Mark of the Highlander (The MacLomain Series: Next Generation, Book 1) (24 page)

“His magic will help him learn much faster than most,” Colin agreed, as he watched the two men fighting.

McKayla shivered when Malcolm raised a sword in Colin’s direction. Her husband nodded his agreement and caught the blade with ease when it was tossed his way. He’d not even started fighting and already McKayla swallowed hard. She wasn’t so sure sparring with Malcolm was the smartest idea. Colin tied back his hair with a swath of plaid and tested the weight of the blade as he walked forward.

Sensing a good battle, everyone stepped back.

Colin and Malcolm circled around one another. Stalking. Assessing. Staring. You could hear a pin drop. McKayla held her breath.

Suddenly, both lunged forward.

They attacked with ferocious precision. Swords crashed together. The ground shook, and what sounded like thunder vibrated loud and strong.

She could barely breathe.

Malcolm was out for blood.

Each strike bounced off Colin’s sword with vicious accuracy. Sweat dripped off their bodies, but still they battled, neither one willing to give up.

“Jesus,” Sheila whispered and took a long swig of whiskey.

McKayla watched them go after each other with rapid, expert movements. She’d never seen anything so dangerously beautiful as Colin and Malcolm crossing swords. Supple, finely honed, muscles rippled and flexed each time they thrust. One second Colin pushed forward and Malcolm fell back, the next it was Colin who jumped, moved and evaded.

No dance had ever been more mesmerizing.

Sweat glistened and sinew slid over flexible frames as each anticipated the other. All the while, their faces remained impregnable masks of concentration. Neither let emotion cloud his judgment. They used the mud to shift and slide just out of the other’s reach.

“Bloody hell, look at them go. Just like when they were bairns,” Bradon murmured.

As if their deities cheered them on, lightning flashed across the sky and an earth-shaking clap of thunder crashed. If nothing else, the very storm brewing around them seemed to feed their energy. With deadly focus, Colin drove forward, moving his blade back and forth so quickly that for the first time, Malcolm slid out of control.

The crowd gasped.

But her husband’s near victory didn’t last long.

Taking advantage of his unruly slip, Malcolm twirled down and around then sliced back fast. Colin protected himself but not nearly soon enough. The slick ground pulled him down.

“Och,” some murmured.

“He’s got him now,” others said.

As if he tasted victory, Malcolm made the mistake of thrusting when he probably should have waited. When he did, Colin dug his hand into the ground and used the wet mud to his advantage. He swiped his leg beneath his cousin and Malcolm hit the ground. In a move she knew all too well, Colin arched his back and jumped up, lodging his blade tight against Malcolm’s neck before the Scotsman had a chance to move.

They stared at one another.

McKayla bit her lip praying Colin wouldn’t do anything he’d regret. He loved his cousin, but what if Malcolm refused to lose? What if Colin didn’t have any other choice but to defend himself? Would Malcolm cross that line? Did his hatred run that deep?

Water dripped off Colin and his body shook. Oh God. Battle lust. It was apparent in his dark, pinning gaze. McKayla had done enough research to know that even civilized men did horrible things when their mind was overrun by such rage.

Malcolm and Colin breathed heavily as the tense moments stretched. Thank the heavens it wasn’t long before the crowd broke their silence and cries rose up. Warriors banged on their shields and clanged their blades. Colin held his sword against Malcolm’s neck before hanging his head and rising. He took a deep breath, and then held down his hand. “Well fought, cousin.”

A war raged in Malcolm’s eyes. Almost impossible to miss, he fingered the hilt of his sword as if he envisioned running the blade through his cousin’s gut. If any saw, none commented. But McKayla noticed.

At last, Malcolm made a show of amiable sportsmanship and took Colin’s hand.

“Good,” Bradon said under his breath and nodded with relief. “Verra good.”

Though Malcolm didn’t return Colin’s slap on the shoulder, he nodded and exclaimed, “Defeated but only until next time, my friends.”

