The Highlander's Harlot (Sword and Thistle Book 1) Read online

  “See for yourself,” he said, bringing my chin up, so that I could see the length of his phallus exposed, red and swollen, glistening at the tip. I’d never seen a man’s proud staff before—and the fascination I felt could not be denied.

  Of an instinct, pressed my cheek against his bare hip, reached for him with my fingertips, and leaned to give the steel of his erection a tender kiss. And that kiss seemed to undo him.

  His hand went to my hair and made a fist in it. A rumble of arousal sounded from his chest. That encouraged me. Though I was on my knees before him I somehow felt as if I had power over this man. For his knees nearly trembled when, I leaned forward and deepened that kiss, taking the head of his cock between my lips. “Sweet Jesu!”

  I hadn’t any notion of what I was doing, so I was grateful for the way he guided my head until I realized that he meant for me to suckle at it. The more I took into my mouth, the more he groaned and growled and shook. And this fed my own hunger to taste him, to test my body against his, my fingers delighting in caressing the strong muscles of his thighs, his ass, his back.

  Stroking into my mouth, his sounds became deeper, his body tightening, as if he were readying for some battle. As if he were desperate for something. But just as it seemed to reach its peak, he tried to pull me away. “Stop or I’ll—”

  I disobeyed, holding his body tighter and sliding my lips down his glistening shaft as it began to pulse in my mouth. A hot rush of salty seed that warmed my throat like fresh cream. I drank it, because it was of my laird, and because everything in me screamed that we were to be joined.

  The laird grunted his release, hand still in my hair, before bonelessly sinking down with me to the floor. With his back against his bed, he cradled my head in his lap. The fist in my hair releasing so that he could stroke it gently. “What have you done to me, lass?”

  I didn’t know, but I wanted to do it again. My sexual hunger was something voracious now. “I pleased you.”

  “Aye, you did,” he said, breathing hard. “Have you done that before, with one of the lads near your father’s cottage?”

  “Never,” I said, affronted.

  “Don’t take offense,” he said, with a chuckle. “I’m just curious as to how you knew what to do.”

  “I didn’t,” I murmured, squirming slightly against his legs, delighting in that he wasn’t entirely soft now. Wondering if I could make his erection grow again, and how it might offer me a release of my own. “I only did what I wanted to do.”

  His hand caressed softly over my sore backside where his belt had left stripes of pain. He sighed, as if he were regretful for it. “I didn’t mean to spurt in your mouth that way—you didn’t have to swallow it.”

  “To do otherwise would have seemed contemptuous,” I said, though that wasn’t the whole reason. “And I didn’t want to anger you.”

  He scowled. “I must have seemed angry to you, but I assure you I wasn’t. If anything, I was holding back what’s in me. I only wanted to give you a glimpse, and I shouldn’t have shown you even that much.”

  “You stopped when I pleaded with you,” I whispered.

  “But I didn’t want to,” he said. “I wanted to put my knee in the small of your back, thrust you down, and make you sob in earnest, striking you until my arm hurt or until I was overcome by the need to take your maidenhood.”

  “My maidenhood is yours to take, my laird,” I whispered.

  I hoped he would do it sooner than later.

  I knew he wanted to. His eyes met mine, reflecting longing to do just that. And then I watched him exert all his strength to wrestle it down.“You should give it to the man you marry.”

  “You know that no man will marry me now.”

  He winced as if I’d struck him. At length, he said, “Any man you fancy, you send to me. I’ll tell him the truth of your innocence.”

  “But I’m not innocent, my laird. Not anymore.”

  And that seemed to destroy him somehow.

  “You were never meant for this. You’re a good, selfless girl. Rare and beautiful as a field of heather, whereas I’m more like a thistle, prickly with thorns. And I’ve corrupted you. Stay with me and I will indeed make a whore of you; which is why it’s time to let you go.”

  No! That isn’t what I wanted him to say. Why was it only the savage beast in him wanted me with him, whereas the gentle man who treated me kindly only wanted me gone? Stinging acutely with a hurt I couldn’t name, I only shook my head and fought off tears of frustration.

  “You’ll be your own woman, no longer at my beck and call.”

  “Then I want to go home,” I said.

  He slowly unwound me from his lap, setting me upon his knee. “That’s not wise, lass. There’s no telling what your father may do to you. At least here in the castle, you’re under my protection.”

