Beyond A Highland Whisper

Tonight Latharn was different.

He didn’t go any further than the hungry possession of her mouth or the desperate, crushing embrace. Nessa sensed he needed this night to be different. His body tensed beneath her touch, he restrained his caress as if he wanted her to reason rather than just shatter into mindless bliss.

He raised his head and gazed into her eyes. Nessa flinched at the depths of pain and frustration etched in his face. He struggled, trying to communicate, to connect with her deepest emotions without the use of words. He took his palm, flattened it against his heart then placed it upon her chest. His brows drawn together in a questioning frown, he tilted his head and waited for a sign that she understood.

Her lower lip quivered at the very obvious gesture. Nessa whispered and covered his hand with hers. “Are you telling me you love me?” Her whisper caught in her throat.

One corner of his mouth pulled up into a relieved smile as Latharn nodded and brushed his lips across hers. He took a deep breath as though steeling himself against his own deepest fears. He took her hand and repeated the heart touching gesture from her chest to his. Then he raised a brow and awaited her answer, anxiety filling his eyes.

A lone tear escaped down her cheek as Nessa stared at her hand splayed upon his broad chest. “You know I love you,” she murmured with a moan. “I just wish that you were real.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, pulling her into his arms to cradle her against his chest. Holding her close, he stroked her hair as she gave way to tears.

His arms tightened around her and he gently swayed as she softly wept in his arms.

Chapter One

MacKay Keep, Scotland, 1410

“Latharn, are ye sure ye never touched the lass?”

His father’s scowl burned across the room mere seconds ahead of the words.

The reproach in Laird Caelan MacKay’s voice stung Latharn like a physical blow. Tension knotted his muscles and his body stiffened with the bitterness pounding through his veins. Only years of respect for his father held his tongue. How could his father treat him this way? He wasn’t an irresponsible boy anymore. How dare he be treated like a lust-crazed lad!

The great hall of the MacKay keep spanned the largest part of the castle and housed every important gathering of the clan. Flexing his shoulders, Latharn inhaled a deep breath. From where he stood, the room shrank by the moment. He couldn’t believe his father had chosen the monthly clan meeting as a means for resolving this matter. How dare he try to shame Latharn into a confession by confronting him in front of his kinsmen. This ploy had worked well enough when Latharn was a lad. His father had used it often whenever he or his brothers had gotten into mischief. Latharn involuntarily flexed his buttocks in remembrance of punishment received after a confession ousted in just such a manner. However, he wasn’t a mischievous boy anymore. This was private; they could handle it between themselves.

Every man, woman, and child strained to hear Latharn’s reply. His father’s closest warriors leaned forward upon the benches. The servants peeped around the corners of the arches, their serving platters clenched to their chests. Latharn rubbed the back of his neck; his skin tingled from their piercing stares.

His father’s face flushed a decided shade of purple. Apparently, he’d delayed his answer long enough. Clipping his words just short of blatant disrespect, Latharn growled through a tight-lipped scowl. “How many times do I have to swear to ye, Father? I have never laid eyes on the MacKinnett lass. I canna bring her face to mind and I havena planted a child in her womb!”

The hall remained silent. Even the dogs sprawled beneath the tables ceased in their endless scuffling for scraps. The only sound breaking the tensed silence was the pop of the wood just thrown upon the fires.

With his hands curled into shaking fists, The MacKay pounded the arm of his chair centered at the head of the great hall. Laird MacKay raised his voice to a throaty growl as he edged forward in his chair. “The MacKinnett clan has always been allied with ours. Their lands join our southernmost borders. Must I tell ye how serious these allegations are to our families? The treaty between our clans has been solid for years. God’s beard, son! If ye’ve dishonored their family, there will be no more peace. This lass is the only daughter of their laird!”

His knuckles whitened on the arms of his chair as he continued his tirade. Laird MacKay tensed on the edge of his seat as though he were about to spring upon his prey. Heavily streaked with gray, Laird MacKay’s once-golden hair gave him the appearance of a battle-weary lion. Though his body showed subtle signs of an aging Highlander, his eyes still blazed as his roar echoed throughout the great hall.

