Chapter 6: Chapter Six
Though he tried not to over the next several days, Cameron kept finding his thoughts and gaze turning to Brenna whenever she was in his vicinity—and when she wasn’t. He should be able to get her out of his mind, but he was having far too much difficulty doing so.
When he was nowhere near her, he was antsy and anxious, wondering at her state of being and if she was doing well. When he was nearby, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from her for more than a few minutes at a time. At least he observed she seemed to be fitting in well enough, but there was still a clear separation between her and his clan.
He thought part of that might be because of the English dress she continued to wear, so a few days after he’d taken her to the kitchen to work for Dolag, he found her in the Great Hall cleaning each fireplace. He stepped up beside her, looking down. His gaze wandered to the curve of her hip and the gently jutting roundness of her buttocks in the dress.
Realizing his slip, he quickly cleared his throat and looked away. She looked up at him, her face streaked with soot, and it made her incredibly appealing in a way he couldn’t explain rather than putting him off wanting to touch her. To forestall the impulse, he tucked his thumbs into the belt holding together his plaid as he looked down at her. “Do you have a moment, Miss Taggart?”
She looked down for second and then nodded. “Yes, Laird Balfour.”
“Then come with me.” He led her across the hall, not having to take her far. He had brought the arasaid and léines with him when he came down that morning. He nodded to the stack of clothing on table. It was a modest amount, but it would help her. “Those are for you,” he said a bit gruffly.
She looked at them uncertainly for a moment. “You wish me to dress like the women of your clan, Laird Balfour?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “You cannae continue to wear that filthy English rag.”
His word had the unintended effect of making her blush, and she looked down as though shamed. “They are frightful, and I have tried washing them, but—”
He shook his head. “It matters not, lass. I did not say it to shame you, but to illustrate you need more clothing. These are my mother’s, taken from her trunk. They might be a bit musty and require some airing out, but they should be serviceable for you. She might’ve been a bit larger in size, but the léine is forgiving, and the arasaid can be tucked in with a belt. If you require assistance, I am certain Dolag would show you the proper way to wrap the arasaid and wear it over the léine.”
She nodded as she wiped her hands on the black cloth tied around her dress, which was starting to look ragged and was already stained. “Thank you, Laird. Is there somewhere I can freshen up? I have not yet had a chance to ask Dolag if there is a stream nearby, and I would never presume to ask for a bath now that I am working in the kitchens.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to offer her a bath anyway, but he realized that was overstepping bounds, particularly since he was trying to ease her transition into the clan. That required treating her as he would anyone else of her station, so he said, “If you walk about a quarter-mile from the castle into the woods, you will find a stream where most people bathe.”
She nodded her appreciation. “I shall see to it this evening then. I thank you again, Laird Balfour.”
He nodded. “Of course, but I should warn you the water is cold. It comes down from the Highland streams, which isn’t too far to travel, but it’s even colder at those elevations than here, so you’d best brace yourself, lass.”
She nodded again. “Will it be all right if I take these things to my space before I return to work, sir?”
He nodded and waved her way, unable to resist the urge to observe her go. He watched the direction she disappeared down the hallway, knowing she shared quarters with one or more of the other kitchen staff on the lower levels, and convincing himself he had no right to follow to find out where she was. Simple concern could turn to an obsession if he allowed it, for something about Brenna drew him in, and he was afraid he might not be able to resist her.
“What has you looking like a pensive sheep?” asked Ian as he entered the Great Hall in the accompaniment of Ross and Stewart. They were all sweaty, indicating they had been in the courtyard practicing, and Cameron was embarrassed, realizing he should’ve been there as well instead of ensuring their English guest, if he could use that word, had new clothing. She should be banished from his mind completely by now, and he shook his head with disgust at his inattention to other, more important matters. “I was heading to practice, Ian.”
“You certainly look as though you’re heading that direction,” jibed his brother with a smirk. “What has you so deeply in thought, brother?” Ian fluttered his incredibly long lashes in a ridiculous way. “Is she English, with long black hair?”
“Enough,” said Cameron in a tone that cut through his brother’s teasing and the other men’s laughter at his expense. “I do not know what you are talking about, but if you’re still up for practice, I could use a round.”
“We are always up for a go at you,” said Ross with a grin.
Cameron was aware of that, knowing the words could be interpreted in more ways than one. They did like to make him the subject of their teasing, which generally didn’t bother him. It was only when it was something personal, something involving Brenna, that it set his hackles rising and put him on edge.
He knew he was acting uncharacteristically, and worse, they knew it too. Had they figured out why? It seemed obvious they must have, and he braced himself for more teasing, but he was relieved to find they were focused on the task of practicing war.
They spent the next two hours engaged in battle, shifting seamlessly in and out of their dragon-forms as they flew through the air, dodged, parried, swooped, and landed, all changing back and forth as needed. It felt seamless and natural, but even amid focusing on paying attention to the maneuvers directed toward him, Cameron wasn’t entirely able to banish Brenna from his thoughts.
***
He looked for her at dinner, but he didn’t see her at the bench normally occupied by the kitchen staff, who arrived later than others to share the meal. Dolag was there, and Glynis slipped in a short time after the others had begun their meal, but there was no sign of Brenna. He tried not to worry to start with, but by the time the meal had nearly finished with no sight of her, he was on edge and concerned.
