Read Online The Chieftain Needs an Heir - a Highland ménage novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions) by Jonnet Carmichael - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jonnet Carmichael
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had a good feeling that this would work out well. Sorcha was just lovely and the time in her bedchamber had flown past. And she liked to think that the time with the Wisewomen had made a difference to Sorcha's life already, far beyond keeping Mirren's seedcakes away.
Hector was so used to fresco es decorating the royal palaces and castles around Scotland that he didn't notice what was in front of him. His mind was back on his job as Captain o' the Queen's Bodyguard – not the guard rotas and suchlike, but in the mind-set of identifying motives and detecting crime.
Sorch a was the queen here this night. Mirren had been out to sabotage this Tradition since the Vault, and maybe before. He'd see what showed in her face when the chieftain made love to his wife. He was good at reading faces. Had to be, in his job.
Was it because Ruaridh would be wi' another woman? Nay. She put up with his wenching. Encouraged it, by all accounts, except when she'd wanted another bairn, and that was no' way to keep a man. There was something she'd said… 'three men on the one barren wife'. A resentment was there – and maybe a fear the Tall Wife remedy would work?
What benefit would it be to Mirren if Sorcha had no bairns? Her own son would become chieftain – and there was a fine motive for a woman whose face showed her bad thoughts from sunrise on. Or worse, for he was trained to imagine the worst just in case, how would she benefit if Sorcha was gone? …Had she a notion for Niall?
And that thought pulled him back fast to his predicament. Niall and Ruaridh had once nicknamed him The Tripod when they were all daft young lads and showing off. But he'd been lonely here as he grew, for none o' the lassies would have him without a wedding first, and he'd preferred to try it out in a less complicated manner beforehand. One o' the wenches that refused him was honest enough to say it was because none o' the clansmen would take her after. He'd gone into the royal army and found plenty young widows at court were pleased to have him, and that got him by.
But t he only lass his heart had ever been set on was Cecily, and he was hoping she might be a wee bit sweet on him too. She'd messed up the entry code of knocks at his cottage door, and he knew it was her, because he was right behind it and heard what Hilde said.
And he'd see n her blushing the whole walk to the waterfall and throughout the cleansing and all the walk to the Vault. Anyone getting that flustered in his close presence was hiding something, and in her case it was unlikely to be a plot for the queen's kidnap. And she'd hardly even been pink about the gills after the Tradition's details were told, but there were plenty other folk around by then.
Even if she would take him, the trouble was that he'd never courted any lass. He'd no clue what to say, or how to go about it, for all the women at the palace came to him only for bedsport and most o' them the queen's friends and kinswomen. Never had he spent time with a lass, just their two selves.
Cicely's fetching him for a cleansing was certainly was far below his idea of a pleasant jaunt. Having her hands on him through a drying cloth was a far bigger ordeal to survive than any castle siege in Scotland. But it was grand being in her company. And watching her busy at her work. And imagining what they would have to talk about were it just their two selves there.
If only they shared some common interest... Maybe he could ask some advice from Niall or Ruaridh, now that he had a long leave of absence from court.
The subject of the fresco in front of him finally registered, and Hector brought himself back to the purpose of his Summons. The painting was of a goddess heavy with child. He would do this for the clan as best he could. Sorcha was a good lass. She deserved the Heir's Cradle filled. Niall and Ruaridh were themselves a lot bigger than most men, and at least if he
Hector was so used to fresco es decorating the royal palaces and castles around Scotland that he didn't notice what was in front of him. His mind was back on his job as Captain o' the Queen's Bodyguard – not the guard rotas and suchlike, but in the mind-set of identifying motives and detecting crime.
Sorch a was the queen here this night. Mirren had been out to sabotage this Tradition since the Vault, and maybe before. He'd see what showed in her face when the chieftain made love to his wife. He was good at reading faces. Had to be, in his job.
Was it because Ruaridh would be wi' another woman? Nay. She put up with his wenching. Encouraged it, by all accounts, except when she'd wanted another bairn, and that was no' way to keep a man. There was something she'd said… 'three men on the one barren wife'. A resentment was there – and maybe a fear the Tall Wife remedy would work?
What benefit would it be to Mirren if Sorcha had no bairns? Her own son would become chieftain – and there was a fine motive for a woman whose face showed her bad thoughts from sunrise on. Or worse, for he was trained to imagine the worst just in case, how would she benefit if Sorcha was gone? …Had she a notion for Niall?
And that thought pulled him back fast to his predicament. Niall and Ruaridh had once nicknamed him The Tripod when they were all daft young lads and showing off. But he'd been lonely here as he grew, for none o' the lassies would have him without a wedding first, and he'd preferred to try it out in a less complicated manner beforehand. One o' the wenches that refused him was honest enough to say it was because none o' the clansmen would take her after. He'd gone into the royal army and found plenty young widows at court were pleased to have him, and that got him by.
But t he only lass his heart had ever been set on was Cecily, and he was hoping she might be a wee bit sweet on him too. She'd messed up the entry code of knocks at his cottage door, and he knew it was her, because he was right behind it and heard what Hilde said.
And he'd see n her blushing the whole walk to the waterfall and throughout the cleansing and all the walk to the Vault. Anyone getting that flustered in his close presence was hiding something, and in her case it was unlikely to be a plot for the queen's kidnap. And she'd hardly even been pink about the gills after the Tradition's details were told, but there were plenty other folk around by then.
Even if she would take him, the trouble was that he'd never courted any lass. He'd no clue what to say, or how to go about it, for all the women at the palace came to him only for bedsport and most o' them the queen's friends and kinswomen. Never had he spent time with a lass, just their two selves.
Cicely's fetching him for a cleansing was certainly was far below his idea of a pleasant jaunt. Having her hands on him through a drying cloth was a far bigger ordeal to survive than any castle siege in Scotland. But it was grand being in her company. And watching her busy at her work. And imagining what they would have to talk about were it just their two selves there.
If only they shared some common interest... Maybe he could ask some advice from Niall or Ruaridh, now that he had a long leave of absence from court.
The subject of the fresco in front of him finally registered, and Hector brought himself back to the purpose of his Summons. The painting was of a goddess heavy with child. He would do this for the clan as best he could. Sorcha was a good lass. She deserved the Heir's Cradle filled. Niall and Ruaridh were themselves a lot bigger than most men, and at least if he
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