“Always, ye’ve been one to skirt danger, Latharn! I will admit…’twas usually for the greater good. However, you yourself must also agree, there have been times when ye have yanked the tail of the sleeping dragon just to see if it would breathe fire. So far, your quick wit has kept ye safe from whatever troubles ye have stirred. But this time, I must know the absolute truth: did ye lie with The MacKinnett’s daughter?”

How many times was he going to ask him? Did he think he was going to change his answer? Anger surged through Latharn’s veins. Rage flashed through him like a cruel, biting wind. He crossed his arms as a barrier across his chest and curled his mouth into a challenging sneer. They didn’t believe him. No matter what he said, they didn’t believe his words. He read it in their eyes. He spit his words as though their bitter taste soured on his tongue. “I swear to ye upon all I hold sacred, I don’t even know the lass’s name!”

A brooding man the size of a mountain stood at Laird MacKay’s side. Stepping forward, he thrust an accusing finger toward Latharn’s chest as though he aimed a lance for the killing throw. “Since when did not knowing a lass’s name keep ye from tumbling her in your bed?” Latharn’s brother, Faolan, stalked forward upon the dais, shaking his head at his brother’s latest scandal. Faolan was the eldest of the MacKay sons, next in line to be laird. The look on his face plainly told Latharn he deemed his brother guilty on all charges as stated.

Latharn snarled. “Stay out of this, Faolan. Ye may have beat the rest of us out of Mother’s womb, but ye’re no’ the laird, yet.” Latharn met his brother’s glare, squaring his shoulders as he stalked forward to answer Faolan’s challenge.

How dare Faolan pass judgment against him? Latharn didn’t deny he’d enjoyed many a maid since he’d grown to be a man. However, that didn’t mean he’d ever treated them unkindly or shown them any disrespect. He’d sated them fully and when their time was done, he’d taken care to spare their feelings as best he could. Never once had Latharn been inclined to give of his heart…nor had he pretended to do so just to lure a pretty maiden to his bed.

“The lady’s name is Leanna and you will speak of her with respect.” The clear voice rang out through the archway of the hall, causing everyone’s heads to turn. Latharn’s mother, Rachel, emerged from an offset alcove, her eyes flashing in irritation toward her youngest son. “Her clan says she has named you as the father of her child. If she carries your child, Latharn, you
will
do right by her.”

Latharn winced as thunder rumbled in the distance. Whenever his mother’s emotions were in an upheaval, the weather’s stability always suffered. Rachel’s powers directly connected with the ebb and flow of the forces of nature. Her emotions meshed with the energies coursing through the physical realm. Thunder while Mother was clearly upset was never a promising sign.

Latharn’s heart sank as he heard the ring of doubt echo in his mother’s voice. She had always been his greatest champion. Whenever the rest of the family rushed to deem him guilty when trouble was in their midst, Rachel always kept an open mind until she’d heard his side of the story. If his mother already believed him guilty this time, how would he convince the rest of them he didn’t even know this lass existed?

Latharn had emerged as the youngest of the MacKay triplets. His name was Gaelic for “the fox” and it had served him well. Little did his parents know how aptly the title would fit when they had chosen it for the innocent babe. Whenever mischief occurred, the wily young Latharn had always been the first to be accused. But that same charm and cunning that was the source of all the mayhem also bailed him out of any trouble he’d caused. That is until now, until this latest uproar that had the entire family in such a stir.

Casting a furtive glance at his mother, Latharn wondered why he was to blame for the women always chasing him. It wasn’t as if he went a-whoring all over the country for just anyone to warm his bed. Since he had reached manhood, there didn’t seem to be a lass in the Highlands who could resist him. He didn’t know why they always sought him out. He didn’t do anything special. He was just nice to them…and they followed him to his bed. In fact, sometimes they didn’t follow him. Sometimes, he’d find them waiting for him when he arrived in his chambers. Latharn shifted in place and adjusted his kilt. A lass probably lurked in his private hallways this very minute. It had become somewhat of a problem escaping them.

Latharn had grown restless. Now that he was older, he’d grown weary of their freely given charms. A quick tumble with a lass was once an incomparable elation. Now the euphoria had dimmed. The satisfaction had dulled to basic physical release. Even while lying spent in erotic exhaustion with a sated lass cooing by his side, Latharn knew there had to be more.

