Highland Dragon (9 page)

“If ye dinnae wipe that smirk off your face, I may decide to take liberties that dinnae belong to me, even if ye refuse me,” he threatened while his hand inched up her thigh beneath her skirt.

“Ye will not!” Her smirk faded and defiance took its place.

Calin removed his hand and conceded. “I know.”

He dug his heels into the underside of his steed, and they broke into a sprint over the green marsh of the moorland.

The passage across the aqua-blue waters of the Minch took the better part of the morning. Otters, seals, and a variety of sea life entertained Akira while Kendrick, Calin, and his men quietly discussed a topic that caused them all to scowl. Akira’s attempts to eavesdrop were not successful, though she caught a snippet about the lordship of the Isles before they blatantly changed the subject. She didn’t know why they would be discussing the age-old battle. That title had been forfeited to the crown years ago and enough Scots had died fighting to regain possession of it, including Papa. She suspected their deliberations also involved her pending marriage to Calin, but couldn’t surmise why that topic would make them frown so. Unless the MacLeod kinsmen disapproved of his choice. She felt certain at least one of them didn’t like her. Gordon was scowling at her now.

She scowled back.

Mayhap he thought she was a witch like the two MacLeods who’d taken her to
Tigh Diabhail
? She rather hoped to enter her new clan without those accusations looming over her.

Regardless of Gordon’s opinion, she was determined to earn the approval of Calin’s kin with her quick wit—a task which could prove difficult since they refused to converse with her.

The MacLeod men harassed Calin mercilessly about his abrupt decision to separate himself from his facial hair. Calin only grinned, ignoring their banter, all the while casting her devilish winks to let her know he was man enough to withstand their ridicule.

Upon reaching the steep cliffs of the Isles, they traveled across valleys blanketed with purple heather. Only when crossing the shallow lochs did they slow their pace. He purposely fell behind during these leisure periods to take full advantage of the stipulations Akira agreed to—kissing her any time he felt the need. And over the course of several hours, he felt the need on more than one occasion. If he wasn’t kissing her, he was grazing her neck with his new smooth face and sneaking tiny bites of her earlobes between his teeth.

Every time he pressed his lips to hers, a wave of excitement flowed through her. The man seemed genuinely attracted to her. The stiffness of his manhood pressing against her backside the whole of the day was enough to prove that point, and she had difficulty denying his magnetism. The same frustrating ache she’d known the night before tormented her all day, but she managed to hold firm. Though only a peasant, she was a woman of virtue, and she refused to let the man have free roam over her person before they spoke their vows. Unfortunately, what would be expected of her after they wed terrified her. She would be his wife and no longer able to refuse him. If she intended to gain his respect, she would have to prove her intelligence and worth to him.

She shared her ideas in regards to the children’s education and asked him endless questions about Cànwyck Castle and Clan MacLeod. He seemed pleased with her ideas and inquiries. Akira decided he could be a reasonable man, that is, until she drifted to sleep only to awaken with his hand nestled neatly over her breast inside her plaid.

Once inside the sanctuary of their homelands, they made camp and settled around a low-burning fire. Akira’s entire body hummed with an uncomfortable ache she didn’t know how to soothe, but somehow knew Calin’s seductions were responsible for her turmoil.

A bitter wind swept out of the darkness, chilling her back. Akira shivered and inched nearer the fire. Calin instantly moved to sit beside her, his arm curled possessively around her back. Strong fingers squeezed her hip. She glanced up at him, but his eyes roamed over the golden flames and locked with his men. Briefly, she exchanged a quick glance with each of his warriors. The moment became awkward and she suddenly felt very small.

Pulling from his embrace, she moved to stir the fire. “Kendrick, ye five deliberated over a matter of great importance today on the vessel. What had all of ye looking so somber?”

“We were discussin’ how many drams o’ whisky would be consumed at your weddin’.”

