Page 17 of Highlander’s Wild Lass (Wild McLeans #1)

16

A nthony was up before Celestia once again, pestering Mrs. Duncan for provisions for her journey to Inverness. “She’ll need food on the road, water for the horses.” He followed her two steps behind as she maneuvered through the corridors. “Do ye think she needs a knife? Or a gun?”

“Anthony! Will ye slow down, the lass will be fine. She probably doesnae even ken how to shoot, so nay gun.”

He felt an unsteadiness in his entire body and ordering Mrs. Duncan about was only helping a small bit. Anthony nearly took Celestia last night when they got into bed, his body and mind hypersensitive whenever she was close by. He forced restraint on himself, unwilling to feel the banging of his heart and the distraction she caused.

“Ye ken it’s only two hours to Inverness. It’s nae a long journey, lad,” Mrs. Duncan said with a twinge of irritation in her tone. “I’ll get a few provisions together and fill a saddle flask.”

With that, she shooed him away.

He stalked through the hallways, unsure what to do with himself. He wanted to go with her, but that would look like he was tryin’ to overstep the boundary of their marriage agreement.

“My, my, my, my...”

Anthony’s head snapped upward, looking toward the upstairs balcony. Leaning against the banister, looking down at him with smirks on their faces were Chester and Hugo.

“Ye look quite vexed, brother,” Hugo called down to him, voice echoing in the high ceiling.

Chester snorted out a laugh.

Anthony pointed at them, the muscles tightening in his back. “Be in the courtyard immediately after ye break yer fast. Ye will learn how to fight with broadswords today.”

They exchanged an excited look.

“Really?” Chester said.

“Aye, daenae be late,” he said, pushing open the doors to the courtyard. There was much movement in the courtyard as wedding guests made their way home and the normal castle business began once more. There was one young man who was not bustling about, he stood near the front of his horse, feeding it an apple.

Anthony strode up to him, rather quickly that the horse whinnied loudly and shook his head. The young man locked eyes with him, looking terrified. “Are ye Brannan McLean’s apprentice?”

“A-aye,” he stammered. “Jacob.”

This man was young and looked like a strong wind might whisk him away. Well, he was being unkind, he looked like any other young man Anthony had seen in his life.

“Are ye equipped with a weapon? Do ye have yer dirk with ye?” he interrogated, eyes scanning his belt for the blade.

“Aye, it’s here,” Jacob said, placing a hand over its hilt.

“Good,” he said, stepping away. “Do ye ken how to use it?”

Jacob nodded, his face reddening. “Of course, I do.”

Anthony stared at him. Jacob was looking a bit flustered, a bit put-off, and a bit affronted. It was the young man who pulled his gaze away first, checking his pocket watch.

“Do ye ken where Mistress Celestia is?”

“I will get her,” he said and retreated into the castle. The twins were coming down the stairs, presumably off to the hall. “Where is yer sister?” he said, once he came upon them.

“The stables,” Chester told him.

Anthony nodded, rushing back down the stairs, into the courtyard, and up the short path to the stables. He saw Grannus, Celestia’s roan-haired horse being led by...someone.

With each step, the person in question came into view.

Celestia .

Anthony stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t believe his eyes. She was dressed as if she were a man. Hair pulled away from her face in a braid that fell over her shoulder, and a white shirt like Anthony wore daily which was tucked into a pair of woven tartan trews.

“What the hell are ye wearin’?” he asked once he was close enough. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the trews. Just like all trews, they were form-fitting, but to see them on a woman…

He hated the sight of it, yet... the way the fabric hugged her thighs and hips made him want to lift her up and carry her into the stables. He would burn all her skirts—all the skirts in the village and the entirety of Scotland, if he had to—if it meant she could only wear trews.

He answered for her, “Ye are wearin’ trews?” He circled around her, inspecting her.

“Aye, Hugo outgrew them, and I saw nay reason to be rid of them,” she told him, her head turning with him as he circled behind her, nearly running into her horse. “What are ye doin’?”

