Duet (10 page)

A splash of bright color on shore caught Malcolm’s attention, and without thinking, he peered down to confirm what he saw. Oh my! The firm body holding him close, seemingly having forgotten to let go, was totally naked! When he choked again, it had nothing to do with inhaling water and everything to do with the well-built, nude form pressed tightly against him.

Aillil paused his brothers’ scolding to ask, “Are you all right,
Mael Caluim
?”

“You’re… You’re naked!” Malcolm stammered.

“Are the English so puritanical as to bathe clothed?”

When Malcolm tried to speak, the words wouldn’t come. He didn’t start breathing normally again until Aillil rewrapped his body in tartan.

T
HE
next day, on one of Malcolm’s free afternoons, a sharp knock sounded at his door. Book in hand, he answered, expecting Niall or one of the twins, shocked to find Aillil instead. He’d noted something different about the Highlander the day before; now he realized what. Not only was the man clean, the formerly unruly whiskers had been neatly trimmed and the mass of long, black hair fell in well-groomed waves instead of a tangled mass. Aillil wore his usual tartan plaid, no longer stained and dirty, with a crisp white shirt underneath. Cleaned up, Aillil Callaghan presented a handsome figure of a man. If not for a rather unfortunate nose….

“Come with me,” Aillil demanded, though without a trace of arrogance.

Should I or shouldn’t I?
Aillil’s footsteps faded into the distance. After a few moments Malcolm’s curiosity got the better of him. He placed the book face down upon the bed and followed Aillil to the wing of the residence shared by the Callaghan heir and his brothers. In theory, the boys all had their own quarters, with many unoccupied rooms remaining. In practice, the four younger sons chose to stay together. Aillil passed their floor, climbing one more flight of stairs before leading Malcolm down a narrow hallway. They entered a chamber roughly three times the size of the tower room, with sturdy, masculine furnishings. Malcolm stepped inside, trembling, wondering if he’d made the right decision in coming here. He’d not brought his violin, so Aillil hadn’t invited him here for a lesson. A massive bed took up one corner of the room, inspiring visions of Aillil stretched nude among the blankets. A fluttering began in the pit of Malcolm’s belly.

Aillil closed the door. What did he intend? What did Malcolm want him to intend?

“You lamented never hearing the
pìob mhór
. Father and my brothers are away. The servants will not care,” Aillil said. He crossed the room to a rough-hewn chest and knelt on the stone floor. His position gave Malcolm a spectacular view of plaid-covered Highlander backside as Aillil rummaged through the chest. Malcolm’s cheeks blazed when the kilt rose, revealing a hairy thigh.

Aillil turned with a grin eerily reminiscent of Dughall and Dughlas after one of their escapades. He held a woven sack, which he opened to reveal… well, Malcolm wasn’t sure until Aillil placed a thin reed between his lips and began to blow, inflating a sewn animal skin. He tucked the bulk of the thing beneath one arm, squeezing the bag against his body. Two narrow tubes protruded from the monstrosity, and Aillil’s callused fingers traveled the length of a long, wooden pipe.

The first shrill notes caused Malcolm to jump. Once accustomed to the instrument’s droning, he tapped his toes in time with a lively tune. Aillil’s eyes sparkled with merriment, his fingers dancing upon the flutelike appendage. Malcolm had heard of bagpipes, with their haunting trills, never dreaming he’d actually get to see or hear one. It didn’t take experience to recognize a gifted piper.

The song ended and another began, this one slow and despairing. Caught in the piper’s spell, Malcolm wondered where the melodies came from, who wrote them, and why. The bleak anguish lurking within the notes brought to mind
Thomas’s Lament.

Aillil’s eyelids drifted closed, and Malcolm easily imagined him traveling to some mystical land, borne on the wings of music.

What a sight to behold, chiseled features and large nose lending Aillil an aristocratic air, while keeping him from true beauty. But such passion! Never had Malcolm thought to find someone who understood his own love of music, how much a part of him it was. Watching Aillil play, he could easily believe that, musically, he’d found his match.

The mournful refrain stirred something in his soul, touched a part no one before ever had. Yes, Aillil was without doubt brash, opinionated, and rude, yet the rough edges hid a caring, honest soul. Aillil also possessed an abundant hardness that had pressed insistently against Malcolm’s that afternoon in the hay. Did his unwillingness to marry prove further evidence of his preference for a man in his bed, not a woman?