“I believe he means that,” Sheila said, eyes locked on Malcolm as he accepted a mug. In fact, she kept on staring as he took a long, thorough swig.

McKayla waved a hand in front of her cousin’s face and shook her head. “Remember, he’s married to the devil.”

“It doesn’t matter what his wife’s
like
.” Leslie looked skyward. “I’d think the focus would be first and foremost on the very fact he’s married at all.”

“Och, ‘tis not always considered when dealing with us highlanders,” Bradon offered.

Having clearly forgotten he stood there, Leslie frowned. “Well, it should be.”

“Speak of the devil,” Bradon said, smirking. “Watch out.”

McKayla almost groaned when Loch Nessa sauntered their way. Stunning as ever in a dark blue, cleavage revealing dress, she stopped in front of Malcolm and Colin. Call it newly found wifely instincts or just a good old fashioned gut feeling, but when the devil talked to Malcolm she knew the words were meant for Colin. “If ever I saw a more striking sight. Never was there a more vicious warrior.”

Sheila and Leslie’s eyes were glued to Nessa, seemingly in awe.

Malcolm wrapped his arm around his wife’s back and pulled her close, his lips crashing over hers almost as intensely as his blade had met Colin’s minutes before.

Though Leslie looked away, Sheila couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. McKayla wasn’t sure.
Great.
It seemed her cousin had a thing for Malcolm. She’d have to do her best to dissuade her of that notion, but it would have to wait until later.

Bradon leaned in close to Leslie and pointed at Malcolm and Nessa who were still engaged in a lip lock. “See, the battle lust is running rampant. And ‘tis only bound to get worse.”

“Then why aren’t you off making the best of it,” Leslie snapped.

With a snicker and a wink he said, “Mayhap I am.”

McKayla sipped from her drink and tried to make sense of her cousins. But when Colin’s arm wrapped around her midsection and his front came against her back, Sheila and Leslie faded away. He murmured against her neck. “What think you now of highland swordplay. Is it everything you imagined when you wrote about it?”

Every time this man touched her, the muscles in her legs all but liquefied. Leaning back, utilizing his solid wall of support, she reveled in the feel of his damp skin and hard chest. “More,” she whispered hoarsely. “Everything about you is much
more
.”

Colin spun her and cupped her neck, lips centimeters from hers. “Even when I fight I think about being back inside you.” His lips curled a fraction. “‘Tis most distracting.”

“I would think,” Leslie muttered from their left.

“‘Tis good to know you think about it at all,” Bradon said from their right.

Set to ignore them altogether, she stood on tip toes and met her husband’s lips with her own. His arms wrapped around her and their kiss turned feverish. Even through the ever increasing gusts of wind and rain, they kissed. Only Ilisa’s words broke a small hole in their self-created conclave.

“The pipers go to the castle wall walks. Let us go where we might enjoy both what the heavens offer and a wee bit o’ protection for those soft of skin!”

McKayla pulled back, laughing as Ilisa swung onto a horse and hooted all the way back to the castle. “She really is insane, eh?”

“More than you know,” he guaranteed and took her hand.

His steed had been brought back so they trotted alongside the crowd. If she didn’t know any better she’d think the clan celebrated, not prepared for war. But even as they went she saw many horsemen pass, weapons scattered along their bodies. Even more strolled along the castle’s numerous wall walks.

By the time they reached the largest wall walk, night had fallen and more torches than usual burned. Bagpipes fired up, their trill echoing off the castle walls and catching on the wind. Like her, Sheila and Leslie were enchanted, caught in a time and place they never could have imagined.

“I love you honey but even your book didn’t bring it like this,” Sheila said, her eyes covering everything at once.

“Nothing recorded portrays it like this,” Leslie said.

“Like a fairytale but not,” McKayla said.

Leslie’s expression soured. “Right, so says that dreadful latrine in the back of the castle. I think I’d rather go behind a tree.”

“Or in the ocean,” Sheila said.

McKayla sighed but couldn’t help agree. “Way to kill the romanticism.”

