Duty of the Chieftain - a Highland 'Lord's Right of the First Night' novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions #3) (2 page)

"
Take my word on this one, Ranald, she will be a treat for ye.  She's Ginny's cousin who has wed Archie the Swordmaker.  Ye'll be easy on her, son.  She is two-and-twenty
now and far from home.  Try no' to upset her, aye?"

Head birling with trying to keep up with marriages planned
and marriages done deeds, Ranald could only think of the Swordmaker.  Archie would choose his woman well.

"
I'll do it, then, and I thank ye for the privilege, father.  All the better that she has some years on her.  She'll be fine with me."

"
Good man!" said Sir Thommas.  "Away while you can still manage the stairs, and dispense with yer fire afore ye meet the Lady Elinor.  Ye have time for yer duty and a maybe even a bit of sleep afore Hall."

As he
strode along the corridors, Ranald paused briefly to receive welcomes from servants and gratitude for the safe return of their menfolk.  But his thoughts were far off at a castle siege where Sir Alain Douglas had left him for dead.  Only his clansmen had saved him, having already lost six of their own men.

S
ir Alain's treachery had bitten him on the arse, for he was killed later in the siege when none of the clan soldiers would attempt his rescue.

He'd best keep
his words in check at supper with Douglas's widow.  None of it was her fault.

First he must welcome a bride come into his clan – and cool his temper
if he were to do it properly.

He
recalled the many times he'd had a lass under the Lord's Right of the First Night, and went through the rules in his mind.  As ever, when he thought of the duty, he recalled Sir Thommas's schooling on the subject.  It had sounded more like a lesson in military tactics as he walked up and down his line of sons, well away from eavesdroppers on a grassy part of the seashore.

T
he brothers laughed for days at their father's lecture on the finer points.

"First ye must check for the pox if she's no
' from MacKrannan lands, as ye would check for the plague in yer prisoners.  We're wanting none of that here.

"
If she's clean... well, then, ye're out for surrender, lads!  See now, the simplest way to besiege a castle is just bribing the guards, and ye'll get right in with no blood spilled till ye're inside.  The castles we speak of here are helpless, for well they know they must surrender sometime, but I tell ye, lads, there will be NO FORCE USED by any MacKrannan, ye hear?  This is to show them the way of tupping, no' to put them off it."

Ranald and his three brothers had to swear oath to
that.

"
Even when they say 'Aye, come in', there is a portcullis that is stuck shut, and ye must use yer battering ram to break through it as gentle as ye can manage.  And then the castle is yours and only a wee bit of bloodshed near the opening.  And if ye keep working yer battering ram the right way beyond the gate, the castle will be begging for ye to stay as long as ye wish."

The brothers had no experience with virgins, but come the time they needed it, their father's advice proved useful.

"Give her a good ride and show her the work of it all.  And bring her to bliss if ye can, for it sends them home contented to their husbands.  And ye need no' spend in her unless ye so choose, but if ye do, make sure and tell the Bard to take note. That way we'll ken her first bairn may be one of our own, and the obligation met for its upkeep."

There was seldom any doubt about
a child born from the Lord's Right, for the men of the MacKrannan bloodline were all black-haired and dark-eyed and towered above the clansfolk.  The Bard kept strict genealogical records.  Different arrangements were made for any bride descended from a Lord's Right child, for it would not do to turn the clan savage with interbreeding.

Sir Thommas did no' lack confidence in his own abilities.

"Ye'll be civilized about it.  This is a Duty, no' just a way to get an easy tup.  It's sweet words and kisses ye'll be using to open a lassie's gates.  Keep your cock up yer kilt till the candle burns low, and if she's no' whimpering and fetching it out for herself by then, shout me in for further instruction."

Ranald
had little inclination for it.  All brides were of other men's choosing, served up free as meat on a dish and with none of the fun in hunting it down.  Fair as most were, others were not so.

He'd just caught a
fisherman's ruddy-faced wife sighing at him at the harbor, her with two bairns at her feet and another in her belly, and she was far from being the only local lass who remembered what he'd rather forget.

The Lord's Right
was a duty to be done, and little more.  Sir Thommas had perfected his ancestors' art.  It was enough for Ranald to perform it in the prescribed manner.  When his time came as Chief, he might take more interest yet it was no' always as enjoyable as some might believe.  He was mightily careful of which lassies he spent in, lest he be tied to them by the bairn the rest of his life.

He
thumped the wall with a closed fist, then turned to rehang the candle sconce that his massive shoulder had dislodged in his ill-tempered passing.  He'd no' had a woman in well over a month, was too tired to be bothered with a timid virgin now, and was sorely tempted just to take quick ease with this Meredith and send her straight home.

Ach, but she'd tell the
story of it, and where would that get him?

The lass
Ranald found sitting in his chair was bare-footed in a chemise. Handsome aplenty she was, though, with her hair loose and shining in the fireglow, the color of his favorite brood mare.  There she sat, looking small and lost among his collection of armoury that her new husband Archie had made long before knowing her.

