Page 30 of Tair

“I dinnae ken your words, but that, ’tis the kindest I’ve ever heard him speak to an outsider,” Lochran said. “You’ve earned his respect, I reckon, and you ken you’ve mine. The laird values your counsel and your company.”

That’s not all he values, Lucy thought.

“Tair may like my advice, Night Watch, and you enjoy my company, but no one else likes me being here. I’ve gotten that memo many times,” she assured him. “You can tell Beinn to stop making the morning threats. Also, your seneschal really needs to stop with the unkempt, possibly diseased maid service.”

“You dinnae seem to care for Sgathan,” he said, as if inviting her to tell him why.

“Let’s not talk about Sgathan.” She and the seneschal would never be friends, but he wasn’t like Scary Twin. “I’d like to know something about his brother, Big, Dark and Psychotic.”

The big man took a drink from his mug before he asked, “I’m no’ certain who you mean. Do you ken his given name?”

“How many brothers does he have?” Lucy countered, aghast to think the twins might be triplets.

“Me, the laird, and all the other MacRune,” Lochran told her. “We share the same sire, Rune. Surely you’ve noticed the likenesses we share.”

“So that’s why you’re all huge, black-haired and ready to brawl at a moment’s notice?” When he nodded she sat back. “But there are hundreds of you here. How could your father have so many sons? The record in my time is only eighty-something—and where are all of your sisters?”

“”Tisnae my place…you must speak of such with the laird,” he said, nodding toward the room behind the curtain where Lucy had had sex with Tair.

“I’ll mention it to him later.” Just not now, she decided. “So what does Big, Dark and Psychotic do around here, anyway?”

Tair watched through the curtain as Lucy collected the empty dishes on her table, placing them on a tray and carrying them off as she walked with Lochran toward the kitchens. She also caught his arm and adjusted his direction to prevent him from walking into a maid carrying a platter of food. Her show of kindness toward his day-blind brother made Tair’s hands curl into fists.

She likes him. Mayhap more than she cares for me.

Before dawn he had unchained Lucy and left her fast asleep as had become his habit. She had learned her way around the stronghold quickly, and managed every encounter with his surly, bad-tempered brothers like an exasperated maiden aunt. In a few weeks she would likely take over the castle and have the garrison obey her commands instead of his.

When would she do his bidding? he wondered, ignoring the constant throb in his smalls from his neglected cock.

“Forgive me, my lord,” Beinn said from behind him, hanging his head like a guilt-riddled bairn. After his encounter with Lucy earlier he’d come to confess his mistake. “I didnae apply the scar paste proper, and she saw, for she yanked it from my face–”

“Dinnae fret, lad.” He’d have to remind Sgathan that their simple-natured brother should not be used anymore to attempt to frighten Lucy. For one so large the lad had ever been bashful, and while his size and appearance often terrified outsiders who beheld him for the first time, he could never be as convincing as the rest of the clan. “Return to your duties.”

“Aye, my lord. My thanks, my lord.” After several quick bows Beinn fled.

While it had been some time since they’d come together in here, Tair could still smell a trace of Lucy. She left her scent everywhere to linger and torment him, but here she’d made him spill like a lad with his first woman. He pushed aside those heated memories, for if he recalled too much his shaft would remain stiff and swollen all day. Did the wench even realize what she was doing to him by making him wait? Was this her revenge for the night she’d spent in the dungeons?

“You shouldnae dally with Mistress Brooke,” Dorchad said as he brought over a pitcher of ale and refilled his goblet. “She’s far too clever, and suspected us even before Beinn’s blunder. Send her off to work in the village.”

“She doesnae ken how to do their work.” The thought of her growing fond of and possibly marrying one of the village men made his gut clench.

The chieftain grunted. “The baker’s wench married and went south last summer; he’s yet to replace her and he doesnae grow younger.”

Tair knew the baker he spoke of; he was an old man slowly losing his battle with various ailments of age. His wife had long ago died in childbirth, and he had raised his only daughter alone. He would be glad of the help and companionship, he imagined, and would treat Lucy well. Only the prospect made his gut knot. The thought of his golden-haired beauty rising just after midnight to stoke the baker’s ovens and prepare dough for the day’s baking made Tair lift his goblet and drain it in three swallows. She was too fair for such hard work; she should do naught but stay in his bed all day, preferably naked. Yet if she did he’d never leave his bed chamber.

He couldn’t say as much to Dorchad, but he was curious as to why his second wished sorely to be rid of Lucy. He had never cared for any female, either.

“Why do you hate women?” he asked his chieftain. “Because your lady màthair abandoned you and Sgathan as bairns to die in the snow?”

Dorchad didn’t answer, but then a horn blew, and he went to the arrow loop to look out at the inner bailey.

“’Tis a messenger come to the gates,” he said. “He wears the MacAlen’s pasty colors.”

Tair rubbed his tired eyes. Aside from the stupit pledge he’d made to permit Lucy time to decide if she wished to become his lover, he did not stop outsiders from coming to the island. If he’d had his watchers kill the first dozen or so that crossed the waters to plague him they would have stopped, but it was too late for that. Now the facking MacAlen was sending him facking messages again. The man was like the pestilence, always returning.

A chilly wind blasted through the arrow loop, making Dorchad swivel to one side.

“I should go and discover what the MacAlen requests, my lord.” The chieftain bowed and left.