Rolling her eyes at the blatant lie, she studied the five men with avid curiosity. In the ease of their safe surroundings, each man warmed his belly with a flask of malt whisky. Akira resolved if they didn’t want to return pleasant conversation then she would prove her endurance and dabble in the strengths of their spirits. Papa never shied away from a healthy dose of whisky after a long day of shearing. Mayhap that was just the remedy she needed to ease her nerves after such a grueling day. Returning to stand in front of Calin, she held out her hand. “May I have a drink?”

“Of whisky?” He made a sour face she hadn’t seen yet.

“Aye.” She grabbed his flask out of his hand and took a hearty sip.

She nearly choked. The peppery flavor scorched her throat. The flames coated her insides clear to her toes. Her eyes widened as she inhaled large gulps of air, but still she maintained composure.

Crivons! No wonder Mam never let us touch the stuff.
She loosened her white-knuckle grip on the flask. If she meant to socialize with these brutes, she’d have to match their stamina. After taking another plentiful drink, she broke into a fit of coughing.

Calin shot to her side, patting her back, and pushing a flagon of spring water beneath her nose. “Are ye wowf, woman? Ye dinnae drink whisky like wine.”

When she regained her breath, she forcefully shoved his offering away. “If these barbarians will not converse with me then I’m forced to join in what appears to be the only form o’ enter…entertain…fun. If I’m to be your wife, I’ll need to be able to hold my whisky.”

Calin broke into a wide grin. “But our women dinnae drink whisky.”

She shot him a lethal glare and jerked away from him when he reached for the flask. “If your women dinnae participate in your social gatherin’s, what do they do?”

Calin shrugged and eyed his men, who shrugged back. “I suspect they tend to their husbands, and birth their bairns.”

Akira gave a quick hoot to his comment, squeezed her eyes tight, and downed another generous swig. She hiccupped once, twice, then swayed side to side. Calin steadied her with one hand. There must be something besides whisky in the flask to affect her so quickly. Mayhap a potion? Or poison? Someone spoke to her, but she couldn’t place the voice. She blinked several times when the three men on the log transformed into trolls. She laughed, but not aloud. Her arms felt light like the wings of a dragonfly. She conceded to her own stupidity.

This had been a verra bad idea.

She shoved the flask back into Calin’s grasp then staggered out of the fire’s circle. She stumbled into the grove, dodging low-hanging branches, and supporting herself from one tree trunk to the next until she found one sturdy enough to hold. She closed her heavy eyelids and the world seemed to stop between her ears.

Oddly enough, the only thing she saw on the back of her eyelids was a gentle warrior whose smile made her weak in the knees and whose kisses made her forget reality.

She was soused.

Calin looked at Kendrick. “Did I set her teeth off again?”

Looking equally puzzled, Kendrick shrugged. “I’ve never seen Akira act so odd, nor can I recall e’er seein’ her drink aught stronger than watered wine—much less Scots whisky. Howbeit, I’d worry ’bout her scalin’ another tree if I was ye.”

If the woman climbed a tree, she was liable to break her wee neck. Frustrated, Calin ripped through a batch of stinging nettles while the forest floor snapped beneath his footsteps. He found her hugging the trunk of a silver birch just inside the grove. Her cheek pressed against its peeling bark, and her eyes lay shut, but the curve on her lips didn’t appear to be hostile. She looked…content.

“I think I’d like ye to wear that face when ye hug me,” he said, his voice laced with a touch of foolery.

Akira didn’t move. “Ye poisoned me.”

He laughed and drew closer. “’Tis not poison. Just the finest Scots blend to pass between your lips. The brewer claims ’twill put hair on your chest.”

“I dinnae want hair on my chest.” Akira moaned. Actually, the sound came out more as a whimper. “How do ye drink that wretched stuff?”

