Authors: Maeve Greyson
A scream escaped her as wave after wave of indescribable pleasure bucked her across the blankets. She clutched Colum’s head to her mound, groaning as she arched and shuddered through the delicious release. She fell back, limp and panting, as the last wave of ecstasy washed across her. Clamping a hand across her damp forehead, Kenna fanned herself with the other hand. “Oh. My. God.”
Colum made his way back up her body, pecking a slow kiss to her still heaving chest as his chuckle rumbled up between them. “And we’ve no’ broken yer oath.”
The tiniest bit of guilt poked a sharp elbow into her conscience. “But what about you?”
Colum rose, stripped off his plaid and his
léine
, then stood above her in all his hardened glory. The sun glinted across the ridges of his muscular body, setting his flesh to glowing like a finely chiseled statue of an erotic god. “Have ye a wee rest whilst I go for a bit of a swim.”
Kenna pressed her lips tightly together to keep from laughing out loud. He looked so serious and so…strained. “I could help you…feel better.” She held out a hand. “I could help you like you helped me.”
Colum’s eyes flared wide and his hardened cock flexed a bit higher as though saluting her. “Nay.” He took a step back. “ ’Twould no’ be honorable.”
“Well, that’s bullshit.” Kenna rolled to her knees. “It’s okay for you to help me but it’s dishonorable for me to help you?”
“Aye, ’twould no’ be proper.” Colum turned and started picking his way down the hillside toward the sea. “I’ll no’ hear of it. Have ye a wee rest whilst I swim.”
Smiling at the dancing twin dimples above each cheek of Colum’s well-sculpted ass, Kenna straightened her skirts and reached for the skin of wine. Sudden realization hit her square in the heart like a zapping jolt of electricity. Granny and the epic tingle were dead right: There wasn’t a doubt in her mind, heart or soul that Colum was the one—the man she was to marry.
Chapter 14
The squirming baby grunted and grumbled until its mouth finally found its fist. Happy slurping sounds soon emerged from the depths of the blanket, spreading a warm sense of contentment throughout the darkened room.
“She’s sucking her fingers again. Do you think she’s hungry?” Kenna cuddled the bundle higher up on her chest and kissed the child’s downy head.
Such a sweet little angel.
Kenna breathed in the child’s enticing baby smell and held it. A deep yearning echoed from her very core like the tolling of a solemn bell. Kenna closed her eyes. She knew what she wanted now. She wanted
this
. She wanted to settle down with Colum and set to the delightful task of making their own child.
The suckling sounds grew fainter and the wriggling bundle stilled. The tiny hand slowly relaxed away from the petal pink mouth as little Chloe drifted off to sleep. Kenna brushed a light kiss against the babe’s soft, warm forehead and closed her eyes. Trulie and Gray were so blessed.
I need this. Now.
Trulie eased onto the low bench beside Kenna and smiled down at her tiny daughter. “I don’t think she’s hungry. She’s just comforting herself. She came out sucking those fingers, so I’m guessing she’s been doing it ever since she developed fingers. I think we might as well accept that as one of little Miss Chloe’s traits.” Trulie relaxed back against the cushions and adjusted her loose-fitting shift. “Besides, I’ve already discovered my body knows when Chloe needs to eat. When my chest feels like it’s about to explode, it’s time for Chloe’s dinner.”
“I can’t believe she’s nearly six weeks old.” Kenna gently rocked back and forth. Chloe’s pouty little mouth twitched and suckled at air as the babe drifted deeper into her dreams. Pale blonde lashes fluttered and twitched against round little cheeks as the little one traveled to the wonderland only babies know.
Glancing up at her sister, Kenna frowned at the dark circles smudged beneath Trulie’s eyes. “Are you feeling any better at all? Did Granny figure out some concoction that would get rid of your headaches but wouldn’t be passed on to Chloe?”
Trulie massaged a thumb against one temple. “I’m fine. I think it’s shifting hormones and my body changing back to nonincubator status.” Trulie stretched her arms over her head and yawned. “I didn’t make it to dinner tonight because I’m worn out trying to get adjusted to Chloe’s schedule. She appears to be a night owl and would much rather sleep during the day.”
