Read The Chieftain Needs an Heir - a Highland ménage novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions) for Free Online

And of course his attendance was compulsory for the Tradition – or did he think a Summons would be sent across Scotland to fetch him home for his supper?
    The Bard was on the defensive about the whole thing, whatever it was, and that was well out of character.  In fact, he had divulged very little under close questioning.  Either Hector was losing his touch, which was doubtful, or the Bard had something very big to hide.  Hector had watched his face all through.  There was no guile.  Just a withholding, and an embarrassed one at that.  Whatever the Tradition was that required Hector's presence, the Bard believed himself justified in keeping the detail quiet until the last minute.  The odd bit was that he would no' just come out and say that's what he was doing.
    "Hector?  All is ready for ye now."
    He knew the pool to be a lot colder than it looked, and for once he was thankful for it.  Keeping his back firmly to the lassies, he stripped himself of his garments and jumped in to full immersion.  And he stayed under a while until his body's reaction to seeing Cecily again had cooled itself down enough to abide being viewed when he climbed out to stand naked under the waterfall.
    The cascading water from this MacKrannan mountain had its intended effect.  Hector had been fretting about work left undone – guard rotas, wagonloads of arrows for the archers, security for the queen's visit to Edinburgh and all manner of things he knew his Lieutenant could manage fine well.  He let the torrent thrash him with its icy needles until none of that mattered, and emerged from the waterfall as the man instead of his job.
    Cecily and Hilde thought his teeth were chattering as they dried him thoroughly, one on each side, doing their chantings and invocations as they worked in tandem from his mop of black hair down and along his outstretched arms to his fingertips.  But Hector was saying his own form of incantation, hoping Cecily would no' dry his front, and beseeching the stars in the heavens above to keep his cock unrisen until his kilt was safely back on to cover it.
    By the time he reached the Vault, accompanied by the lassies in the light of the rising moon, all to do with his work at court was well and truly forgot.

    Sorcha thought the floating candles in her steaming hot bath a particularly delightful idea.  The acorns and pine cones were not too much of a nuisance, as long as ye didna sit on one that had gotten waterlogged and sunk, and the unidentifiable mess of fresh leaves filling the spaces kept the water's heat in.  Closing her eyes, she felt as if Mother Nature herself had come a-visiting to renew her vitality.  Oona's singing and chanting and humming were as soothing as the clarsach.  The sounds seemed to go beyond her normal hearing to make her spirit dance.
    She lay a long time in the water, wondering when her husband would be brought to her, and the feelings gathering within her made her glad when it came time to be dried.  She stood meekly as Oona dabbed the cloth over all her skin from top to bottom, and then down her legs.  A tingling had been upon her since late this morn and even the innocent touch of a woman fired her longing for Niall.
    The ceremonial robe was much like the ones the Wisewomen had donned after the green pennant was put in the window.  Quite plain, and soft and voluminous, and with Celtic knotwork around its edges and all down the front.  It gave no hint of what lay underneath and she wondered aloud to Oona if she should stay naked in bed for Niall's arrival.
    " It is yerself will go to him, milady," said Oona with a smile that lit the room.
    A rhythmic knocking came, so reminiscent of a clarsach tune that it lingered in Sorcha's mind even after the knocking had stopped, stirring her blood like a drumbeat.
    Oona unlocked the door.  "Come wi' us now, milady," said Oona.  "It is time."
    Hilde and Cecily curtsied to the chieftain's wife and turned to lead the small procession to a