Claiming the Highlander (6 page)

“How is this tension being caused?” The menacing quality of Caelen’s voice chilled her.

Neacal narrowed his eyes. If Brenna hadn’t been watching closely, she would have missed it. “They keep themselves apart, an’ the clan feels that ’tis unfair they are workin’ MacKenzie land. They believe it shod be used by the clan folk.”

“They believe,” Caelen repeated.

“My lady, instruct these men to endear themselves to our members.”

Finian’s words raised her hackles. “And how will I do that? Have them stop working the land the laird bestowed upon them? Or let the clan folk order them about instead of welcoming them into the clan as the laird promised me? If that is all, I will be in my chamber—and do not call me back.”

This time, Brenna left. She made her way to her chamber, the letter pressed to her chest. She climbed to the center of the bed. The ropes creaked under her as she squirmed to get comfortable. She broke the seal.

At the bottom, written with flourish, was her father’s signature. She started at the beginning.

Brenna,

Word from you has not reached us. I require you to implore the laird to use his influence with the king. The sherriffdom is required for us. Your marriage was meant to help secure our standing; however, nothing has come of it. The land and titles you brought to the marriage provided us with no benefit but in a marriage connection. I, as your father, demand you use it. If the marriage has not been consummated, there is a possibility of dissolving this union.

She buried her face in the bed coverings. How was she supposed to press the laird to take up her father’s cause when he was dying? To go to Caelen at such a time would only pit him against the council and his father and most importantly, he would look at her differently. She must wait. Still something must be done. Brenna didn’t know what exactly. She couldn’t lose the one constant in her life—being Caelen’s wife.

* * * *

Caelen slipped into the chamber. Brenna knelt before her chest. Her arm buried deep within, concealing the missive. Whatever the reason for her to hide the letter, it must have been something he had to learn of and before it caused more trouble. Brenna climbed to her feet at the thud of the door shutting. She slammed down the top.

“Your behavior with the council”—Caelen crossed to her—“made me proud. Every inch the countess.”

Her mouth spread in to a broad grin. Her plump top lip curled, revealing her teeth and a sliver of her gums. She raised her hand to cover her mouth. She was beautiful. Hell, he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her.

“They are the most frustrating men.” She gritted her teeth. “How can they go against the laird’s orders yet speak how they are protecting the clan? They treat these men as enemies because MacKenzie blood does not course through them. Do they see me in the same way? I will not allow it.”

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?”

“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.