The Chieftain's Yule Bride - a Highland Christmas novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions #10) (10 page)

It took all the willpower he had no' to grab her up and go.  Her body was as ready for him now as his own had been when first they met, but her heart needed a bit extra time.  This was a physical thing for her still, tagged onto the connection made for them by her ancestors. He'd be having more than that from her... and would have laughed at himself for his thoughts had his shaft no' been aching fit to burst.

All those years of keeping clingy women at bay, keeping it strictly fun, and now he was denying the only one he would ever want again because she was no' clingy enough.

She opened the dishwasher and busied herself with shoving the dinnerplates into the rack, so he helped her with that by passing dishes to her.  It was as cosy a domestic scene as they'd be getting this night and quickly over when she hit the start button.  With the only chore complete, Freya was biting at her lip.

"Want to watch TV?" she said vaguely.

Awkward she was with him now, thinking how else she could entertain him outside of a bed.

"No, I don't, Freya.  Let's get something out the way.  The woman I've been seeing is a doctor.  My tests are clean."

Her chin came up defiantly.  "More of your chivalry?  Okay, I see what you're asking.  It's on every bride and groom's ticklist nowadays, isn't it?  Shop for wedding rings and visit the clinic – a real romantic day out
that
was last Monday.  And I'm on the pill too.  Can't be too careful about the pregnancy bit."

"Your man's idea."  He didn't say it as a question and she didn't argue.

"The rest of this week we've been in different countries and met at the airport on Friday to come up to Scotland... and we haven't... I just
couldn't
at the castle.  Tell me why that is, Callum!  From the minute I met you in that Banqueting Hall my whole life has been torn up the middle.  It's more than the portrait, isn't it?  More than recognizing you from god knows where!  Why am I
doing
this..."

He pulled her into his arms to soothe her but it only reignited the spark and they were kissing again.  He had to find some distraction.

"Tomorrow, lass.  Show me the Harper landscapes now, if that's alright when Isla's out."

That calmed her.  "It's fine.  She'll expect me to show them to you before she gets home.  They're in the parlor.  Some of them, anyway.  Auntie will know where the rest are."

She led him through to a land of faded chintz and a different cat lying on a hearth rug, ignoring them.  The Celtic patterning was in here again, this time all round the ceiling coving.  Nice molding, that.  Along the mantelpiece was the Cailleach in a row of nine, as Freya had said, and the other gods and goddesses on every available surface.  A homely place for a MacKrannan, had Isla known it, which he was damned sure she would by now.

"These are the ones he painted at home in Orkney.  I don't know anything about them.  This one's really a seascape and takes in his own home near Stromness.  So Auntie told me.  I've never been.  We've no family left there."

It was clearly the same artist as the portrait and he watched a tremor run through Freya now that she knew what else her ancestor had painted that she hadn't known about.  He moved behind her and slid his hands round her trim wee waist.

"I've never been either.  Want to go?"

She took a minute to think about it, knowing he meant it as far more than a sightseeing trip.  He'd been right to keep her downstairs for now.  This fair lass was unready for more than a slaking of lust born of physical attraction and fired up by the portrait's nearness.  He could hardly believe he was passing up the chance of that.

Once her mind was made up she was all practicalities.  "Alright, but this is
my
research – I'm paying."

"No' in me to let you do that.  And the minstrel's portrait belongs to the MacKrannans."  He gave her a tickle.  She squirmed round and they were kissing again.

This time he didn't care who started it or where the portrait was.  He felt like a lad again, affeared to go further for now, with the promise of everything if he did things right.  He stoked up her want, lifting her jumper to reach the smooth skin of her back and caress her into forgetting any but him.  She did the same to his back and he felt it run through him.  Like a couple of teenagers they were, with their tentative touches nowhere too intimate, giving their all to the kissing and breathing hard and forgetting what time it was or where they were.

