Page 4 of Wicked Passions

The last Sutherland heiress!

His shoulders fell. Marriage to Lady Isla would solve all his woes, but he may as well wish to conquer the sky. Men would come from all corners of Scotland to compete for such a treasure. Skilled, athletic warriors, worthy of her hand.

Devil take it. A failure he would remain.

And his clan would be slowly destroyed.

* * *

After twenty-eight summers on this earth, he’d learned one thing: those he loved were destined never to love him in return. His mother and father. His clan.

Callum.

Alastair Graham leaned against the cool stone wall, just to keep distance between himself and his laird. Any closer and he would be tempted to gaze into those near-silver eyes that reminded him of spring rain, stroke his hair, and listen to his cares so he might thrash whoever had displeased or harmed him. But Callum didn’t want that; he’d made his thoughts quite plain after their unforgettable night together. Since then, a fierce battle raged within Alastair each day: to stay and endure this half-life or leave to no life at all. He always remained. Never would he abandon his laird, not when he needed him so much. But plague take it, this choice was difficult to bear.

If he had any regrets, it was that one night. Protecting his laird, assisting him each day would be so much easier if he didn’t know the heaven of hot kisses, the sweet sound of Callum’s pleasured moans, the feverish ride to release followed by the peace of embracing until dawn. Since his banishment from Callum’s bed he’d been in a terrible state, desperately needing the release of a good fuck and yet unwilling to take another, lass or lad. He couldn’t. Not after having Callum.

Sometimes he wondered if Lady Maude guessed that the friendship between her only child and the lad she’d fostered had gone further. She never said a word about it; yet the clan healer saw far deeper into the souls of men than they liked or wished. Those fathomless violet eyes missed nothing.

“Callum,” said Alastair eventually, when the silence in the cozy library stretched too long. “You must try for Lady Isla’s hand in the tourney. Not just for the dowry and a friendship with the Sutherlands, but the lass herself. She’s bold and strong and would give you fine children.”

The words actually hurt to say. But he had to set aside the frustration and jealousy at the thought of Callum with another, for the clan that had saved his life and given him the only home he’d ever known, were in the worst kind of trouble. He would do whatever it took to ensure the survival of the MacIntyres, even if that meant losing the man he loved forever.

His laird sighed. “I fear it would be a wasted journey. What chance would I have?”

“Every chance,” he said too-fiercely.

Lady Maude glanced his way, but merely nodded. “Listen to Alastair, my son. It won’t be one of the English tourneys that your father so loved. James is a modern king. A scholar, much like yourself. He won’t risk death or serious injury to the most important men in his realm, it will be a tourney in name only, an occasion for pageantry and color to show all comers that Scotland is not inferior, but a great kingdom.”

“You think?” said Callum, looking unconvinced.

“Aye. James uses force when given no choice, but at heart he is a gallant. Lady Isla could not have suggested a more pleasing idea, for in the guise of granting her a boon, he helps himself far more. You and Alastair must go. I beg you.”

Silence again filled the library, and when Alastair sent Callum a pointed glance, the younger man sighed and held up his hands in surrender. Many would hear Maude’s words as no more than a motherly lecture, but they knew better. She’d seen something in the mist of her mind. It didn’t happen often, but her words always came to pass. He had more reason than most to be grateful for the gift; it was the reason he’d been found all those years ago and brought back here to the castle.

“Very well,” said Callum. “But what of you, Mother?”

“I shall remain here and guard your lands, of course,” said Maude in a lofty tone that suggested it had been a foolish question.

Alastair almost smiled. The Lady of Glennoe might be English, but she was as bold and brave as any Highland woman. If Lady Isla was of similar character—as she’d been caught disguised as a lad and sword fighting, he couldn’t believe otherwise—then a laird with complementary traits like an even temper, kind heart, and scholarly mind, might make a favorable impression at least. But success would all depend on what the tourney events were.

“There’ll be men at arms to assist you, lady,” he said, more to ease Callum’s anxiety. Despite a fractured relationship with his father, he’d been grief-stricken at his death. But to lose his beloved mother as well…that, Callum would not recover from.

“I shall go and advise them now,” said Maude, dipping into a curtsy. “Do not forget to take your satchel of herbs, salves, and poultices to Stirling, my son. On the morrow, I shall bless your journey and bid you both farewell with a glad heart. Good day to you. And you, Alastair.”

After she departed, Callum walked across the library to his favorite ‘thinking’ window. As he’d discarded his mantle in the warmth of the fire-heated room and wore only an embroidered doublet and hose, his unhurried gait offered prime viewing of his perfect arse.

“A tourney in Stirling to try and win a rich wife,” Callum said, absently tracing a pattern in the cool stone with his elegant fingers. “Not how I foresaw my next few weeks.”

Alastair moved closer, attracted like a moth to flame. “Leave such gifts to your lady mother. She is never wrong.”

His laird nodded. “She did bring you home, after all. And also assumed you would travel with me to Stirling. But I shall ask. Will you be at my side for the tourney?”

At your side? Always.

“Yes,” he rasped, placing one paw of a hand on his laird’s narrow shoulder. “Callum—”

The younger man inhaled unsteadily. “I feel all at sea not even knowing what events I must take part in, and there’ll be men twice my size from all over Scotland eager to humiliate me on the field. After that, if by some miracle I win, my reward is wedding a stranger.”