He was afraid Walstone had somehow found his way onto Balfour land, managing to bypass Dolag’s magic that protected it and alerted them to intruders, and had snatched Brenna away while she was making her way to the stream. Why did he let her go alone? He knew she wasn’t just some kitchen girl, and he shouldn’t have treated her that way. He was far more invested in her than he could ever imagine being in someone else, and his heart was racing with true worry by the time he abandoned his meal, not waiting for the others to finish. He simply stood up and strode away, aware of a brief silence before talk resumed, but he didn’t look back.
As soon as he was outside the keep, Cameron started running. He jumped off the top stair, transitioning to his dragon as he did so and smoothly taking flight. It was the fastest way to cover ground and would allow him to have a better view of where she might be. He flapped his wings, trying to temper his speed with the need to maintain observance, for he didn’t want to speed past her and not even notice.
By the time he spotted her a few minutes later, he was a nervous wreck. He dropped down to a clearing shortly ahead of her, transforming back from the dragon before she reached him. He rushed toward her then, uncaring about the ragged state of his clothing that had torn when he shifted without bothering to discard it first.
She looked shaken, but worse than that, there was blood on her face. Her lip was swollen, and there was blood trickling out the corner of her mouth. Her eye was also black, and he cursed as he rushed to her side. “What has happened to you, Brenna?”
She blinked rapidly, as though battling tears, but her shoulders firmed, and her lips stopped trembling. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
He scowled. “You do not look fine. You look as though someone has beaten you. Was it one of my people?”
She didn’t meet his gaze. “I am fine, Laird Balfour. I would like to return to the keep.”
He realized then she was carrying her damp English dress, and she was wearing the clothing that had belonged to his mother. Unfortunately, it had been ripped by someone, the arasaid fashioned from the clan’s plaid hanging askew out of the belt, with the sleeve of the léine torn down to the elbow. “Who did this?” His tone was pure ice, and he strove to soften it slightly when she shivered, not wanting her to think he was angry with her. “You must tell me what happened.”
She blinked again. “Some of your clan did not like me wearing your plaid, Laird Balfour. As soon as my dress dries, I shall switch back.”
He scowled. “You will not. I have given you the clothing of my mother, and you shall wear it. I think it is time to make it clear you have my protection.”
Her eyes widened, and her lips trembled as he swept her into his arms. She was resistant for a moment, but then she stopped struggling. “I do not know what you are doing.”
“I’m returning you to the castle as quickly as possible to clean up your wounds, and also to show you are mine to protect.”
“But why?” she asked before gasping in fear as he changed to the dragon. He held her carefully in his claws, cradling her like he would a fine stash of gold, but he couldn’t answer her in his current state. He tried probing her mind, but she didn’t seem receptive, so he realized she didn’t have the power to communicate with him while he was in his dragon-form. It wasn’t unexpected, but it was still a disappointment.
He flew as fast as he could back to the keep, landing at the top step as he transitioned back to his human form, grasping her firmly in his arms. He hurried into the Great Hall, finding it mostly deserted now that dinner had passed. Dolag and Glynis were clearing up, and Dolag gasped. Glynis looked down, not taking her attention from her tasks. He nodded to Dolag. “Send for Agnes.”
“Do not do that,” said Brenna firmly before softening her tone. “I mean, it is unnecessary, Laird Balfour. It’s a little bleeding and bruising. I hardly need to see the apothecary for that.”
He scowled at her for a moment before shaking his head at Dolag. “Never mind.”
“Yes, Laird,” said Dolag, her mouth still half open. “What happened?”
“Something that will never happen again,” said Cameron in a tone lined with steel. “Spread the word that Brenna is under my protection, and anyone who lays a hand on her is challenging me directly.”
Glynis gasped and looked up then, her eyes wide. “You cannae mean it, Laird Balfour. Think what you are declaring.”
“I know what I am doing, Glynis.” He turned away from her, no longer sparing the blonde any of his attention as he rushed Brenna up the stairs and into his chambers. He didn’t feel reassured until he had the door closed and locked behind them, and he placed her on the bed.
“Stay there,” he said with a note of warning as he went to the pitcher and basin on his nightstand and dipped in a piece of flannel plaid. The water was cold, but it would still serve its purpose, and he returned quickly to her, wiping away the blood and then gently probing her wounds to ensure they weren’t too deep. “Now will you tell me who did this?”
She shook her head. “I must deal with it myself, Laird Balfour.”
“You will call me Cameron.” He growled the words to her, unable to hide the note of possessiveness in his tone. “You will scream out my name in pleasure as your sheath coaxes out every last drop of my release. You will say my name a thousand times.”
She frowned. “I do not understand.”
“One night was not enough.” He made the confession as he bent his head, leaning forward to kiss her neck in a gentle fashion. “I need much more of you, Brenna.” He kissed her again. “Tell me it is the same for you.” As he asked, he knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his as he stared into her eyes. “Do you feel this pull between us?”
After a hesitation, she nodded, and her arms came around him. He held her close, enjoying the quiet of the moment and the gentleness of her embrace for a long second before either of them progressed. When her lips shyly stroked the column of his throat, it reminded him of the passion flaring between them, a passion he had unsuccessfully banked, and that had driven him to this point of madness and desperation.
He knew not what he had with Brenna but sensed it could be something special. She could be his mate, though he recognized the difficulties in taking an English witch as his mate. It was clear her welcome wouldn’t necessarily be warm among all members of the clan, but he was confident he could protect her, and he refused to further deny the passion between them.