“Och, ye dinnae
drink
whisky. Ye sip it. I’ve been nursing that flask for a month.” He placed his hand on the small of her back. Her entire being quivered. He’d upset her. Damnation, but he hated to see a woman cry, especially this woman. “Forgive me if I said something to offend ye, but please dinnae cry, lass.”

Akira continued to shake until she released her hold on the tree and doubled over holding her gut. Just as he was certain she would retch, she surprised him by bursting into laughter.

“Tend to their husbands?” she choked out between giggles. “Think ye this is what women do? Tend to their husbands like a herd of sheep? I can almost see the image in your head. Buxom women filling a trough with slop and shoving it beneath their husbands’ noses just before shearing their beards off and plopping out a bairn or even two during the whole affair.”

Akira swayed slightly in small circles then cocked her head as if in recollection. “Come to think of it, Auld Bessie birthed her last son while feedin’ the butcher his noontide meal.” Her laughter sailed through the air again.

Though the description struck her more humorous than it did him, Calin shared in her contagious laughter—not a sweet giggle muffled behind her hand, but a booming cackle trickled with snorts. She laughed aloud for a longer period than he thought necessary before wiping streaming tears from her eyes. “Forgive me, m’laird. ’Tis really not that funny.”

A few hearty quaffs of Scots whisky and the woman was completely blootered. The morrow would be taxing for her, and he didn’t want her afflicted with a pounding head on their wedding night. Much-needed rest would find her quickly, and he wanted her tucked into his side when sleep overcame her.

He couldn’t quite shake this feeling of possessiveness she evoked in him. Putting one arm behind her knees and another behind her back, he lifted her up and cradled her against his chest.

The smile disappeared from her face. Her eyes slowly focused on him. Just him. Women rarely looked at him and saw a man. They only saw the chieftain. The man with power and wealth. He’d spent a lifetime learning how cold and lonely those possessions were. He wanted Akira to see him, not his status. He attempted to read the emotions in her eyes, but the sheen glossing her sapphire irises was void of sensibility. Her lips parted, and he sorely wanted to suckle the moonlight off her full bottom lip.

“Ye are a delicious-looking mon, Calin MacLeod.” She traced his brows, his nose, his lips. The tickle sent a flash of heat through his veins and straight to his groin.

Her gaze followed the path of her finger. “Ye’ve a mouth that tempts me in ways I shouldnae admit.” She wrapped both arms around his neck then inexpertly pressed her mouth to his. Tilting her head, she grazed over the inside of his lips, his teeth, his tongue.

Her assault caught him unguarded, but he eagerly returned her advances. An age-old hunger thrummed through him. He had to cage that beast, else it would devour him. Or mayhap her. When he pulled back, she continued to kiss his face, his chin, his sensitive earlobe, anything she could get her hot mouth on.

“What are ye doing?”

“I’m upholding my end of our contract,” she whispered in a breathy seductive voice that made his cock stiffen.

“But ye wouldnae even let me sit next to ye by the fire.”

“Ye were claiming me. Marking me as yours in front of your men. I dinnae want to be your prey or your property. I want…I want…”

Her words ended on the pulse in his neck, taking possession of the life beating there. “What do ye want, my Akira? Ask, and it is yours.”

“I want ye to kiss me.” She forced his chin lower and delved into his mouth once again. Her small fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. Pulling, tugging, tightening with the aggression of her kiss. But he wanted more. Much more.

“I dinnae know why, but I cannae get close enough to ye,” she confessed on a breath.

He knew the whisky made her audacious, but months had passed since he’d bedded a woman. He wanted her, and she wanted him. Neither could deny the passion igniting between them. She was innocent, yet spirited. He could feel her soul coming to life inside her.

He dropped her legs. His free hands were everywhere—caressing her breasts, kneading her thighs, then he cupped her backside and pushed her pelvis into his. He wanted to throw her to the ground and taste every ounce of her naked flesh until she begged him to take her.

