The Chieftain's Yule Bride - a Highland Christmas novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions #10) (9 page)

"Technically it belongs to my father the Chief, but no, it would never be let go out of the family.  The clan's historian tells of a superstition about that."

He told a little of what he'd heard from Gillian about the minstrel's visit, mainly that the man had died soon after leaving the castle and the pity that he didn't get to play all the places he'd been invited to.  It was all new to Freya, who sat wide-eyed throughout.  What he held back was that the portrait had been a prophetic gift for some chieftain, and its name of the Fair Lass of Monlachan.  Freya told her side of the story, the fainting part and all, and included the bit about recognizing him when they met.

"And you'll have brought a photo of it to show me," said Isla.

He displayed the photo on his phone and handed it over.

A wee affirmative nod was all her reaction at seeing the double of Freya, but he could tell she was affected.  Her lilting Highland accent went even higher when she said, "You have yourself the work of Symond Harper, my five times great grandfather.  Seven times for Freya."  She looked him straight in the eye then.  "Fetch it out your car, there's a good lad."

A squeak from beside him. 
"You brought it?"

"Of course he brought it, Freya.  Away and help him in with it while I clear the table and put down a clean cloth."

Freya was out the back door before he'd even got to his feet.  Isla gave him a wee wink, and her eyes darted from him to the door and back again.  Either this lady was as good as Kenzie with the Second Sight, or his wanting Freya was written on him like an open book – in which case she was giving him every encouragement.

He hoped it was more than a Highlander versus a Londoner at the root of her approval.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd brought it?" Freya whispered angrily under cover of the four-by-four's open hatch.

"Truth?  I wanted to see if it was the painting or the turret room that affected you when you weren't prepared.  I'd say both, in different ways.  The combination is what made you pass out.  You'd maybe have screamed the place down instead if you'd stayed conscious."

Her usual calm had deserted her and one missed yoga session didn't account for it.

"Oh really?  I can scream right now if you like!  All the drive up here I kept looking back and you didn't tell me this was in the car!" she hissed.  "How do you
know
all this stuff, Callum!  It doesn't go with running a hotel and a golf course and brewery and spa and herbery... okay, maybe with the herbery.  And Tara's bees and oh god that Celtic room!  Who
are
you people?  And don't give me all that
'We're a superstitious clan'
nonsense unless you can name me one clan that
isn't!"

She wasn't in the slightest bit scared.  Just so frustrated with wondering what was going on here.  There was some underlying agenda.  Things that Callum wasn't telling her. 

He had grip of the painting, wrapped in a tartan blanket now, and shifted it under one arm.  With his other hand he reached out to stroke her hair gently... a rush of heat ran through her and she rocked on her feet.

"Some of it's a mystery to me too, lass."  His hand moved to close the hatch.  "Isla will be wanting to see this.  We'd best go, aye?"

Auntie Harper's eyes were on her instead of the tartan bundle when they came back in.  Freya never could hide any emotions from her.  Rattled as she was, she gave Auntie a shaky smile and tried to be blithe.

"You'll freak out, Auntie.  Chieftain on stand-by for another Harper lady fainting!" 

Callum laid it on the tablecloth and the candles flickered a little as he unwound the blanket.  There she was again, that incredible likeness, and yes, even her hair was in the same style and twisted down the same side as she usually wore hers.

Auntie didn't freak out at all.  Merely took it all in slowly, then began smiling as if she was on her way up to heaven and seeing the angels during her rise.

"Mmm-hmmph."  Her usual throaty expression of satisfaction that she made without opening her mouth, and a sure sign that she was another one who knew more than she'd be telling.

Freya's anger rose again.  "Oh come on, you two!  Why am I the only one here being left out the loop?  This is
me!"

But it was Callum who got Auntie's next speech.

"You'll have been told the name that Symond Harper gave to this portrait."

A statement, not a question.  Callum was leaning a shoulder against the big fridge, thumbs in his pockets.  He didn't reply, but he did shrug and fold his arms.  Typical defensive gesture to close himself off.  And he smiled back at Auntie over the table.  Oh yes,
he
knew.

Freya felt as if her nerves were shredding into more pieces with every passing moment.  Those queer vibes were coming off the portrait, the ones that had rung in her very bones all the way up here.  No wonder she'd only been able to relax over lunch and then at the lochside.  Even the Clootie Well had been a diversion that could have waited until after dinner if she'd been able to hold out that long for some inner peace.

Now Callum was treating her like a child who couldn't be told a secret and Auntie was
colluding
with him.

Enough.  She marched straight over to him.  "What's the name of it?"

Nothing, except for unfolding his arms and sticking his hands back into his pockets.

Auntie was flitting about, blowing out candles and putting the low-lights on under the kitchen units.  Freya stood on tiptoe to hiss in Callum's face, her hands full of his sweater, feeling the hard muscles across his ribs.
"Tell me!"

And then Auntie was sailing past them with her jacket on, saying, "I have a Wisdom of the Cosmos class to teach at seven o'clock so I'll leave the pair of you to load the dishwasher.  Cheerio for now."

