The Chieftain Needs an Heir - a Highland ménage novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions) by Jonnet Carmichael Page B
Authors: Jonnet Carmichael
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their necks when the circle was called in again.
Sorcha stared to the burning logs, trying to find grief for her lost friendship with Mirren, and discovering instead that the flames purified her thoughts of a person who would stop her filling the Heir's Cradle in the traditional way of the clan. The fire's dance in front of her was a help now. In her mind's eye it was in Niall's bedchamber with a chair beside it, and she watched him hold their son in his big hands, and smile at her belly growing with another.
That was her dream. She would do everything in her power to make it come true, and if that meant holding onto the arch while his Spend was pushed further in by Ruaridh and Hector, so be it.
And it crossed her mind that she knew plenty of women at the royal court who would do such a thing just for the fun of it. Her duty was to do nothing at all and yet be blissed three times by three men. A novelty that might never happen again in her whole life. Indeed, if she wanted to clench very strongly during her blisses to pull in the Spend, the more she enjoyed it the better.
She wondered how long it would be before Oona started the remedy. Her toes were still tingling on the Venus Star, and now the heat from the fire was fevering her for Niall's touch.
Niall looked to the fresco of a man's hands holding a babe , and the babe holding the single eagle feather in his wee fist. Trained by his father to quickly interpret any scene he burst in upon, he'd taken in the general theme when first he emerged from the passage. This would be the wee lad who grew to Chief near the end of the paintings' story, and conceived at its beginning at the arch. This would be the babe he saw in his vision of victory. Time was an odd thing. Always ye could look back, and whiles ye got to see forward.
And that damnable Mirren was trying to spoil it for him and Sorcha. A wily minx, she was, flirting with him and his friends. His brother never could see past her buxom tits to her devious ways. It would bother her none for Ruaridh to take part in this – and they had all witnessed Traditions far stranger.
Sorcha had fussed over their two bairns and loved them like the ones she didna have, and Mirren couldna stand to have her own bairns second best when the Heir's Cradle came to be filled. Ruaridh was different, giving him sensible advice on keeping his ballocks cooled and never wearing breeches instead o' his kilt. A good brother. He didna mind him being wi' Sorcha if it helped fill that cradle, and he knew it would take more than a misbehaving wife to put Ruaridh MacKrannan off his stroke.
And that thought took him to Sorcha's daily companion until the preparations for this Tradition. Mirren. If she was willing to risk banishment from the clan to stop Sorcha having bairns, what else had she been up to before this? His gut told him there was more to find beyond the many insults in her words. He'd ask the Wisewomen, the best spies he'd ever had.
Niall took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He must focus now on what would be lying ahead for him… or standing upright for him, according to the Rules. Right glad he was o' the experience his Coupling of the Chieftain Tradition had given him in being witnessed in the act. Right proud he was that Sorcha was no' going to be skittish about his brother and cousin's involvement. A chieftain's wife, ever brave and up for anything. He hungered to Spend inside her. One bliss she could have wi' him? He'd make her clench so tight…
And what in hell's name had the Wisewomen done to her? He'd never seen her bonnier! The fire toasting her lovely backside was no' enough to explain the smoulder coming out her eyes when first he'd espied her this night. Those flaxen locks fairly glinted in the candlelight, and her skin looked as if lit by a thousand more candles inside her. It was a long, long time since he'd seen Sorcha look this
Sorcha stared to the burning logs, trying to find grief for her lost friendship with Mirren, and discovering instead that the flames purified her thoughts of a person who would stop her filling the Heir's Cradle in the traditional way of the clan. The fire's dance in front of her was a help now. In her mind's eye it was in Niall's bedchamber with a chair beside it, and she watched him hold their son in his big hands, and smile at her belly growing with another.
That was her dream. She would do everything in her power to make it come true, and if that meant holding onto the arch while his Spend was pushed further in by Ruaridh and Hector, so be it.
And it crossed her mind that she knew plenty of women at the royal court who would do such a thing just for the fun of it. Her duty was to do nothing at all and yet be blissed three times by three men. A novelty that might never happen again in her whole life. Indeed, if she wanted to clench very strongly during her blisses to pull in the Spend, the more she enjoyed it the better.
She wondered how long it would be before Oona started the remedy. Her toes were still tingling on the Venus Star, and now the heat from the fire was fevering her for Niall's touch.
Niall looked to the fresco of a man's hands holding a babe , and the babe holding the single eagle feather in his wee fist. Trained by his father to quickly interpret any scene he burst in upon, he'd taken in the general theme when first he emerged from the passage. This would be the wee lad who grew to Chief near the end of the paintings' story, and conceived at its beginning at the arch. This would be the babe he saw in his vision of victory. Time was an odd thing. Always ye could look back, and whiles ye got to see forward.
And that damnable Mirren was trying to spoil it for him and Sorcha. A wily minx, she was, flirting with him and his friends. His brother never could see past her buxom tits to her devious ways. It would bother her none for Ruaridh to take part in this – and they had all witnessed Traditions far stranger.
Sorcha had fussed over their two bairns and loved them like the ones she didna have, and Mirren couldna stand to have her own bairns second best when the Heir's Cradle came to be filled. Ruaridh was different, giving him sensible advice on keeping his ballocks cooled and never wearing breeches instead o' his kilt. A good brother. He didna mind him being wi' Sorcha if it helped fill that cradle, and he knew it would take more than a misbehaving wife to put Ruaridh MacKrannan off his stroke.
And that thought took him to Sorcha's daily companion until the preparations for this Tradition. Mirren. If she was willing to risk banishment from the clan to stop Sorcha having bairns, what else had she been up to before this? His gut told him there was more to find beyond the many insults in her words. He'd ask the Wisewomen, the best spies he'd ever had.
Niall took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He must focus now on what would be lying ahead for him… or standing upright for him, according to the Rules. Right glad he was o' the experience his Coupling of the Chieftain Tradition had given him in being witnessed in the act. Right proud he was that Sorcha was no' going to be skittish about his brother and cousin's involvement. A chieftain's wife, ever brave and up for anything. He hungered to Spend inside her. One bliss she could have wi' him? He'd make her clench so tight…
And what in hell's name had the Wisewomen done to her? He'd never seen her bonnier! The fire toasting her lovely backside was no' enough to explain the smoulder coming out her eyes when first he'd espied her this night. Those flaxen locks fairly glinted in the candlelight, and her skin looked as if lit by a thousand more candles inside her. It was a long, long time since he'd seen Sorcha look this
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