By the saints! He had to get the lust out of his blood, else his mind would turn to mush. The whimpers escaping her throat were his undoing. He lifted her ankle-length skirt and squeezed the soft flesh of her shapely bottom in both hands. “Sweet, sweet Akira. What are ye doing to me?”

She gasped. Her body tensed. A feeble resistance pushed against his chest.

“Please stop.” Her words came out as a sad whisper.

Their gazes locked. He saw regret pooling behind her eyes.

“Forgive me, m’laird. Ye must think me wanton.” Akira pushed him away further and held her face between the palms of her hands. “Nay wonder ye dinnae let your women drink whisky.”

“Had we known our women would react this way, we would serve whisky at every meal.” He reached for her, but she tottered backward.

“This is not funny.”

“Ye were laughing enough a moment ago.”

“That was before I threw myself at ye. How are ye supposed to respect me if I act like this after two days in your presence? This is not me. I promise to be the decent, respectable, intelligent woman ye’ve chosen to be your lady wife. Forgive me, m’laird. I’ve acted a fool.” Akira tightened the pleats at her waist then smoothed wild black tendrils back into place. Her fingers shook with the task, after which she proceeded to fan her face with both hands.

Calin didn’t know what to make of her erratic mood. Was the woman speaking in tongues again? “Why do ye think I am marrying ye?” he asked, even though he worried slightly over her answer.

“I have asked myself that question repeatedly. Since I have nay tocher, nor land or title, I suspect ye are marrying me because I am smart. Ye are the one who paid for my education at the priory. I presume ye want me to manage the keep and bear your heirs—heirs who will be intelligent. If ye wanted more, ye would have chosen one of my sisters.”

“Why?”

“Because they are beautiful.”

The nonchalant manner in which she made this statement angered him. “And ye are not?” Calin posed this as a question. Not a statement. But the dejected look on her face told him this is how she took it—as a cold, blunt statement.

Somehow, her creamy skin looked paler beneath the gauzy light of the moon. She bowed her head, letting her raven hair hide her melancholy. “’Tis true. I am not.”

“Damnation, woman! Have ye never seen yourself in a looking glass? How blind are ye that ye cannae see your own beauty?”

Akira’s lids snapped open, her brow curled in denial. “Ye say this to please me. I know ’tis a lie. I look nothing like them. I barely look like a Scot. My own papa told me I was special. That my brain was so full of information it burnt the red out of my hair. My sisters say I have nay a freckle on my face because the angels dinnae sprinkle me with dust when I was born.”

“Childish banter! Why would ye believe such foolishness, and from your own kin?” He reached for her, but she was nimble for a half-drunk woman with the wiles of a wildcat.

“’Tis not foolishness. The devil marked me with his image at birth. ’Tis why Papa moved my family from the bailey and into the cot-house when I was just a child. Laird Kinnon burned three women for acts of heresy that year. He made the kinfolk watch. The bastard lit the fire before the accused had strangled beneath the noose.”

Those living in Scotland knew the punishment for heresy was execution by fire. Of course, death only occurred after a merciful strangulation. Villagers flocked from far and wide to witness the horror with eager eyes.

Calin frowned as the image of him branding her with his father’s signet ring came to life in his mind’s eye. The act of a stupid boy who placed the MacLeod crest on everything he owned. He couldn’t very well explain that folly to her now, but he was to blame for her feelings of inadequacy. The woman lived her entire life thinking her soul cursed because of him.

Hell and damnation! How was he going to fix this? “Your father moved your family to protect ye from Laird Kinnon. Ye are not cursed.”

Both hands swiped her eyes and a quavering sniffle followed that action. “Ye dinnae know what ’tis like to be different. ’Tis a verra lonely life for a child.” Her voice cracked.

He knew exactly how it felt to be different and lonely. From the night he lost his father, he’d felt imprisoned at Cànwyck Castle. Uncle Kerk may as well have shackled him in the dungeons. And when Aunt Wanda hadn’t been coddling his cousin, she’d managed the maids and maintained harmony among the kinswomen when the men were at battle.