It was the torment of feeling her chest heaving against him that did him in.  His hand reached higher to the fastening of her bra, and with a quick twist it came free just as his other hand went up her front ready to accept the prize.  The breast that filled his hand was warm and luscious and he brushed his thumb lightly over her peak. She melted then, moaning against his mouth as her nipple stiffened harder than an unripe berry.  He thought he'd spill in his trousers like an amateur, and might have done if the sound of the back door closing had no' brought them both to their senses.

"Turn round..." he whispered.

She did his bidding and he fastened her bra with shaking fingers.  The noise of a kettle being filled told them that Isla had stayed in the kitchen, yet she must have seen the lights on in here.

"I'm making a pot of tea..."
came the call. 
"Or would you rather have whisky?"

He stayed behind when Freya went through.  Unfit to be seen in company, he was, far worse than at the restaurant.  After this he'd be wearing his kilt the whole time he was near her, and was bloody glad he'd packed it.

They joined him in the parlor, Freya carrying a silver tray of glasses and Isla carrying a bottle of single malt with which she was a generous pourer.

The amber fire hit a spot in Callum's gullet he hadn't realised needed it, relaxing him enough to join in the conversation about Isla's class.

Astronomy was never his best subject but he could hold his own.  The Wisdom of the Cosmos had been drilled into him since infancy by the Elders, and he'd to be careful to keep from divulging any of their advanced teachings.  He was more interested in listening to Freya's views anyway, and heard much on her balancing her inner self with the universe while jetting about the planet and worrying about the color of cushions.

"Auntie, I'm going to Orkney tomorrow to find out more about the Harpers. Callum's coming with me."

Isla had taken a slurp at the word Orkney and now put her glass down and rose from her seat.  "Wait there."

She was back in seconds carrying a tube in seasonal wrapping.  "Fancy me knowing what you'd want from Santa this year.  Folks seldom appreciate this until they hit forty at least, but there you go.  When the Runes speak, the wise do what they're told, so I did."

There was something passed between the women then, a hint of triumph from Isla and a flash of dissent from Freya, but the lass let it go and pulled the wrap off.  Inside the tube was a family tree chart going back many generations and dwindling down to very few alongside Freya.  He was left holding it while the women hugged each other.

"Takes away the fun of doing it yourself," said Isla, "But oh, my girl, when would you ever get the time in your line of work?"

"It's perfect.  Thank you, Auntie!  Will you look after the portrait while we're away, please?"

Isla glanced towards the hallway and gave a satisfied smile, much like the tabby cat on the hearth rug who chose that moment to lie on its back and stretch. 

"Indeed I will.  You'll have made all your bookings, have you?"

There was a bit of that question missing, the part which said
while I was out. 
Isla Harper knew damned fine what him and Freya had been doing instead, and her twinkling grin said she was simpering pleased about it.

He stood up and brought out his phone.  "I'll get onto that now."

"Could you give Auntie your number, Callum?  I'm still phoneless.  I'm going to use the landline in my room to call Za... someone.  Night, Auntie.  Thank you
so
much for this."

The name of Zavier was so nearly said.  He wondered how she would tell him she was spending a few days away with the owner of their wedding venue.  What he already knew was how Zavier Campbell would react.  The man would do nothing about it, might no' even take the time to protest because he'd be too busy talking about himself.

Callum booked flights from Inverness to Kirkwall, got some information from Isla, and went to the guest room.  It took him a lot longer to book the cottage, making several calls before he found the right one and talked its owner into letting it out at such short notice in winter.

His whole future was riding on this.  Far more important to him, so was Freya's.

In the parlor he'd managed to locate and touch the bronze figurines of young Aengus, the god of love, and that of Branwen, goddess of love and beauty.  He thought of them now, and asked for them to look after Freya and guide her on the right path.  After tonight, he'd be helping them along in their task.

For a long, long time he lay sleepless, going over the advice and teachings of his father and the Elders for when his woman came into his life, whoever she was.  That day had come.

They were in the car that Callum rented upon landing at Kirkwall and he still wouldn't tell her where they were staying.

"A surprise.  Been over your Orkney family tree yet?  Do you know what you're looking for?"