The back door closed and Callum's hands came onto her head, stroking her hair back from her face.  She let go of his sweater to pull away but he kept his hands where they were, calming her...

It was her hair he was looking at when he spoke low. "The fair lass of Monlachan."

"Don't you
dare
start with the blonde jokes, Callum.  Just tell me. 
Please!" 
While she could still think a rational thought.  While she could still breathe.

And he looked her right in the eye and said, "That was the name told to my ancestors."

The blood pounded in her ears.  "No... that can't be true..."

"It is true.  The Orkney minstrel painted that portrait at MacKrannan Castle and called it the Fair Lass of Monlachan.  A gift to my people when he stayed there.  It's written down in the clan's archives."

She leaned her forehead against his chest, needing his strength. 
The Orkney minstrel... 
"But the Harpers didn't come to Monlachan until after the war... from Orkney.  This place was an inheritance of my great-grandmother.  Symond couldn't know we'd ever live here – he couldn't even know who his descendent would marry!"

This was way beyond the regular level of two-boys-and-a-girl predictions.  For her ancestor to paint
her
and to know where she'd be living...

"Runs in your family, this fey thing, does it no'?"

"It does, but..."

His hand was around her back, rubbing it slowly, soothing.  The most incredible sense of calm acceptance settled in her then, and a rising of something between them not peaceful at all.

Callum was aroused.  Fiercely so.  His heartbeat thumped in her ear as he kept stroking her hair.  She'd be kidding herself to believe he was on his own with it.  She looked up to find his eyes smoldering much darker than usual, his lips slightly parted and that bit of hair coming onto his brow.  If she could just touch it, see if it sparked some memory... her hand snaked up as it had done before in the long ago.

He flinched at the contact. 
"Freya..."

A breath on the wind.  A call from the depths of time.  The world slipped away and she went on tiptoe to put her lips on his cheek, needing to test out what this bond was which had come through the years to them and if he could possibly taste as good as he smelled.  Oh yes he did... and she found her way round to his mouth then, and his arm pulled her tight to him, her breasts tingling against his chest as he kissed her and ran his fingers into her hair.

She'd started it.  He didn't end it.  And wow, could he kiss...

This
bit she didn't know.  All new to her, this wild steadiness, this feeling of being out of control in the security of his hold, this being kissed as if it were enough in itself instead of a mere cue to having her clothes disappear.

A low moan rumbled in his chest as their tongues intertwined and his mouth grew harder on hers, demanding more and taking it.  She was playing with fire here and knew it, and still pressed her belly against his hardness, revelling in her power to make Callum MacKrannan burn for her.

At the castle he had all the power.  Now there were in
her
home, and Zavier was on a different continent.

Just once.  Before she was married... Just one night with this handsome big Scot to lay whatever ghosts were haunting them both.  Something primal was surging through her, taking away all her scruples.  She had to have him... this MacKrannan chieftain
belonged
to her...

But Callum was gone from her then, scrubbing the heel of his hand over his brow and lunging for the portrait.  He lifted it up and took it through the long hallway to the coatstand where he set it on its side facing the umbrellas.

Reality check.

Oh god... what had she done... what kind of easy slapper would he think she was, grinding herself against him like that... what had possessed her to do it?

"Callum, I'm so sorry!  I don't know what I... you were
there
and..."

She broke off as she watched him come back through the hallway, taking great strides as he came straight towards her... and then she was back in his arms again and this time it felt different.  This was just Callum and he started the kiss.  Something was missing and a million  new sensations came in its place.  Her legs would hardly hold her as she swam in the thrill.  A lifetime later he set her away and spoke.

"Will you stay away longer with me, Freya?"

Straight invitation and no point denying they'd end up in bed.  Of course she would refuse.  She was
engaged,
for heavensakes.

"Yes.  Yes I will."

"Tomorrow I'll find us a cottage – somewhere we can be alone."

"No.  Now.  I've had..."  She nearly said
Zavier in my bedroom here
.  "...I've had enough of your chivalry.  We can go to my room or yours."

Auntie had lovers here too, men with shaman shirts and long hair tied back in leather thongs.  There wouldn't be a problem.  Callum was being considerate and old-fashioned.  And cottage rentals were all minimum stay of three days, often a week.  That took his intentions out of the category of one-night-stand and don't-tell.  She couldn't get into that, not with a wedding to plan...

His eyes were now darker than she'd ever seen them.  "You might change your mind tomorrow.  That's the chance I'm giving you."

"Maybe you'll change your mind, Callum."

A slow shake of his head.  He closed the space between them and she was being kissed again, her belly clenching something wicked with the thoughts of what he looked like bared and what he would do to her.

Two years since she'd been with anyone but Zavier.  What was the norm now?  Did the guy bring up the safety subject or was it up to her?  She was too far gone to play by any rules.  "Come to my room.  It's okay, I have... protection in my bag.  I've never done it without."

"Same for myself on both counts but we'll no' be needing it in this house."

She wrenched away and pulled at his hand.
"Please."

Callum didn't budge.

"Lassie, if we were going upstairs for this your feet would no' still be touching the floor."