Unforgettable by Lee Brazil Page B

waist and rolled them so that the younger man gazed up at
him with dazed eyes from a thick swath of green and purple and red MacFarland tartan.
"Aye," he muttered, capturing in a hot kiss the plump lips that had
teased him. Brodick met each thrust of his tongue with eagerness, his mouth
parted willingly. However youthful he might appear, Brodick clearly was no
stranger to the wonders of Scotland, as his knowing touch and melting eyes
proclaimed.
    Hands too smooth to wield a sword
slid over Ian's shoulders, his chest, down the furry path of his belly to his
straining cock. Ian shuddered, pushing into Brodick's caress. They shifted,
tartan shoved aside, until Ian could rut against Brodick's thickened cock, each
slow, rough glide drawing moans. The gasping conclusion snuck up on him all too
quickly when Brodick spilled his seed between them with a cry.
    ***
    "That must be a helluva
dream, Ian." Johnnie's gruff voice dragged Ian from his memories back to
the thin sliver of trees above the MacFarland farm where they waited.
    "Unforgettable," he concurred
with his younger brother. His head fell back against the thick rough trunk of
the mountain oak. Five years of unforgettable dreams while Brodick finished his
studies, grew to be the man he was meant to be. Five years of furtive trips to Aberdeen, meetings in pubs and quiet out of the way places. Five years of planning that
led to this night.
    The night he claimed the man that
was meant to be his, the future that they would have together.

It Was More Than He Wanted
    Ian traced the scar on his chest
absently. The pale marking seemed to gleam in the dim light, a white crescent
directly over his heart. The mark was more than he wanted, less than he needed
to keep his love close to mind. Brodick was fascinated by the mark when they
were together. He considered it a badge of ownership, a seal of his place in
Ian's life.
    Johnnie grunted and dropped to
the hard ground, leaning against the same twisted tree. Darkness had fallen,
and a thin sliver of moon provided the only illumination as they stared at MacFarland's
farm, where a dim yellow glow lit one lone cheerless window.
    The thin stretch of trees where
they lurked didn't provide much shelter, but the MacFarlands didn't seem to be
providing much security for this farm on the edge of their holding either. The
night was cool, but Ian and Johnnie hadn't considered risking a fire. Their thick
wool tartans blocked the cold of the night from seeping into their flesh.
    Unfamiliar sounds abounded in the
MacFarland lands. Strange animal noises, odd muted shrieks, and moments of
piercing stillness alternated with the bleating of sheep in the fields. Eerie
breezes that were colder than the night air stirred the leaves and vanished as
quickly as they came.
    Ian shivered as a cold gust of
air fluttered his tartan. His flesh prickled with awareness and he senses were
on high alert. He'd endured the sensation of being watched since they'd left
their horses at the Boden bothy where Brodick had stitched his injury years
before. He kept his gaze squarely on the farmstead, on the door that Brodick
would use when he left his kinsman's dwelling. The only time he'd glanced away,
a strange light had flickered in the shadows. Will-o-the-wisp? Fairy lights?
Old Clootie on the search for lost souls? It was clear that something
otherworldly lingered here, testified to by the wolves that howled in the absence
of normal woodland sounds.
    It was an eerie enough
coincidence that the man he'd come to spirit away was attending a birthing.
Both he and Andrew had felt that Agnes's pregnancy was a suitable excuse for
the kidnapping of her brother, but neither had felt a birth required a doctor
in reality. Hadn't women been birthing children without doctors since the dawn
of earth?
    "He's still there. The bairn
hasn't come yet. He'll stay as long as it takes." Johnnie interrupted Ian's
reverie. That's the kind of man Brodick had grown to be, softhearted, Andrew
called