her cuts, and if she catches a fever, please come get me at the castle.”

Her mother nodded. “Thank ye, my lady.” She ran her hand over her daughter’s golden locks.

“Aodh, you just rest and drink all that is in that cup. It shall help you sleep.”

Aodh scrunched her face. “’Tis smelly.”

“I know and that is why I sweetened it for you. I cannot promise you that it will taste or smell much better, but you need it to rest. Promise me.”

Aodh looked to her mother and then back at Brenna. She smelled the drink again, scrunched up her face, and made a sound as she stuck out her tongue.

“Pinch your nose and drink it down. I will check on you on the morrow.”

“Wat da we say to the countess?”

“Thank ye, my lady.”

Brenna smiled down at Aodh. “Feel better. I must return home. The meal must have begun already.”

“My lady, my sons will escort ye.”

Before Brenna could speak, Moira screamed out to her boys. Her call was not yet out of her mouth when the door opened. Instead of Moira’s three skinny boys, Caelen filled the doorway.

“Brenna.” He ducked to enter the home.

That was all he said in a tone that was a mixture of warning and reprimand. Instead of being upset, she had the opposite reaction. She rose to the tips of her toes as a heady rush spread through her. He had come for her. In his letters, he vowed that once she was at his side, he would always be with her, and, in one letter, he wrote that wherever she journeyed, he would always come for her. He had kept his promise. Moira hovered by the bed, and then curtsied. Caelen gave a nod in greeting.

“Aodh had a spill but her injuries are minor and she will be about in a day or two.”

He crossed to the bed. He towered over the dear lass, hands on his hips and brows pinched. “Heal fast.”

He made those words of comfort sound like an order. Aodh jerked her head in a nod. Her eyes were as wide as a full moon in a cloudless sky. Brenna scratched her top lip to hide the grin dancing on her lips.

Brenna made her farewells and stepped out to the tract. “I am surprised you came for me.”

“You hadn’t appeared for the meal. I had Cook wrap up some food for you and me.”

“That was very kind.” She didn’t know what to do with her arms and crossed and uncrossed them before she left them to hang at her side.

Caelen raised his eyebrows. No other reaction. So, he wasn’t very expressive, but he was her husband and she had to learn his ways.

She veered around the horse and stepped onto the well-worn path that led to the castle.

“My mount is here.” The white horse, dusted with shades of gray, tossed his head. His long mane flipped about. The beast was a Spanish horse, with a thick chest to match his teeth, and hooves that must have trampled many a foot soldier.

She aimed glances at the beast. She stayed a safe distance from its wide head. Caelen swung up with ease. He clasped her forearm. She grasped his arm, not wanting to have her own yanked from her body. He lifted her and plopped her across his firm legs. She raised her gaze from the hard ground to his chin. Short, blond hair covered his blunt chin and softened the hardness of his face. His breath breezed through her hair. She forced herself to look upward. His bright blue eyes locked on her. Something stirred inside her, a mixture of passion and fear. Not fear of him—never would she fear Caelen. Nay, it was an uneasiness of what lay ahead. She had been schooled on how to be a wife, yet before her husband, she was unsure of how to be the wife to Caelen.

He tucked his forefinger under her chin, lifting her face closer to his lips. Through her parted mouth, she drew in a sharp breath. Her lips began to tingle. The corners of his eyes pinched. She waited for his mouth to touch her own. He brushed his thumb across her lips.

“Hold tight, Brenna.” His voice lowered to a caressing tone.

Unsure if he spoke of waiting for a kiss or if to hold onto him, she gripped his forearm. She pressed closer against him until their bodies melded against each other. He was so deliciously warm. Her nose filled with a vibrant blend of salty air, crisp greenery, a hint of smoke, and the evening air. She turned her face toward him for a better sample of his fragrance. She promised herself to remember this night. After all, this night was the beginning of her marriage. It would be a great marriage, as she planned.

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.”