“Oh, it shouldn’t,” Sheila said. “It’s clean here. Much cleaner than I would’ve thought. Even the men don’t reek of body odor.” Her gaze landed on Malcolm and Loch Nessa. “Even the ones who recently fought.” She crinkled her nose. “But maybe after days of it.”

“I assume we won’t be around long enough to experience days of it,” Leslie said.

“Right.” Sheila sipped from her drink.

Seth came out of nowhere and managed to wrap his arms around all three, one around her cousins, the other around her. He was a muddy mess but happy as could be. “This place totally kicks ass. Forget all the haunted houses back home, I bet this castle is teeming with paranormal activity. Seriously, the energy around here almost pulses.” He looked at each of them, excited. “Can you feel it?”

Colin had just returned with a fresh mug of ale for her. Bradon trailed after him, carrying mugs for the girls. It seemed his brother was their newfound shadow. She suspected it had more to do with Leslie than anyone else.

“What happened to your
servants
?” Sheila asked, not all that pleased.

“They’re about,” Colin said. “And they’re paid so servant isnae the word you’re looking for.”

“Are they?” Leslie asked, surprised. “I didn’t think that sort of thing happened in these days.”

“Normally they dinnae,” Bradon responded. “But we MacLomains have never made slaves of men.”

Sheila grinned. “I’m impressed.”

But it wasn’t her approval he was looking for. Leslie, eyes anywhere but on Bradon, said wryly, “Who would’ve thought?” She looked at McKayla. “We’ll have to add that into your book. It’s a nugget of information readers would appreciate.”

“But might not think realistic,” she responded and smiled at Colin. “I tend to think the MacLomains are rare.”

“Oh, they’re rare all right,” Leslie muttered when a girl with big brown eyes and a come-hither smile winked at Bradon. He took her hand when she offered it, and vanished into the crowd to dance.

Colin, clearly aware of the attraction between Bradon and Leslie, said, “‘Twould have been rude had he not danced.”

Leslie’s brows shot together twice before her expression smoothed over. “What do I care who he dances with?”

“No doubt,” Sheila said, the whiskey warming her already rambunctious tongue. “There are always other men to be had, cousin.” She winked. “Men without such
God awful
hair.”

Leslie glowered. “Why don’t you go try to break up a good marriage then, eh? You couldn’t be any more obvious. Better watch yourself or all those biblical characters you love so much might get around to judging after all.”

Colin chuckled but ceased when McKayla frowned.

“You’re such a bitch,” Sheila muttered.

“And you’re a…”

Ilisa climbed onto the wall and raised her arms in the air, stopping Leslie from spitting out a stinging retort. “I’ve something to say, my brethren!”

McKayla edged her way through the crowd and stood by Ilisa’s side. The girl was crazy. Stone cold. And she knew it. Used it. McKayla stood with her heart in her throat. One wrong step and… She didn’t even want to think about it. There was nothing but a long drop onto the hard ground below. But the highland lass didn’t seem fazed. Not drunk in the least but acting it, she peered down at McKayla.

“Oh good, you’re here!” she said, and then grabbed the protective hand McKayla had snaked toward her foot. With one mighty swing she pulled her up. Wide-eyed, McKayla flailed before Ilisa steadied her with an arm around her back.

Anxious, trying not to appear frightened, she looked out over the crowd.

Colin stood, arms crossed over his chest. Though clearly alarmed he hadn’t moved.

When she looked down she realized why he wasn’t worried. Of all people, Malcolm had appeared out of nowhere and stood by her side. Or should she say below and by her side. With an arm draped casually on the wall behind her feet, he said nothing.

Ilisa, still grinning, said, “I’ve been giving my new laird’s wife a lot of thought since she chopped off all my hair.” With a whip of her head, that very hair flew about as much as it possibly could.

“Bloody bonnie!” a man yelled.

“Makes ye look fine indeed!” another cried.

The crowd laughed, agreeing wholeheartedly.