Kilts and Kisses (5 page)

“Aye.” He lifted his left shoulder. “This one is Mac na Bracha.”
The son of the malt.
He lifted his right shoulder. “This one is Mac na Praisich.”
The son of the still.
“And this one,” he raised his arm, “is Mac na Diobhail.”
Son of the Devil.

Ceana bit her lip to stifle a grin.

“I call him that because he bites. The other two recognize the hand that feeds them. Ye may touch the one on my shoulder if ye wish.”

“Are ye certain?”

“Aye, that one doesnae bite.”

Her raised fingers caressed the soft feathers of the hawk. She couldn’t believe she was touching a bird of prey, let alone that the man before her held three. “How do they know to come to ye when ye call for them?”

“Many hours of training and cursing.”

She was startled when a laugh escaped her. “Thank ye, truly.”

“‘Tis my pleasure, lass.”

When she realized she didn’t know this man at all and was consorting with the enemy alone, she pulled her drifting thoughts together. “Ye best take your leave before—”

“Now why did ye have to do that? We were getting along so well.” He cast a roguish grin. “Besides, I cannae yet take my leave. Ye havenae gifted me with your name. What am I to call ye? I am Luthais MacKay.”

“If my father’s men find ye here—”

“Ah...Mistress Gunn. ‘Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He looked directly at her, and she suddenly felt light-headed. “Tell me. What were ye doing on MacKay lands?”

To her annoyance, she found herself starting to blush. “I was reading my journal.”

“But ye could have read your journal here on your own lands. Why were ye on the MacKay’s?” When he saw her hesitation, he added, “What do ye think I’m going to do with your answer, lass? ‘Tis but a simple question I’ve asked of ye.”

She took another moment, trying to weigh her response. Perhaps a bit of the truth wouldn’t be harmful—at least, she hoped not. “As of late, we’ve had many visitors and I needed a respite, a change of view.”

“Too many suitors storming the gates, eh?”

At the remembrance of Sorcha’s line of men, Ceana’s voice was hoarse with frustration. “Ye have nay idea.”

“Och, aye. I understand now. Ye were at the stones to find your husband.”

She looked at the man like he had three heads. “Pardon?”

“Come now. Ye must know the tale. Everyone does.” His eyes grew amused when he realized she had no idea what he was talking about. “‘Tis said that if a man and a woman touch
na tursachan
at the same time and share a kiss, they are destined to be husband and wife.”

“And who says that exactly?”

“My clan.”

“I see.” Her response held a note of impatience. “Most of my clan think the stones have healing properties, while others believe the stones are the home of the fae.”

“And what do ye believe?”

“None of it.” Without warning, Mac na Diobhail pecked her and she jerked her arm away.

“
Na dean sin
!”
Don’t do that!
“Are ye all right?”

Pain shot through her flesh, and she pulled up the sleeve on her dress. Blood was trickling from a small wound on her forearm. “He bit through my dress.”

“
Dèan às
!”
Be gone!
As the birds flew away, a feather caught in the wind and floated to the ground. “Please accept my apologies.” He pulled a piece of cloth out of his sporran and applied it to her bleeding arm. “I told ye his name suits him.” After a few moments, he lifted the material and ran his finger gently over the wound. “The bleeding has stopped.”

The mere touch of his hand made Ceana’s skin tingle, and she was suddenly conscious of where his warm flesh touched hers. The pain in her arm had turned to a dull ache, and all she was aware of was her racing heart. She was also having a difficult time catching her breath. That was the instant she knew she needed to return home.

The hawk had made her ill.

She pulled her arm from his grasp and took a step away. “Pray excuse me. I’m nae feeling verra well.”

“Please, sit down so ye donna fall.”

“I only need to rest.” She was starting to walk away from the loch when he ran to catch up with her.

“Wait! Then let me escort ye home. ‘Twas Mac na Diobhail’s fault. The least I can do is make sure ye arrive safely.”

“I donna think that’s wise.” She increased her pace. “My clan will wonder what I’m doing with a MacKay man, and I donna believe they’ll give ye time for an explanation if they see ye accompanying me to the gates.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“And that’s why ‘tisnae verra wise.” She stopped, and when he glanced down, she saw that her fingers were resting on his broad chest. She removed her hand as quickly as if it was on fire.

He briefly gazed away from her and then captured her eyes with his. “Then meet me on the morrow.”

“Pardon?”

“I need to know ye are well. I’ll meet ye here in the morn after ye break your fast.”

“Mister MacKay, let me assure ye that’s nae necessary.”

“I insist.” The man gave her no room for debate. When he saw her thinking of ways to dissuade him, he added, “Then let me say this in a way ye’ll understand. If ye donna come on the morrow, I
will
find ye whether ye allow it or nae.” By the look on his face, she knew he wasn’t jesting.

“Ye’re a stubborn man.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Against her better judgment, she reluctantly agreed. “Only for ye to see that I am well.”

“‘Tis all that I ask.”

“
Mar sin leat.
”
Good-bye.
Ceana mounted her horse, but instead of fleeing into the safe cover of the forest as she had done the first time, she waited. For what, she wasn’t certain. Her mind was telling her to run, but her heart was being foolish and telling her to stay. He placed his hand on the flank of her mount, and when he looked up at her, she felt a strange tingling in the pit of her stomach.

“I’ll see ye on the morrow. And again, please accept my apologies.”

L
uthais couldn’t believe Mac na Diobhail had pecked the lass. Perhaps Doughall was right and he needed to spend more time training his hawks. But he’d been taken aback when Mistress Gunn showed an interest in his birds because most of the lasses he knew ran at the sight of them.