He espied her rob
e already discarded onto the bed atop the turned-down covers.  Always a safe sign of willingness, that.  He could hurry matters along.

She arose to
curtsy as proudly as her scant attire would permit.  His array of swords, axes, dirks and sgean dhus, all mounted behind shields the worse for battle, suddenly looked out of place on the wall behind her.

"
Archie's done well for himself," he remarked distantly, more to himself than to the lass.  "Long life and good fortune to ye both, Meredith," he said, making the effort to smile at her. 

She cast her eyes down, nibbling her lower lip appealingly.
 
A silent one,
thought Ranald, glad of it this day, for he remembered some needing their chatter stilled so he could on with the job.

I
t was as well to get the first sight of him over with early.  He quickly stripped himself of his boots, shirt and great-kilt, glad he'd at least had a swim off the boat's side this morn – more to keep himself awake for one more day than for any notion of cleanliness.  But he'd had no chance to shave.  He rubbed a hand over his jaw, wondering if he should take the time.

The hell with it.
The growth was a month's worth and past the bristles stage that would maul this lassie's fair skin.

He
caught her wide-eyed look at his body. There were some old injuries to be seen on it, same as on all who survived the battles he'd fought.  She'd have no need to worry about that with her husband Archie, for the swordmaker only used his weapons when testing them out.

To
turn her mind back to herself he lifted the chemise over her head in a swift flurry of linen, loosing her hair to fall down her back well past the slim curve of her buttocks.

His well-used softener of
"My, ye are so bonnie!"
had lost none of its effect, for as well as the typical modest blush at his words, Meredith looked him boldly in the eye and parted her lips.

A kiss she seeks
.  With practised fingers, he moved her lips around to check her teeth first.  All there, pretty, and verra clean.  He gathered her into his chest.

Always he had to let them get used to his height first, the breadth of his shoulders, the part of a man they'd seen only on infants
, if at all – that part which now pulsed in the midst of them, enticed into a comforting fullness by the scent of the meadow in her hair. 

Feeling her shiver, he
cradled her head in his hands and stroked her face, bending his head down to murmur, "Ye’ve been told what we're about, lass, have ye?"

"
Mmmm..." she murmured, so softly he would have been unsure but for her nodding.

"And that ye must
tell me if there's anything ye do no' like, and we can do it different?"

Another nod.  
Ranald went straight in, anxious to get to the bit where he could lie down on his bed, yet surprised to find how enjoyable the kissing was.

N
o chore, this!  Archie is the lucky one, for his bride is sweet and willing. 

He moved
a hand under her hair and began stroking her back, feeling her taut muscles relax under his long fingers.  Within minutes a moan came against his lips, and he felt her fingers tremble on his shoulders.

Another surprise came for him
by the urgency looming in his groin, and he moved his work round to her tits to hurry things along.  Exhaustion made him fumble a bit, though she seemed to like it fine, and his cock was far from ready to let him sleep.

He
picked her up and deposited her on his bed, reaching again for her tit and taking one rosy nub into his mouth and suckling harder.  Her breathing turned fiercely needful and her hands all over him, clutching and petting just as his own.

T
his one's maidenhead is long gone.  She'll be wanting it all.

B
rides past the age of twenty were often desperate to have his intrusion quick, lest their new husbands find out they did not arrive virgin.  None seemed to realise that the findings were recorded anyway, that books in the castle's Vault held the secrets of every maidenhead in the Lord's Right, whether they be present or absent.

T
he only dilemma was keeping up the courteous pretence of a bride never having been ridden when it became apparent that she was already well broken in.

He'd pleasure her
well... why wait?

His
long fingers moved downwards, readying her, melting her into submission inch by subtle inch with his touch alone until she lay open to him.

He wriggled
down the bed and cupped her nether cheeks, bringing her to him... aahh, she was sweet, whimpering so beguilingly at the tentative flicks of his tongue that after a time he brought his hands round to spread over her loins, and his thumbs to aid him in her pleasuring.

Her squirming
was about to peak when he pulled away.  Hardly giving her a moment's recovery, he twisted onto his back.  Duty bade him tutor her in the marital arts.  She'd just been shown a way to achieve blissing with her own husband.   If she would only return the favour, that would cover his tutoring in husband-pleasing also.

"
Yer mouth on me now...?"

Her hair trailed over his chest and arm as she bent to her task, licking the crest of him in mimic of
what he'd done to her, and his jaw clenched in wanting for every bit of her.

Patience
be damned.  Not a minute longer could he hold on without spilling seed.

He
pulled her head away. "Would ye have me breach ye now?"

She lay back on the bed beside him, and delicately parted her legs
, as fine an invitation as a man could wish for.

"
Are ye sure of it, Meredith?"

All doubt left him as she reached a hand to his neck and tugged him towards her. 
She was wee for him, as most lassies were, and he did no' want to waste her for the Swordmaker.  Best it be a fast breach, just enough to let her have the charade that a maidenhead had existed lately, and then they could each get their ease in other ways.

T
oo dizzy with weariness to be on top of her, he fell onto his back.

"
Come astride me..."