Kenna smiled back down into the peaceful cherub’s face. The hint of a contented grin tickled at the corner of the baby’s delicate mouth as her tiny fists flexed open and closed in her sleep. Granny always said that when a baby smiled while she slept it was because angels were singing in her dreams. “I heard Gray walking up and down the hallway with her last night. You do realize your husband couldn’t carry a tune even if he put it in a bucket…right?”
Trulie grinned around another yawn. “I know. But at least he tries, and Chloe seems to love his singing.”
Kenna rose and slowly meandered across the room, gently swaying the baby in her arms. With a reluctant sigh, she bent and settled little Chloe into the low wooden cradle beside the master bed. Chloe’s owl silently alit on the end of the cradle, tilting its gray head from side to side as he peered down at his treasured charge. He resettled his wings and tucked his beak down against his fluffy chest, wide dark eyes slowly blinking as his gaze protectively scanned the room.
Kenna hovered for a brief moment, tracing her fingertips along the intricately carved knots dotting the edge of the cradle’s side. A heavy sigh left her as she stared down at the sweet bundle. She was so ready for a baby of her own. She wanted the whole package: husband, children, home. It was time. Now, all she had to do was tell Colum. “So…what do you think it would take to get Colum to ask me to marry him? Or should I just ask him?”
“You can’t ask him.” Trulie leaned back in the settee, still massaging her temples.
“Why can’t I ask him?” Kenna adjusted Chloe’s blanket one last time, then strolled back across the room.
“Pride,” Trulie responded.
“I don’t have a problem being the one to do the asking. I figure it doesn’t matter who asks who as long as we end up together.” Kenna pulled her wrap tighter about her shoulders and headed toward the fire. Trulie’s differing opinion had made the room suddenly seem a bit chilly.
Trulie straightened and shoved more pillows behind her back. “Not your pride. Colum’s. Highlanders are a rare mix of sexiness, honor, and stubbornness.”
“So, you’re saying I just bide my time and wait for him to ask?” Kenna scrubbed her hands up and down her arms and moved closer to the flames dancing in the hearth. The orange-red coals glowed and shimmered as the bright tongues of fire danced among the logs. “I’m tired of waiting. Granny wouldn’t have had me come back here if it wasn’t the right time. I’m not exactly getting any younger, you know.”
“I think you’re still well away from your expiration date.” Trulie rooted deeper into the pillows and propped her hands behind her head.
“Says the sister who’s already married to her own hot Highlander and has a wicked cute baby to boot.” Kenna flopped down on the pillowed bench running parallel to Trulie’s settee. “I’m tired of waiting. This virginity shit is gonna kill me.”
Trulie snorted out a laugh and shook her head. “Colum will come around. Give him time.”
“I’m about ready to take another waltz through his mind and rearrange the furniture.” Kenna curled her feet up beneath her and fluffed out her skirts. “A few select memories erased here and there, a few well-placed suggestions and by golly, we’ll have a wedding date set before you know it.”
“You know better than to use your gifts for personal advantage.” Trulie wagged a warning finger, then jabbed the air one more time for good measure. “And I thought you said the last time you attempted to rewind one of your spats with Colum, he felt you in his mind and booted you out?”
An indignant squeak followed by the rustling sounds of tiny feet kicking aside blankets came from the cradle across the room.
With a weary sigh, Trulie hoisted herself up from the bench in response to an impatient yip from Karma, standing watch beside the cradle, and the angry flapping of owl wings. “I heard her. You can both stand down. I’m coming to get her.” The annoyed wail gained strength and grew louder from the depths of the cradle. Both owl and dog paced uneasily from side to side, as if doing so would cause Trulie to respond more quickly to the needs of their charge.
Kenna chose not to respond to Trulie’s warning. She would rather not relive the last time she had tried to wipe a memory out of Colum’s mind. The memory had been there—right there in the palm of her hand. She’d wrapped the thought tightly around her fingers, the one where she had acted the fool and blessed out Colum for being such a stubborn ass over something as trivial as her walking through the bailey unaccompanied. She still couldn’t believe how that memory had slipped right through her fingers and snapped back into place like a brand-new rubber band. In all the times she had used her gift to clear minds, Kenna had never experienced such a failure. And to make matters worse, after she’d faltered with the memory, Colum had even had the audacity to oust her from his mind—and warned her to stay out.
Granny had said it was because Colum had become such an important part of her life and grown too familiar with her energy. The Fates placed strict rules and limits on the gifts for a reason.