Laird Gunn’s daughter was a beautiful woman. No wonder she had so many suitors lining up at the gates. But Luthais wasn’t foolish. He didn’t believe in fate. Life was what you made it. He entered the bailey and released his horse to the stable hand.

“Out finding a wife so soon, or were ye deciding which path to take in order to flee?” asked Doughall with a wide grin.

“Donna worry about me.
‘N aire ort fhèin
!”
Look after yourself!

His friend’s eyes narrowed. “Where were ye?”

“Why? So ye can stalk me for more of my whisky?”

Doughall grabbed the material that hung from Luthais’ sporran. “Nay...because I want to know what happened to ye.” He held up the soiled cloth.

“‘Tisnae my blood.”

“Whose blood is it?”

Luthais gave him a firm look of warning and turned, walking into the great hall without his prying friend. The clan sat at the tables because it was already time for the noon meal. Luthais was surprised that so much time had passed while he was with Laird Gunn’s daughter. His father stood at the stone fireplace, which wasn’t lit, with his hand on the mantel. He looked deep in thought, and Luthais prayed those ideas weren’t about him. When they had taken their seats on the dais, his father gazed at him over the rim of his tankard.

“Where did ye ride this morn?”

“To the loch.”

“Mmm...I would think ye’d be spending your time making a decision on which lass ye will take to wife. Unless I am mistaken, I donna think being with your birds will give ye an answer to that.”

If Luthais had even a spark of hope that his father had been jesting about shackling him to a woman, it was snuffed out like a candle in the rain. But he didn’t need his sire plaguing him about finding a wife at every turn. Perhaps he could satisfy the man with a bit of the truth, and then his father wouldn’t find it necessary to lecture him.

“I stumbled upon Laird Gunn’s daughter at the loch.”

His father’s eyes lit up. “Ye did?”

“Aye. She’s a bonny lass, but ye need to give me time to choose.”

Sitting back in the chair, his father studied him. “Ye surprise me, Luthais. I’m proud to see ye considering this matter seriously. Ye do realize that making an alliance with the Gunns would be in the best interest of the clan. Although the choice is yours, I hope ye choose wisely.”

“I can assure ye, Father, that I am giving Mistress Gunn the attention she deserves.”

“I
donna want to wed him, Father. The man is verra sore on the eyes.”

Ceana felt pain in her shin as Anna kicked her under the table.

Uncle John set down his tankard, tapping his finger on the rim. “Ye donna have to wed him, but ye must marry one of these men, Sorcha. A marriage to any of them would form an alliance with our clan.”

Anna’s eyes lit up as Samuel sat at one of the tables in front of the dais. When he saw Anna watching him, his expression mirrored that of her sister, and Ceana tried to stay her smile.

“What do ye think, Ceana? Which one of these men should I choose?” Resting her chin in the palm of her hand, Sorcha waited for an answer.

Ceana wasn’t a fool and knew her cousin’s words were meant to cut like a knife. Refusing to be baited into another heated argument, Ceana pasted a bright smile on her face. “With so many suitors, your decision must be a difficult one. But if I were ye, I’d wed the one whose lands are the farthest distance away.”

“I donna know if that’s the best way to choose your husband,” said Aunt Marta. “Perhaps ye should try washing your sleeve again this eve, my dear.”

“Please, nay more apparitions, Aunt Marta,” said Anna.

“Mayhap I’m nae thinking of this clearly. More than likely I should choose a man who’s much closer to home. Who wouldnae want a man like Samuel who isnae sore on the eyes?” All color drained from Anna’s face, and Sorcha’s eyes lit up. “What do ye think, Anna?”

“What do I think? I think that ye’re—”

“Daughter, your jesting doesnae make anyone laugh. The boy may be fair of face, but he isnae suitable for marriage, especially to my daughter.”

Sorcha waved her father off. “I know, Father. I have many men to consider, but I do thank ye for giving me a choice.”

Uncle John rose. “I must see to the rents. Pray excuse me.”

When a smug look crossed her cousin’s face, Ceana wanted to be the one to wipe it clean. In lieu of throttling Sorcha where she sat, Ceana leaned in close and lifted a brow. She was careful to speak with an air of indifference. “Ye know, Sorcha... If ye donna want to choose a husband whose lands are far away, and ye donna want to wash your sleeve again, mayhap ye should ask yourself which man would show ye the most tolerance. That’s the one I would choose if I were ye.”

L
uthais donned his kilt and tunic, pulled on his boots, and didn’t even bother to break his fast. He’d slept longer than expected because all he did was toss and turn into the early hours of the morn. His responsibilities were weighing heavily on his mind. Granted, he wanted to make his father proud, but he had a very hard time preventing a certain woman from invading his thoughts.

As he made his way toward the stables, he wondered if Mistress Gunn would be foolish enough to break her word. He silently prayed she wouldn’t and no longer wanted to dwell on the reasons why. As he rode through the village, he didn’t see the blacksmith who had raised his hand in greeting. Hell, he didn’t even notice that Doughall was trailing after him when he rode through the glen. Luthais’ mind was muddled, which usually got him into trouble.

As he passed the standing stones, he gazed into the stone circle and found it empty. Not that he had expected Mistress Gunn to return. But the memory of her sitting against the giant rock with her nose buried in her journal and not a care in the world made his heart skip a beat. And the way the sun had shone down on her chestnut locks made him think that perhaps the tales were true. She was delivered by the fae.