Mac (Mountain Men 2)

My belly swoops with nerves, because if we're going to Flora’s room, that means that we're not too far from her husband. And if there's anyone I don't want to see right now, it's him.

“Aye,” I say, brushing off my fear. “That’ll be perfect.”

But it won’t. It won’t be perfect at all.

Mac leans in and kisses my cheek, his fingers lingering on the back of my neck just a moment longer than’s proper. I shiver. He orchestrates my body with such utter perfection, I can’t hide how I feel. He whispers in my ear. “I’m off to find your mobile. Now you behave yourself, understand me?”

I smile shyly. “Yes, sir,” I whisper in his ear, loving the way I feel when I submit to him like this. “And if I don’t, I will happily remove my knickers, and bend over your lap so you can spank me properly.”

My heartbeat accelerates at the very thought, and I love the way his eyes darken.

“Aye,” he whispers. “I will.”

“Oh for the love of God and Jesus and damn near everyone, can you two get a room already?” Islan asks, as she comes in the doorway.

“Have done,” Mac says, his eyes twinkling. “You think we’re playing checkers in my house?”

“Oh ewww,” Islan says, blocking her ears. “Lalalalalala!”

Mac chuckles and winks at me. I can only shake my head at him and sigh.

“The bride’s here!” Islan says. “You ready?”

"Be up in a minute," Paisley says. "Just have to make sure the biscuits don't burn."

“See you in a few, then,” Islan says. “And listen, Paisley, might be nice if you brought a few of them biscuits up to sample, mind.”

She laughs. “Wasn't it you this morning that said she was afraid of not fitting in her bridesmaid’s dress, she's gone that carb-heavy lately? Or is that another one of my sisters? Oh, that's right. Other than my sister-in-law Cairstina, I have no other sisters, so it must've been you."

“One biscuit will hardly make my zippers burst,” Islan says with a grin. “Right, Bryn? And if it does, Bryn can let it out.”

“Oh, now, girls, I know better than to get in the middle of this.”

I go with Islan up the stairs, my apprehension growing as we near Flora and Bram’s bedroom. Will he be there? And where the fuck is my mobile?

I almost find myself at ease, just being around the girls again. There's a camaraderie that I enjoy, maybe even something that comes just from being women who share a similar heritage or family class structure. They know what it’s like to fit within the old-fashioned, hierarchical structure of the Clan. At least, this is what I tell myself.

Do either of them have to fear being wed to someone they don't have an interest in? Does Bram Cowen threaten them like my own father does me? Does Leith?

I can’t imagine Leith would, if I’m honest. He seems protective more than anything.

But do I really know any of them?

“Ah, here she is,” I hear Fran say when I enter the room.

Fran’s a curvy, bonnie lass with a mane of wavy brown hair, a button nose, and a mischievous little mouth. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes dance when she sees us.

“Hello, there! Who’s ready for the big day?” I ask. It’s taking everything I have to focus on being professional and at ease, and not stricken with worry.

Thankfully, only the girls and Flora are here. Bram’s nowhere to be seen.

“It’s a big day,” I say with a smile. “Ready for your final fitting?”

“Of course,” Fran says with a grin. “I can’t bloody wait. And fancy seeing you here, Bryn, of all places. Friends with my friends, are you?”

“We’ve only just met her ourselves,” Islan says. “And she’ll be bringing Mac to the wedding.” She rolls her eyes.

Fran grins. “Lovely! I love Mac! And Fergus will be pleased he’s there as well.”

“Leith sure is,” Paisley says, rolling her eyes. “Did we tell you he’s making us bring bodyguards with us? Honest to God!”

Fran rolls her eyes. “As if the wedding will be a dangerous place or something?”

Islan sighs. “Or something.”

The dress was brought up this morning by staff, and hangs on a hook near Flora’s large ensuite bath.

“I can’t wait to see it, Bryn,” Fran says. “I imagined how it would look but without those final tucks you made, I couldn’t exactly picture it.”

“Go on, then,” I say with a smile. “Let’s see it.”

Right there in front of us, she strips straight away, tossing her clothes to Paisley.

“Hold them for me, will you? Bridesmaid duty!”

Paisley smirks, loosely folding the clothes as they come sailing over to her.

Fran steps into the gown, and I help her bring it up.

“Now, then,” I say gently. “You’ll have to have the proper undergarments. A nice, lacy pair of knickers. A push-up bra. Some garters. Are you prepared?"