  I gave a miserable shake of my head, because it wasn’t his protection that I wanted. “I want to go home, my laird. I just want to go home.”

  ~~~

  “I’m just curious about the price is all,” Davy said with a twinkle in his blue eyes, his pale and freckled legs expertly maneuvering the horse beneath him. “How much for me and Mal together? In our last fight with the Donalds, we came across a bawdy house and got a taste for sharing.”

  The russet-haired Davy was a sunny highland warrior with a contagious laugh and I suppose it couldn’t be held against him that he was also a lecher. He meant no offense by it, I knew. Of all the laird’s men, Davy was the friendliest. He’d given me an apple from his own rations that morning and told me some jests to lighten my mood.

  Still, I was grateful when Ian snapped, “Can we get this done with a minimum of chatter? The laird wants us to return the lass to her father and see no harm comes to her. Let’s get it done before someone sees us as lackwits not fit for any duty but squiring about the laird’s lady.”

  I was no lady—especially not now—but I appreciated that Ian was willing to entertain the polite fiction, given how resentful he was of this mission. And I was also grateful to be riding on his horse, with his strong arms around me for fear the other men might have taken liberties with me I wasn’t willing to grant.

  Ian, by contrast, could scarcely bring himself to brush against me as if for fear some part of the laird might wipe off on him. Single file, we rode across the footbridge away from the island castle of Eilean Donan, away from the murky loch, and up into the green-covered hills where sheep grazed.

  When we finally came through the small wood to approach my father’s cottage, my heart pounded with anticipation of returning home to my birthplace, of being reunited with my family.

  But in spite of my pounding pulse, I noticed right off the unnatural quiet. There ought to have been children playing in the yard. My father ought to have been shoveling peat or tending the farm animals. Instead, it looked as if the whole place had been shut up. Ian let me down from the horse and my feet echoed hard on the dirt.

  “Hello?” I called, and the door to the cottage swung open.

  My father stood in the doorway, pale and haggard, a scraggly beard upon his chin, shadows under his eyes. Crowded around his legs were crying little children, the youngest of whom called for me and was rewarded with my father’s backhand, sending the child sprawling upon the floor. Before I could hold out my arms to summon the little ones, my father barked, “You get away, you harlot. There’s no place for you here.”

  I’d hoped my time away would’ve softened him to me. That he’d forgive my disobedience and understood what I’d offered in sacrifice. Tears spilled over my cheeks. “Please, Papa. I’m no harlot,” I cried, even though I wasn’t entirely sure that was true.

  “I’m not your father anymore,” he bit out, his eyes haunted. “You’re not welcome here. You can ply your trade by the roadside, but not here, so you can get back on that horse and ride off before I take a strap to you.”

  “You’ll find your mouth bloody if you try it, old man,” Ian growled from atop his horse, as
if ready to swing down and defend my dubious honor.

  My father spat on the ground with contempt. But I noticed the trembling of his hand upon the door. “Get on with you. I won’t have you under this roof.”

  At this, Davy hissed, “It’s the laird’s roof, ye insolent—”

  “It’s nothing to fight about,” I said, swiftly, hoping to prevent bloodshed. “If he won’t have me back, then I won’t stay.” Taking a deep breath, I wiped away the tears with the backs of my hands. “Just let me hug the the little ones.”

  “No!” my father said, a strange intensity in his eyes when he refused me. “You’re spoiled now. Ruined. So I’ll thank you to keep your immoral ways away from the bairns.”

  I didn’t think my heart could ache more than it did—but I reminded myself that it could have. My father could have been dead, swinging from a tree in front of the children. That would have hurt worse. And so I sobbed a little into my hand before straightening my spine. “Where’s Arabella? At least let me say goodbye to my sister.”

  “She’s not here,” my father barked.

  But just then, I thought I heard a sound from the barn. My sister’s voice. A shout. A cry. A scream. At the sound of it, the laird’s warriors all drew their swords. “Arabella?” I cried, lifting my skirts to run to her across the clearing, just as a band of strange men emerged and hauled her from the barn, a knife to her throat.

  “Donalds,” Davy hissed.

  Then it was madness.

  With little regard to their own safety, and knowing they were outnumbered, all three of the laird’s warriors rode right at the band of men, their swords glinting in the sun.

  “No!” my father called after them. “They’ll kill her.”

  But the grim, dark, scarred Malcom cut through the men like a swath of fabric. Davy let out the Macrae battle cry while Ian tried drive off their horses from behind the barn. I heard shrieks and screams as the men battled, and realized they were my own. Realized too, that I had myself waded into the terrible melee, trying to get to my sister. Grabbing for the men who were trying to take her, reaching for Arabella’s hands, I took a blow to the face. Found myself sprawled upon the ground, bleeding from my mouth. And in horror, realized that the men were making off with my sister and trying to make off with me too.

  But the moment one of them grabbed for me, Ian landed a cracking punch to my would-be captor’s jaw, and was rewarded for his trouble with a sword swipe that sent him down to the ground in a spray of blood.

  The Donalds took my sister. They hauled her up onto a horse while Davy and Malcolm shielded Ian’s fallen body with their own until the Donald warriors left them in a sweating, cursing heap and rode off.

  “Arabella!” I shrieked, hysterically after my sister.

  But Davy tried to calm me. “Easy, lass. You’re bleeding.”

  “It’s mostly Ian’s blood,” I cried, turning, trying to staunch the warrior’s wound with my once beautiful purple gown.

  “Just a scratch,” Ian replied, though blood seeped through his shirt, onto his fingers, and the others had to help him to his feet. He wobbled, panting. “Warn the laird. It’s a scouting party, otherwise they wouldn’t have ridden off with a girl for their amusement. There must be an attack on the castle coming. Warn the laird!”

  But Davy wasn’t having it. “You warn the laird. Take his woman to him before they come back for her. And get yourself a healer.” Then to me, Davy said, “We’ll go after your sister and find out what they’re planning.”

  With that, Davy all but threw me up onto Ian’s saddle like a sack of grain. With help, Ian mounted behind me, and before I could question my father, he rode off with me again in a cloud of dust.