Anthony’s heart nearly stopped, his insides swirling with a mixture of awe and concern. Her round, supple, beautiful back on display for all to see. He groaned. “Celestia, ye cannae be wearin’ these out in public.”

“Why nae? They’re easier to ride in,” she said in a rather sensible tone. “I’ve seen other women wear them.”

“When?” he asked dubiously. “In yer dreams, lass?” He kept circling. He knew it was quite ridiculous, but he couldn’t stop looking. “I daenae think I can let ye leave the grounds lookin’ like this. I hate them.”

She sighed heavily. “It’ll be safer for me on the road, and I willnae have to fight with my skirts when I’m at the distillery.”

He stopped his idiotic circling and stood in front of her, blocking her path. She kept hold of Grannus with one hand and planted her hand on her hip with the other. Anthony’s knees went weak, he could see everything. The entire outline of her hip and how her hand fit perfectly at the notch of it.

“Ye are truly goin’ to kill me,” he said under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

“Nay, what did ye say?” she demanded.

His eyes shot to her, drinking her in. A determined look settled on her features, and he saw the Celestia he had chosen to marry. Not the timid one that had been walking around the castle since their wedding night.

“What did ye say?” she demanded once more, narrowing her eyes.

His mind wouldn’t focus on anything else, just Celestia in those trews and how much he adored the glare she was giving him. He surged into her, lifting her up.

“Anthony!” she breathed; her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. “What are ye—”

Anthony grasped the back of her head and pulled her in to kiss. Her hands wrapped around him, clutching fistfuls of his hair. He looked over her shoulder; the hay shed was just beyond.

He set her down, grabbed her hand, and ran to the shed.

“What about Grannus?” she asked, able to keep up with him without tripping over her skirts.

“He’s a horse, he will be fine.” His voice came out rougher than expected, but they stood just inside the hay shed. There was only one small window, and it was piled nearly to the top with hay. Save for one spot, just inside the door. He pushed her against the wall, sucking on her neck, trailing kisses as he untied the thin strings that kept the top of her shirt closed, exposing her collarbone.

Anthony dragged his mouth from her, looking down at her trews that were tucked into her boots. He knelt and pulled off each of her riding boots. He unhooked the single hook that held them to her body and slid them off her. His hands slid back up her thighs, wanting to drag his teeth across them all the way to the apex of her legs.

“This is madness,” he groaned.

“I daenae think ye hate them, Anthony,” she purred, pulling him to stand, hovering her lips close to his. “Do ye?” She ran a hand over the seam of his trews, leaning into her hand, feeling how ready he was for her.

His need for her defied reason. Defied all conscious thought, he couldn’t make sense of it. He didn’t want to make sense of it. She filled his every sense. He hurriedly undid his own trews, but it was Celestia who tugged them down, exposing him.

“I daenae, lass.” His mouth took hers as one of his hands found her breast. With the other arm, he snaked it under her knee, bringing it around his hip.

He surged into her and stilled. Unable to comprehend that she was his, completely lost in the heat of her. “Oh, God, Celestia,” he moaned, beginning to move slowly.

And then an absolutely lustful sensation came over him. She was his, in every sense of the word. His hips ground into hers, frenzied in their power and he thrust into her until she was moaning, head thrown back against the brick.

Celestia clutched at him, hanging onto him with all her might. Her muscles stiff around him. “Anthony,” she gasped, pleading. “Ant—I’m—”

He was so close, so very close. He slammed forward once more, and she fell apart in his arms, shaking and soundless. Anthony went entirely still and held her there against the wall as they both finally became aware of the world around them.

He gave a single, easy kiss as their breath slowed and lowered her back to the ground.

Celestia smiled as she smoothed his hair. “Well,” she said, grinning, “ye’ve made me very late.”

His lips broke into a devilish smile. “How terrible of me,” he murmured huskily, pulling her into one more kiss before they put themselves back together again.

They emerged from the hay shed, cheeks red and smiles on their faces. Celestia’s horse had not gone far, it had wandered off the path and was grazing on a patch of tall grass.

Celestia fussed with her shirt, making sure it was tucked evenly all the way around. “We cannae do that again.”