Thomas had been tempting, very tempting, but resistible. Aillil offered an enticement less easily denied. If Aillil approached, Malcolm didn’t know if he could say “no,” or if he’d want to. The intimidating Scot might still be an English hater who clung to outdated customs others had long since abandoned, and he bore a blatant disregard of the crown. Yet subtle changes occurred over the past few weeks, and Aillil no longer seemed determined to take his hatred out on any Englishman in sight. Malcolm fought a blush at the memory of the day at the loch, held securely in arms now skillfully playing a bagpipe.

Aillil’s words came back to him. “
Father
and my brothers are away. The servants will not care.
” He’d arranged this! Aillil had taken Malcolm’s desire for traditional Scottish music and created a way for it to happen. For what purpose?

The last note faded and, eyes still closed, Aillil removed the pipe from his mouth and began to sing.

“
Chi mi ’n t-iasgair aig ceann nan lionan…
”

Malcolm may not have understood the words; he didn’t have to. The solemn tune went straight to his heart. Pipes and Gaelic. Aillil gifted him with bagpipes and the Scot’s native tongue. Never could Malcolm remember receiving such a precious a gift, except for the violin which, oddly enough, also came from Aillil.

“
C
OME
, Master Byerly, why not?”

Aillil entered the great hall to find four sets of pleading eyes and Malcolm backed against the wall, the fox once more held at bay by the hounds.

“I… I’m sorry, I simply cannot,” the cornered man stammered. Any closer to the wall and he’d merge into stone.

“Cannot what?” Aillil asked. Malcolm sighed, his relief unmistakable. A little space opened up between his back and the wall.

Rory pulled his thumb from his mouth long enough to form a reply. “Wone tak us t’ loch.” The thumb promptly disappeared between his lips again. Aillil scowled and the hand dropped to Rory’s side.

Pushing back an image of a wet, naked Malcolm, body glistening in the sun, Aillil raised a brow at Niall, normally the voice of reason. “After what happened before, I cannot blame him. Have Angus take you, if he’s not busy. If he suffers a good dunking, Old Maeve will be sure to thank you, and he’ll be no worse for the wear.” Old Maeve was a formidable woman. To have her husband return home unexpectedly clean would curry much favor, and the healer made a powerful ally, more respected in the surrounding villages than Eoghan, and far more current on local gossip. A double-edged sword, on occasion.

Eyes downcast and lower lips pouched out, the four boys chorused, “Yes, Aillil,” and retreated out the door, presumably in search of Angus. They wanted to take Malcolm to the loch, did they? An idea sprang to life. Aillil told himself he merely wished to prevent a drowning, and lascivious thoughts had nothing to do with the plan.

“Thanks, Aillil.” Malcolm turned to walk away.

In his most commanding tone, one he practiced for when he became laird, Aillil asked, “And where do you think you’re going?”

Malcolm became one with the wall again, his wide-eyed terror reminding Aillil of a deer caught in the path of a hunter. “T… to… to… practice my violin?”

Aillil shook his head and crooked a finger. “Nay, you’re coming with me.”

“Where are we going?”

It took all Aillil’s self-control not to laugh. Malcolm seemed to be rethinking taking the boys to the loch as the safer option, not knowing Aillil’s intent. “To teach you to swim. Sooner or later, my brothers will lure you to the loch. Let it not be said that I didn’t prepare you. “

M
ALCOLM
gave the water a critical eye, rolling up the legs of his breeches. A rustling sounded beside him, yards of tartan falling to the ground. Malcolm froze, unable to avert his gaze from the vision of hard, sculpted muscles, partially hidden by a generous covering of dark hair.

His mouth grew dry and his cock sprang to instant attention. It ignored his admonishments to behave, forcing him to turn away lest Aillil notice.

Back turned, he contemplated a plunge into the toe-numbingly cold stream to remedy the situation when the pounding of feet served a warning. Malcolm whipped around in time to get a nice view of a naked Highlander running past, laughing and diving into the water. A plume of water splashed the shore.

Malcolm waited, trying to wipe away the vision of a powerfully built body and long, full cock hanging against a furred thigh. A moment ago his mouth felt dry; now, it watered. He scanned the area where Aillil had disappeared, concern growing as the moments passed. Leaning over to peer into the water, he shouted, “Aillil? Aillil!”