"The gravestones first.  Auntie says I'll get a sense of our people from them that'll help with anything else.  A sort of work-backwards from death into life thing because most wisdom comes in folks' later years."

That slow smile.  The one that melted her into pieces every time.

"Did she now... so you'll no' be relying solely on the chart.  Bringing out the fey for the occasion, are you?"

"Oh come on, Callum... can you imagine Isla Harper bringing me up and
not
teaching me the ways!"

"Hardly a Saturday hobby.  You must have been born with it, aye?"

Callum knew far too much about this stuff.  "A little..."  He didn't believe her and her instincts told her to be more honest if she wanted the same from him.  "Look, the thing is, I stopped using it when I got to university.  I'd have flunked my course otherwise.  So I'm rusty.  Might have no abilities now anyway, by way of On-Demand.  And I really,
really
don't want it back."

He just kept smiling – and she hadn't a clue where they were going since he wouldn't use the satnav. Somewhere near Stromness was all he'd say, which she'd known anyway, since that's where Symond Harper had lived.  As if she'd not had enough surprise this morning when he sat down for breakfast wearing his kilt again.

"And don't go pretending that
fey
is any old word to throw around," she went on.  "I bet you any money that you still have a seer in your clan.  Who is it?  Tara with the bees?"

He held up four fingers.

"Four?  You have
four?"

"Another clan secret I'm trusting you with, and only because I saw what happened to you in the castle room where the portrait was taken."

"Aha!  So what's it really called, that room you're avoiding giving a name to?"

"We'll keep that for the day you get the full tour."

That shut her up.  He couldn't mean a guest tour with some curator like the clan's historian he'd mentioned, because there was no such thing.  She'd asked upon arrival, and been handed a book with a starter chapter on the castle's general history and several others on all the public areas.  End of.  Robbie the Events Manager had shown them round everywhere they needed to see but it had all been geared to her wedding.

Her wedding... oh god... right now she was supposed to be back there in Argyll at the castle doing her planning, meeting her bridesmaid in Edinburgh to find dresses, sending out invitations now they had the venue...

Last night's call to Zavier at Glasgow Airport had thrown her.  It started out with Why was she calling from the Monlachan number?  She didn't even get to tell him anything before he'd launched into a further tirade about the bathroom supply company.  It was all she could do not to yell that it was his own fault – how many times had she warned him not to go for that ridiculously cheap tender from a new trader?

She heard him out, and told him how to fix some of it, and then his flight was boarding and he was telling her to say Hi to Isla from him.  Her ending mention of heading up to Orkney on some family business and might be out of touch a couple of days only got her a
Have fun.

The awful part was she could have made him listen for the few seconds it would have taken to tell him that Callum was with her.  She hadn't.  Didn't want to.  Nothing about the portrait either, because... because he just wouldn't understand.  He thought that sort of stuff was for Murder Mystery Weekends and Fright Nights.  Zavier just didn't
get
anything that wasn't in a catalogue.  He thought Auntie was 'like something out of Stonehenge' and she'd never told him about her own Sight.

Freya should have been on that flight to Dubai too.  For one day she'd stepped out of Zavier's world – her world – and the resulting divide was a chasm of her own making.

And she didn't say Hi to Auntie Harper from Zavier because Auntie hadn't mentioned his name once, which she would have done every five minutes if she'd disapproved of Callum bringing her to Monlachan and taking her to Orkney.

Being home in Scotland often brought her extra senses to the fore even though she didn't want them.  This time was stratospherically worse – or better, if she were honest, because she needed to make sense of all this, and that would never happen if she stayed in rational Executive mode.  She had to go back to being totally Highlander for this, forget all her office life and just be a Harper.

The portrait had come into her life for a reason.  She wouldn't necessarily have believed it tied up this much with Callum personally if she hadn't recognized him too.  Had she seen the portrait hanging somewhere in the castle, well, she would just have taken it as a sign from her ancestors that she'd brought Zavier to the right wedding venue.