“Then ye cannae wear those again,” he said, pointing to her trews.

She laughed. “Nay chance.”

Anthony took up Grannus’ lead and walked with Celestia to the courtyard. The hustle had slowed and only Jacob, his horse, and Sebastian were in the courtyard.

Sebastian’s eyes bounced from Celestia to Anthony, sending a knowing look in his direction.

“Jacob!” Celestia called, smoothing pieces of her hair that had come loose in the shed. “Apologies, I dinnae mean to keep ye waitin’ long.”

“Nae at all, Miss Celestia. We’ll still make good time.”

Celestia nodded. “Will ye help me?” she asked, looking at Anthony.

Anthony boosted Celestia into the saddle, holding onto her hand longer than he should have. She tried to tug it free, but he held on.

“Anthony, what—”

He reached up and left a kiss on her knuckles. “Be careful...please.”

Celestia flashed him a quick grin. “I will.”

* * *

Celestia let out a long stream of curses in the back of the storeroom. “Jacob!” she roared, hands on her hips, pieces of her braid falling into her face. “Where are the barrels for the Mr. Brodie’s order?”

Her question was met with silence.

“Jacob!” she called out impatiently. Nothing had gone right since the moment they showed up at the distillery. The barley delivery was delayed, and a few customers had come in demanding where their whisky was, saying that the delivery cart never showed up.

“I found it!” Jacob finally yelled back from the other side of the storeroom.

Celestia let out a sigh of relief, finally, one thing had gone right today. She found him swiveling the cask from where it sat, rolling it up onto a pushcart.

“How many casks again?” Jacob said with a grunt.

“Three.”

Together they rolled the next two casks onto the pushcart and transported them outside to the delivery cart. Celestia looked around for Robbie, the man she hired exclusively to make deliveries. He usually sat outside against the wall of the storeroom smoking a pipe.

“Is Robbie makin’ a delivery?” she asked, looking from one end of the property to the other.

Jacob shook his head. “He should have been back by now. I sent him on his way as soon as we got here.”

It was either wait for Robbie or do it herself, and she would be damned if there was another complaint about a missed delivery. “Lock up and we’ll deliver this one.”

Jacob didn’t contest her, he simply pulled out his spare key and locked the front door, pulled the huge barn door closed on the storeroom, and together they attached the cart to the horse and were off.

They made their way through the streets of Inverness, busy like it always was. They needed to head east to Mr. Brodie’s pub which meant they would be passing by Ryder Koll’s distillery.

“It will take us half a day to get there, Celestia, and it’s already past noon,” Jacob said.

“I ken,” Celestia said with the horse’s reins in her hands. “We’ll pay for an inn and stay the night if we must.”

“That’s all fine, but we’ll be on the road till well into the night. Yer husband will rip my throat out if anythin’ happens to ye while I’m with ye,” Jacob told her.

“Did he threaten ye?”

“Nay, but he has that look about him.”

Celestia laughed. “I doubt he would truly do anythin’ like that to ye. We’ll be fine, Jacob. Ye have yer dirk.”

They crept closer to the stretch of the road where Koll Distillery was; Celestia wanted to hurry the horse past it, but something was telling her to slow down. The horse was in a slow trot as they came upon the building.

It was far smaller than McLean’s, but the pagoda-like stacks made it recognizable as a distillery. Koll had painted them a horrible deep red color and they stuck out strangely against the blue sky.

Jacob threw an arm across her, pointing. “Look!”

“What?” she said, her heart had leaped into her throat at his abrupt exclamation. She turned and saw a cart parked past the stone perimeter wall. “Oh my...that’s our cart.”

They could both plainly see the McLean emblem branded on the side of one of the barrels.

“Take the reins, Jacob,” she ordered, pushing them into his hands.

“Wh-what are ye goin’ to do?” Jacob asked, eyes wide, pulling at the reins to slow the horse down even more.

Celestia leaped from the cart, landing hard on the cobbles.

“Celestia!” Jacob called after her, but she ignored him and waltzed right into Koll’s distillery.