A wet hand snatched his ankle, yanking him, fully clothed except for boots and waistcoat, into the water. One minute he stood on firm ground, the next he plunged underwater. Panic struck and he scrabbled for purchase on the slippery bank. Hard bands of steel surrounded him, lifting him from the stream. “Shh… stop struggling. The water isn’t deep here. Did you think you came with Dughlas, who seems intent on drowning you?”

Malcolm stopped thrashing, regaining his feet in waist-deep water. Droplets streamed from his hair down a shirt gone transparent, revealing the stiff peak of one nipple. The other lay beneath Aillil’s fingertip. A rumbling growl of laughter sounded in his ear. “Cold? We’ll have to do something to warm you up.”

Aillil waded into deeper water, dragging Malcolm, who tried unsuccessfully to escape the iron grip. “I won’t hurt you,” the big man murmured in soothing tones, easing the hold a little. Malcolm slowly relaxed, allowing Aillil to lead him farther into the stream. When the water rose to his chest, he yelled, suddenly turned flat on his belly. Two large hands supported him, one on his chest, the other nearly brushing his cock.

“Hold still, stop wriggling, or I might think you a fish,” Aillil scolded.

Malcolm wanted to trust Aillil even if every instinct bade him to fight. After all, they’d been alone numerous times and nothing untoward had happened. If the man meant him harm, he’d had plenty of opportunity.

“That’s better. Now, you’ve watched others swim, have you not?” Malcolm nodded. “Good, now move your arms like you’ve seen them do.”

Malcolm’s first tentative strokes were awkward and jerky. The two hands supporting him became one and the other guided his motions. “That’s good. Now kick your legs.”

Malcolm kicked hard and fast. Churning water shot skyward, drenching them both.

Aillil bellowed, “Stop! Are you trying to drown me?”

Malcolm stilled. At a grunt of approval from Aillil, he tried again, more gently. It had been a long time since he’d been a student, and Aillil’s praise when he finally remained on the water’s surface made him feel like he’d received top marks in a class. When he stopped moving, the cold seeped in. He shivered.

Aillil flung a heavy arm about his shoulders and guided him toward shore. “Here, let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

“But… but…,” Malcolm protested.

Aillil smiled, helping him onto the bank. “There’s none here to see. Just you, me, and yon blue sky.” As he spoke, he busied his hands with peeling off the wet garments. Malcolm had to admit the sun felt good on his chilled flesh. After the shirt came the breeches. Malcolm grabbed Aillil’s hands to stop him. “I didn’t drown you, did I? You trusted me a few moments ago, trust me now.”

Malcolm eased back onto a sun-warmed rock, self-conscious about being naked before another man. Amazingly, even in such a chilled state, his body reacted to Aillil’s touch. He rolled away to the sound of a faint chuckle. “You can hide if you like. I’ll still know it’s there.”

Frozen in place, Malcolm waited for Aillil’s condemnation. The moments stretched like hours, the lull growing too much to bear. Malcolm whispered, “How long have you known?”

Another painfully long silence followed. He heard Aillil climb onto the rock, felt the heat of the big man’s body. When Malcolm’s nerves stretched to the breaking point, Aillil replied, “Known? Not long. Hoped? From the moment I laid eyes on you.”

A firm hand on his shoulder urged him to turn. Malcolm hesitated, then gave in, settling onto his back and looking up to meet Aillil’s gaze without flinching. Aillil’s deep scrutiny caught him off guard. Far from mockery or accusation, open admiration stared out at him from Aillil’s dark eyes, and the man’s lips quirked up at the corners. The smile lasted but a scant second, for those lips descended, and for the very first time, Malcolm didn’t run away.

Maybe it was the sun upon bare skin, the wantonness of being naked out of doors, or perhaps the knowledge that none would be the wiser. Or maybe Malcolm’s own deep-seated need to experience what the songs he loved to play spoke of chased away his inhibitions. The kiss started soft, a light brushing of lips, until the tip of Aillil’s tongue flicked the seam of Malcolm’s mouth.

“Open your mouth for me,” Aillil urged. When Malcolm opened wide, Aillil laughed. Malcolm’s snapped his lips together and looked away, heat rising up his face until his ears burned. Aillil’s hand on his cheek brought his gaze upward again. “Not like I’m going to look inside,” he clarified, “just enough for me to do this….” A questing tongue invaded his mouth. Malcolm followed Aillil’s lead, sweeping his tongue experimentally against Aillil’s. A shiver shot down his spine, straight to his groin.