The portrait also had a big effect on her beyond the shock of it.  It brought out feelings in her that had been dormant a long time – a sense of belonging, a connection with her ancestors, an appreciation of the special teachings she'd had outwith formal education.  Auntie had guided her well, she knew that.  Again Freya felt the guilt about throwing it all back in her face and living like a normal person.

This time she'd only be using her abilities for one thing and one thing only.  She was glad to have them to call on and had thanked Auntie this morning before leaving.  Isla Harper never cried, but both of them had certainly been close to it then.

The fact that Freya was sitting beside Callum MacKrannan told her that what she really needed here was a dollop of plain old common sense, and
that
seemed to be deserting her by the minute.  Trying to rationalize anything never helped much when the esoteric was involved.  The Celtic goddesses from her early learning were calling and she could listen or run.  Freya was choosing to listen for the first time in years.

She'd let everything play out.  Trust that she was being guided on the right path... and hope that went for Callum too, for they'd gone way past Stromness down roads that got narrower with each turn, and had now been driving down a dirt track for a good half a mile.  The esoteric was getting all too real, and the hailstones that started battering off the windscreen helped.

The little cottage he'd chosen was like something out of a fairy story.  The lady who came out to greet them was pure Orcadian, telling them the fire was lit for them coming, and where the woodpile was, and the groceries were in the fridge, and the water piping hot if they were feeling the chill.  She went to her jeep with a cheery wave, retrieved her woolly hat which the wind blew off, and was gone.

Freya was alone with the MacKrannan chieftain in the middle of nowhere and even the short dash between car and door got her soaked.

They stood in the main room and looked out over the sea for a long time without speaking, the only sounds the logs crackling in the fireplace while they dried off in front of it.

Callum stood away from her, giving her a clear run to the door if she wanted it.  Chivalry always, just as he'd fastened her bra last night.  Plenty men in the world who would do the unfastening bit if she let them.  Precious few Callums.

Never had she been within a hundred miles of here, and this cottage wasn't in any of the paintings.  It felt so familiar that she walked over to an unplastered wall and laid her hand on it.  Immediately her senses reeled.

"There's a Harper link to this, Callum.  Not just the general Stromness area.  That's why you chose it."

"Isla told me where Symond Harper's cottage was but it's gone now.  This is the nearest I could get, built using the recycled stones of the old one that stood nearer the road."

"Thank you, it's... exactly right."

It's overwhelming. 
There was a sureness of coming home to a past she'd never known, surrounded by stones that would keep her safe and sane.

"So..." he said, leaning a shoulder against the chimneybreast, "do you want to head to the cemetery now while there's daylight?  Up to you.  It's your family history."

"And yours.  He painted my portrait for a reason, didn't he?  Are you going to tell me what it was?"

That slow shake of his head – without the denying of a reason being withheld.

The cottage was too small to have more than one bedroom.  That plump sofa would be a pull-out bed.  Callum had left their bags at the door, his way of giving her a choice.

He'd told her she might change her mind and she had... ten times an hour since he'd said it.  In the early hours of the morning she'd decided for sure and gone through her reference books.  When she saw him again at breakfast, all freshly showered and shaved and wearing his kilt just like yesterday morning, it wouldn't have mattered if she'd gone the other way.

This had to be done.  Everything that had happened since she'd walked into his castle had led to this moment, and she needed to do it for the rest to happen.  A vibes thing.  A sharing of energies where one-plus-one equalled many more than two.  She'd never have dreamt of doing it had she already been married, but she wasn't.  Not quite yet.

She picked up her bag and walked through to the bedroom.  Dainty.  He'd bump his head on those beams if he wasn't careful.  Right next to the radiator was a regular double bed that would be cramped for both of them unless they were spooned tightly together – which was exactly what she had in mind.  Freya would be the goddess here, bending him to her will as she rode him, making him share his power and his secrets with her.  Not that he'd take much seducing.

Her boots got unlaced and thrown in a corner along with her thick hiking socks, and her hair freed and fluffed around.