She did not take in much of the environment except for Koll handing a bag of coins over to her delivery driver. “Is this why customers have been complainin’ about their deliveries nae showin’ up?”

Her blood was roaring through her veins, she could near hear it in her ears, and all she could see was the smug face of Ryder Koll. Robbie at least bothered to look guilty.

“Mistress Celestia, I—”

“Shut it,” she said. It was hard to keep her head, she wanted to strangle both men. “Ye, clearly, will nae longer be employed by McLean’s.”

Koll bellowed out a laugh. “I’m sure Robbie doesnae care much, ye were barely payin’ him. Ye think yer husband would give ye an allowance to pay yer workers a livin’ wage.”

She planted her feet on the wooden floor, trying to summon all the courage she could. “Ye are a sad, pitiful man, Mr. Koll. Ye ken that?”

“What?”

“Ye heard me,” she taunted, “Ye cannae make money on yer own with yer own product without stealin’ and exploitin’ others. I almost feel bad for ye.” She shrugged, almost primly.

The vein in Koll’s forehead was popping out and redness was creeping up his neck. He moved toward her, but Celestia halted him with a hand. “I daenae think ye should move another inch, Mr. Koll. If ye are to hurt me in anyway my husband will see that yer imprisoned, at the very least.”

“Ha!” Koll barked. “I’ve been to prison before, Miss McLean.” She knew that he was purposely not calling her by her new, proper title. “He wouldnae be able to keep me there for long.”

Celestia faltered, seeing the maddened gleam in his eye.

“And many blessin’s on yer advantageous marriage to the Chief,” he said with a sneer. “But that doesnae give ye the right to come into my establishment and threaten me with what yer husband can do to me,” he said, taking another step toward her. He swept his arms open and glanced around the room. “He is nae here now, is he?”

In all her rage, she hadn’t stopped to think about the fact that Ryder Koll was bigger, stronger, and did not much care for following the rules. And she was almost sure he was perfectly uninhibited when it came to laying a hand on a woman.

Fear rushed in as he closed the gap between them.

“What can ye truly do to me? What did ye think was goin’ to happen when ye came in here?”

Her hands reflexively went up in front of her and she pushed against his chest. “Stop!”

Koll grabbed hold of her wrists and twisted them away from him, burning her skin as he did. She hissed, trying to tug away from him, but he pushed her back. Celestia stumbled back but found her balance, keeping her eyes on him.

The pain in her wrists sparked a new wave of anger within her, and she stood firm, jutting out her jaw. She had to defend herself against him, she had to fight him off for the future of McLean’s and for her father’s legacy.

“Ye bastard,” she hissed. “There is nothin’ ye can do to scare me off. If I ever catch ye meddlin’ with my deliveries or my employees or anythin’ at all again, I will end ye.”

“End me?” Koll queried, taking off his tricorne hat. “How are ye goin’ to end me, lass?” His eyes raked over her body and down toward the tight-fighting trousers she wore. “I dinnae see any outline of a weapon on ye. I suppose ye are goin’ to fight me off with yer bare hands?”

Koll brought the hand that held his hat back and hit her across the face with it. The stiff leather stung as it connected with her cheek, and she was sure she felt the edge of it scratch her.

“Ye are nothin’ but a small, weak woman,” Koll said plainly, still advancing on her. “I could kill ye with my bare hands, ye ken.”

“Mr. Koll—I wasnae talkin’ about yer life. I was talkin’ about yer business.”

Koll’s eyes betrayed him, glancing at her neck before he lunged, hands outstretched. Celestia rushed backward and out the front door of the distillery.

“Celestia!”

Her head snapped in the direction of her name. She ran toward Jacob who was standing on the cart, waving frantically. He had blessedly turned the cart around.

He held out a hand and lifted her into the cart. “Yer bleedin’!” he said, rushing to pull his handkerchief from his pocket.

Celestia took it from him and held it to her face where she had felt the hat scratch her. She instructed him to return to their distillery, to swap the cart out for their own horses for the journey back to Castle Ferguson.