Kenna huffed out a frustrated sigh, the lessons of time runner lore steamrolling through her mind. The Fates—three entities some might even call goddesses—watched over the Sinclair time runners—tended all time runners in fact—like strict, protective mothers determined for their charges to always behave with honor, valor and respect.
Kenna closed her eyes, remembering Granny’s bedtime stories that were thinly veiled teaching tools. Urd, Verdandi and Skuld. Those were the rarely spoken names of the hallowed three. The three who decided each individual’s fate at birth. After selecting a child’s path, the Fates then spun the chosen destinies into the threads of that child’s life.
Urd, the mature one, the crone, ruled over the past, ensuring the cloth of time stayed as smooth as silk across the continuum. Verdandi, the mother, nurtured and cared for the present. Skuld, the youngest, and by far the most quick-tempered, looked after the future and ensured it unfolded as the three had ordained.
Above all else she had ever been taught, Kenna knew that the three’s carefully selected fate and destiny had to be respected. The threads of life woven by the blessed three must never be altered without explicit approval beforehand. If the Sinclair bloodline attempted to abuse their powers, especially to manipulate those closest to them and tamper with events, there’d be hell to pay—literally. One Sinclair, long ago, had attempted just such a thing and the results had been disastrous. The Fates ordained that some things were just meant to be and had to be accepted as such.
Wistful jealousy weighed down Kenna’s heart as Trulie cooed and comforted little Chloe and then took the baby to her breast. It wasn’t fair. She wanted what Trulie and Gray had, and she wanted it right now. “I’m gonna find a way to make him ask me.”
Trulie didn’t look up, just smiled down into the face of her tiny daughter. “Best of luck, Sister. My money’s on you.”
Chapter 15
“I own a sword and a shield. Not a thing more. Even Rua belongs to Clan MacKenna’s stables.” Colum slung the excess water from the stone and slid it down the blade’s edge. The gritty rasp of rock against metal echoed the frustration grating through every fiber of his being. “Lady Kenna deserves better. As Clan MacKenna’s man-at-arms I am below her station. Ye know I speak the truth.”
“I know yer a damn fool. Yer blood may no’ be that of a MacKenna, but yer a brother t’me just the same. Ye ken that—or at least ye should by now.” Gray paced up and down the dirt floor of the stable, hands clasped to the small of his back. “And ye have land. A fine corner of MacKenna land, no less. The lass could help ye build a home. All ye need do is have the marriage contract drawn and wed the woman. Set the date, man, and take the Lady Kenna to wife.”
“I willna curse the woman I love to wed a man with naught but a plaid to protect her from the cold.” Colum plunged the whetstone back in the water bucket, rolling its cold smooth weight in his palm. He slung the excess water free and returned it to the shining metal.
“The Lady Kenna willna wait forever. Sinclair women have verra little patience.” Gray halted mid-stride, then turned and fixed Colum with a meaningful scowl. “Trust me. I know. M’wife has made it quite clear that ye best get on with the marryin’ of her sister. The Lady Trulie grows weary of her sister’s unhappiness—the unhappiness yer stubborn arse has caused.”
Colum bit back the response beggin’ to be spoken. When he chose to marry was none of the Lady Trulie’s business—chieftain’s wife or no’. But the MacKenna’s warning fanned the coals of uncertainty already burning in his gut. “What the hell do ye mean ‘The Lady Kenna willna wait forever’?” Kenna loved him as much as he loved her, of that he was certain. He just needed time. Time to figure out how best to become worthy of her. Colum eased his sword down across the bench, then pulled a short-bladed dagger from the sheath sewn inside his boot.
“Sutherland has sent word.” Gray’s voice deepened as he leaned back against the weathered boards of an empty stall. “We expect him. Soon.” The ancient boards creaked and groaned with Gray’s every move, as though echoing his warning.
“ ‘Sent word’?” Colum didn’t look up from the knife and whetstone as he ran it down the shining steel of the blade. “Expect him for what?” The question was needless. He knew exactly what Sutherland wanted. The old chieftain was sniffing out his next wife like a stag in full rut.
Gray’s weary sigh echoed through the peacefulness of the stable. “Ye know ‘
for what’
as well as I. ’Tis been a year since his last wife died. It nay took long for news of the lovely—and currently available—Sinclair sister to make its way to him across the Highlands.”