Free Beneath a Dark Highland Sky: Book #3 by Kelly Jameson Page B

child, his father had been stern and strict. The only gifts he gave Murry as a lad were silver spoons. What lad wanted a silver spoon? Children wish for play things. Murry had determined when he was a man his own children would have such play things, and he made them himself, with love and care.
    Many a night when they were wee children, Murry had told Sorcha and her brothers wondrous and frightening tales in this room as the sea raged outside. Sometimes he moved the puppets as he talked, a twinkle in his eyes.
    They always begged to hear the tale of Cailleach, or “the old wife.” Cailleach was a one-eyed hag who had tusks like a wild boar. She was a spell caster who could split mountains with her hammer and raise great storms. She loved darkness, desolation, and winter. Numerous wild animals followed her about—deer, goats, and of course, wild boars. When she thwarted one of her son’s torrid love affairs, he turned her into a mountain boulder overlooking the sea, and she had to remain that way until summer turned once more to winter. ‘Twas said she stole children and roasted them in her cave and that her sons were two-headed giants. 
    Resentment flared inside Sorcha as she thought of the father and brothers she so sorely missed, their lives cut short by a quick-tempered king who feared the Douglas reach. She lit the candles on the bedside table and the flames illuminated the space. Then she lit a fire in the hearth.
    No sooner had she finished and there was a knock on the door. She froze. But it was Nessa who wobbled into the room and Sorcha let out her breath. Tripping on the hem of her gown, Nessa fell into Sorcha’s arms and giggled.
                  “Ye’ve had far too much whisky!” Sorcha said. “And we havena had the e’ening meal yet!”
                  “Was I nae a good actress?” Nessa sat on the bed and put her hand to her head. “Och, but the room willna stop spinning.”
                  “Yer playing yer part vera well,” Sorcha said.
    “Ha’e I repulsed him sufficiently? Disgusted him? Shocked him with my ill manners? Do ye think they will all leave in the morning?”
                  “It was a grand first performance, but I dunna think the oaf has any plans to depart on the morrow. I dunna think it will be that easy.” She frowned. “Would ye really ha’e struck me, Nessa, when I spilled whisky on the Maclean?”
                  “Mayhap. But nae hard. I wouldna ha’e hit ye hard . Ye said to make my performance believable, did ye nae?” Nessa flounced backward on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
    Sorcha grabbed her hand. “Sit up! The servants will soon be here with the tub and the water. Ye canna be found here by the laird, whispering with me. What else do I need to do?” She looked around the room and tried not to panic.
                  Nessa sighed. “I didna expect him to be so…handsome. Ye ken? He is nae a hideous oaf, as we thought he would be. He doesna stink or yell or spit or belch or boast.”
    Sorcha furrowed her brows. “’Tis early yet. Give him time.”
    “Truly I didna expect such tartan, drab clothing, though. He wears no gold or gems and pulls his black hair back loosely with a leather thong. He almost looks like a cleric the way he is dressed! Except he’s much too sensual looking to be a cleric. Hmmm…he looks more like a devil if ye ask me. They say he looks vera much like his father, and they call his father the Black Wolf. ‘Tis easy to see why.”
                  “Nessa, we canna forget who he is, a boorish Highlander who will take e’erything from us if we let him.”
                  “Ye ha’e the lucky duty of bathing him, of seeing his hard, naked muscles dripping with water….”
                  “’Tis surely the whisky talking! Now tell me, how do I bathe a man? I ken ye’ve done so many times. I’ve ne’er had to. Tell