“I dinnae want to talk about this anymore. I shouldnae have told ye.” She whirled and scanned the brush-ridden forest, obviously desperate to be free of the conversation.

When she tried to flee, he grabbed her and hauled her up against him. “Ye’ll not climb a tree. Ye will remain with me until ye are convinced ye are not cursed and not a witch.”

He held her firmly and kissed the tip of her nose. “If ye were a witch, ye would have hairy moles and a crooked nose, and ye dinnae. Your skin is flawless.”

He stroked her lips with his thumb and kissed her damp eyelids. “Your eyes would be colorless, and they are not. They are the color of Heaven.” Leaning her back, he pressed a kiss against the wool covering her heart. “And your heart would be made of stone. And I know ’tis not.”

She smacked him playfully and bowed her head to hide her smile. Complimenting her seemed to cool her tongue, for she’d turned bashful. “Ye are the bonniest lass I have ever laid eyes on, and I cannae keep my hands from ye.”

“This is because ye are a mon, not because ye think I am beautiful.”

“Ye will stop this at once. I dinnae lie.”

“And I dinnae drink whisky, nor do I cry, nor do I throw myself at men. I think we are verra bad for each other. Mayhap ye should choose another wife.” Even as she made this suggestion, her fingers held tight to the front of his
léine
shirt.

“I’ll need Saints Peter and Paul to survive another night without ravishing ye. But tomorrow, Akira. Tomorrow I’ll make ye my wife in every sense of the word. And tomorrow ye will know what ’tis like to feel beautiful. I vow it.” Gripping both sides of her face between his palms, he kissed her with conviction. A kiss so laced with promise it scared him to death.

Akira wanted to believe his words. Her mind denied his flattery, but her racing heart felt something different in his kiss. Or was she being foolish again? Calin could woo any maiden out of her kirtle. She wondered how many maidens there might have been, then scolded herself for adding jealousy to her emotions.

Calin picked her up and carried her back to the fire. When he set her on her feet, the men meekly closed their flasks then tucked them inside their plaids.

She stifled a shamed giggle behind her hand. “Dinnae worry, gentlemen. I’ve had my quota of your spirits this eve, but m’laird tells me ye might reconsider sharing your drink with your wives.” She smirked at Calin’s grin before returning her attentions back to the men sitting like stepping-stones on the log, all three covered with unruly tufts of golden-red hair.

Gordon, who was easily the oldest, wore a surly frown. The skin beneath his eyes weighed heavily downward, which told her laughter didn’t find his face often. He would undoubtedly be the hardest to befriend. She stood before him, matching his scowl. “That is assuming ye have wives. One might think it a difficult task to find a wife when one does not speak.”

Gordon didn’t respond, as she expected, nor did he return her look. Crossing her arms defiantly over her chest, she spoke to Calin, but never once removed her stare from Gordon. “M’laird, when I am your lady wife, will I have the authority to give your men permission to speak?”

“Aye.”

“For the nonce, I’d like ye to give them permission to speak to me.” Akira thought she caught the hint of a smile threatening Gordon’s face, but she doubted he would crack so easily.

“Just because I give them permission does not mean they will exchange pleasantries with ye.”

She spun around to glare at Calin, her long tresses whipped over her shoulder with the sharp action. Pain stabbed her temples. This did nothing to improve her temper. “Then order them to converse with me.”

Calin’s eyebrow rose in that pleasingly wicked manner. “Men, Akira is to be my wife. Ye will address her as ‘m’lady’ and give her the same loyalty and respect ye’ve always given me. If she asks ye a question, ye will respond without raising your voice to her.”

After smiling sweetly at Calin, she turned back to Gordon and raised both eyebrows triumphantly. “Have ye a wife?”

“Aye.”

“Are ye good to her?”