Page 3 of Wicked Passions

The sound of pewter goblet slammed onto wooden table made them both jump.

Callum’s mother, Maude, glared at her nephew, her violet eyes flashing. It was said a glance from the Lady of Glennoe could welcome a soul into paradise or purgatory; at this moment his cousin would be travelling directly to a much warmer place.

“Pray remember you are on MacIntyre land and speak to its laird.”

Red bowed mockingly. “Aye, madam. As neither of you will listen to reason about an alliance, I’ll take my leave. Just remember, Glennoe, you can only hold the wolves at bay for so long.”

“If an alliance is needed so badly by the MacDonalds,” said Maude, her gaze icy, “perhaps you should find a wife.”

“I’ll be wed soon enough,” said Red with a shrug. “I have my eye on a great prize in Stirling, and travel tomorrow to win it. Farewell.”

When his cousin’s heavy footsteps were no more than a faint tap on the stairs below, Callum sighed and slumped into a chair beside the library fireplace. “Do not say a word, Mother.”

“Who, me?” she replied archly, adding a piece of wood to the fire before stepping back and smoothing her cream velvet gown. With her pale skin and long fair hair, those violet eyes were even more startling. His father had seen her at an English tourney and been so captivated by her ethereal beauty he’d brought her home. Callum arrived nine months later, but no other children followed. Knowing how miserable the marriage had been, he could easily understand why she didn’t seek another husband. In time perhaps she might seek a lover, and he would support her happiness wholeheartedly.

“Yes, you.”

“I only speak up because Rory grows in confidence and supporters. Be wary, my son. Why would he travel to Stirling?”

Callum frowned. “I don’t know. It is a long distance for someone who always picks the lowest hanging fruit. And if he had an audience with the king, he would brag of it.”

“Exactly. Let us hope dear Alastair brings news when he returns from the market.”

He looked away, so his mother might not see his true heart. It was getting harder and harder to conceal his feelings for Alastair Graham. Twenty years prior, Maude had rescued a starving, sickly boy abandoned by a roving clan. Once Alastair had healed, Callum had begged for him to be allowed to stay. They had become close friends, and after years of playing, exploring, and studying, Alastair was appointed his official squire. Eventually they fought and drank and wenched together, although sometimes Alastair bedded men instead. Callum had never quite known how to feel about that. The clergy said lust between men was wrong, but Alastair held no shame or guilt about it, and sometimes the need that coursed through Callum’s veins when he thought about his squire shocked him. As the laird’s heir, he could do nothing about it, and they had remained just the best of friends.

Until the night Callum’s father was buried.

Overwhelmed with regret at things unsaid and the heavy burden now on his unworthy shoulders, Callum had paced his bedchamber for hours. Yet when Alastair’s awkward words and soothing massage turned into intoxicating kisses, Callum had discarded all good sense and pleaded to be taken so he might forget his cares for a little while. His squire had been tender and gentle to start, then rough and demanding with mouth and hands and cock, leaving Callum sore and so thoroughly pleasure-sated he’d actually slept with a measure of peace in his soul. But as the first rays of dawn inched their way through the tapestries, he made the hardest and worst decision of his life: telling his lover of one night that it could never happen again. That they must never speak of it. And they hadn’t.

Except he couldn’t forget.

Now he knew the firmness of Alastair’s lips, those huge callused hands that could grip like a vise or stroke like a butterfly wing, the sweet burn of thick cock inside him, no other would do. Rather confusing for a man who desired women and enjoyed the taste and silken clasp of wet cunt; terribly unhelpful for a laird who needed to wed and sire an heir. He did not have the luxury of following his heart; certainly not to love a penniless squire. His future was naught but cold duty, for the only way to save his people and lands was to wed a Highland heiress from a clan powerful enough that the Campbells would never encroach again.

But what grand lady would marry an unimportant laird in an isolated glen?

“Good afternoon, laird. Lady Maude.”

The familiar low, rasping voice jolted Callum from his thoughts, and he turned to see Alastair enter the room. God’s blood, he was handsome. Everything about his squire roared dominant rebellion; untamable shoulder-length brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a build so tall and brawny it was forever threatening to destroy the clothing that encased it. Several noble houses had offered Alastair good coin to be a bodyguard, and while he’d refused them all so far, even the thought of losing him was terrifying.

“Dear boy,” said Maude fondly, stepping forward to smooth a lock of Alastair’s windswept hair, as she’d done since they were children. An act he’d always longed to do, but never dared.

Instead, Callum took a deep breath to quell his arousal and relief at Alastair’s nearness, and smiled in greeting. “What news from the market? Red just informed us he travels to Stirling on the morrow to win some prize. Mother and I hoped you might know more, for he would not say.”

His closest friend did not smile in return. In fact, he looked pained.

“You must travel too, Callum.”

“What? Why?”

Alastair folded his massive arms. “Red goes to take part in the royal tourney that was just announced. All unwed men ranked knight, lord, or laird may enter, with a squire to assist.”

“A tourney?” said Maude, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “James has not held one in a long time. A boon for the queen?”

“Nay, to decide the husband of a wayward noblewoman. The lady suggested it herself; the prize is her hand in marriage, substantial dowry…and the friendship of her clan.”

“Who is the lass?” asked Callum abruptly. “Which clan?”

Alastair hesitated; his blue eyes stormy with an unnamable emotion. “Lady Isla Sutherland.”