Of late, he’d found a night spent in a luscious maiden’s arms left his heart troubled, as though a question nagged at the tip of his tongue and the answer danced just beyond his reach. No matter her beauty, no matter her sweetness, they all left him empty and cold. Loneliness settled over him like a weight crushing on his chest.

There had to be more then the mere physical pleasure of losing himself in a woman’s embrace. He knew there was more to be found. The security of his parents’ love for each other had strengthened their family as far back as he could remember. He sought that glow of contentment he’d seen in his parents’ eyes when their gaze met across a room. No matter how many years had passed between them, the look they shared never changed. He ached for the connection his parents had found. He longed to lose himself in another’s eyes and speak volumes without saying a word. It was time he cradled his newborn child in his arms, with his loving wife nestled at his side.

Latharn stifled a shudder; the tension gnawed at his gut. The expressions on their faces told him so much more than words. They’d never believe the things he’d done to avoid the women vying for his embrace. His emptiness ached like a festering wound that refused to heal. He decided to search for the elusive answer by honing his mystical powers. He’d hoped by refining and perfecting his magical gifts, he might solve the mystery of his untouchable heart.

Of late, he’d been so engrossed in sharpening his goddess-given powers, he’d not even
walked
with a woman in the gardens for several months. He’d been holed up in the northern tower of the keep. There was no way he fathered the MacKinnett woman’s child. By Amergin’s beard, it had to have been at least five full moons since he’d been outside the castle skirting walls!

The air of the keep closed in around him; the sweltering heat of too many bodies shoved in one room added to his discomfort. Latharn raked his hands through his hair and tore himself from his tortured musings. His mother glared at him, her foot tapping. Perhaps it was the fire that flashed in her eyes bringing the heat to his skin. “I know of no Leanna MacKinnett!” he ground out through clenched teeth. Latharn braced himself for his family’s damning replies. His gut already wrenched with the unspoken accusations springing from their eyes.

Raking his own hands through his graying hair, Laird MacKay expelled a heavy sigh. Fixing his gaze on his son with a disappointed glower, he dropped his hands to the arms of his chair. “Their
bana-buidhseach
will arrive at any time. Their clan will not be satisfied with your denials until their seer has had a chance to speak with ye and weigh the truth of your words.”

Latharn turned to his mother. There was one more thing he had to say in his defense. He didn’t care if the rest of the MacKay clan didn’t believe him. His mother would believe his innocence.

“Mother! As many abandoned bairns as I’ve rescued while on my travels, as many waifs as I’ve brought home to this clan… Do ye
honestly
think I would be able to deny a child of my own blood, a child I had sired? Do ye truly think I would turn my back on a bairn of my very own?”

Latharn towered over his mother, peering down into her eyes and opening his soul to her senses. She had to believe him. He trusted his mother’s intuition to see the truth in his heart. His voice fell to a defeated whisper as he groaned and repeated his earlier words.

“I swear to ye, Mother. I
am not
the father of the woman’s child. I know of no Leanna MacKinnett!”

Rachel’s hand fluttered to her throat and she slowly nodded. “I believe you, Latharn. Moreover, I will do what I can to shield you from their
bana-buidhseach
. I hear this woman’s powers are amazing, perhaps even stronger than mine. But I’ll do whatever I can to protect you from any evil that may be traveling upon the mists.”

With a heaviness in his chest and a catch in his voice, Latharn rasped into his mother’s hair, “
Your
belief in me is all I’ve ever needed, Mother. Ye know I would never bring dishonor to our family or shame upon our clan.” He brushed his lips across his mother’s cheek just as chaos erupted at the archway of the hall.

Her shrill cry echoed through the keep as the MacKinnett
bana-buidhseach
screeched like an enraged crow. “I demand retribution for Clan MacKinnett. That heartless cur has sullied Leanna MacKinnett’s good name!”

The bent old woman rocked to and fro at the entrance to the hall, brandishing her gnarled walking stick overhead like a weapon. Her white hair hung in tangled shocks across her stooped shoulders. Her black eyes glittered in her shriveled face, like a rat’s beady eyes from a darkened corner. Her somber robes swept the rush-covered floor with every dragging step. Even the brawniest Highlander in the crowd faded back as she hitched her way to the front of the cavernous room.