  ~~~

  “Are you hurt, Heather?” the laird demanded, marching down the stone stairs into the castle courtyard to grab me in his arms. Seeing the blood on my gown, he went white, half-torn between rage and worry. “Have you come to harm?”

  “Not much,” I said with a tiny sob, grateful for his embrace. More grateful for it than anything I could remember. Though my jaw ached intolerably and I could still taste my own blood in my mouth, I couldn’t think of myself. “But Ian…and my sister…”

  “Ian’s wound isn’t deep,” the laird reassured me. “The physicker says he’ll complain and brood about it, but it won’t kill him. And as for your sister…” John Macrae took a deep breath, and gently pushed the hair from my eyes. “She’s just a crofter’s girl of no value to anyone. Even if Davy and Malcolm can’t stop the Donalds in time, they’ll only have a bit of sport with her and let her go.”

  They’d rape her, he meant. And though I knew he meant his words to comfort me, they didn’t. Especially since he’d said, she’s just a crofter’s girl of no value to anyone…

  Words I knew the truth of, all too well.

  But the laird treated me that night as if I were of great value to him. He took me to his chambers and sat next to me, holding against my cheek a cool pouch from the ice house while Brenna washed the blood from my face and arms. “The dress can’t be saved,” the maid murmured, with a sigh. “This blood can’t be washed out.”

  “I’ll buy her another,” the laird snapped. “Just take it away. I don’t want her looking at the bloodstains all night.”

  With that, he dismissed her, so we were again alone in his chambers. Me still trembling and in my shift, but not because I was afraid of him. “What’s going to happen now?”

  “The Donalds are going to try and throw themselves at this castle and find themselves drowning in the sea, as always happens,” he said, confident, his shoulders squared.

  “To my father, I mean. Please know that he hates the Donalds. Always has. He wouldn’t have sheltered them willingly. They had my sister hostage—”

  “Lass,” he said, to stop me from my rambling panic. “Set your mind at ease on that score. I’m just pleased to learn your wretch of a father has a care for at least one of his daughters.”

  I nearly swooned as the pain slowly spread from my jaw up into my head. “I’m feeling a bit dizzy from the blow.”

  “You should rest,” he said, rising at once to scoop me out of my chair. Though I was sure I could’ve walked there myself—mostly sure, anyway—he lifted me up into his arms as if I weighed not more than a feather, then carried me to the big bed where we had kissed all those nights ago.

  Then he laid me down upon his pillow as gently as a mother might put a bairn into cradle. “You don’t mind me in your bed?” I asked, softly. “I could go back down to the chambers you gave over to me before, if it would please you.”

  “It wouldn’t please me,” he said, smoothing my hair. “I want you here tonight, where I can watch over you.”

  I made room in the bed for him and he crawled atop it. He took my hand in his and I felt cherished. Cared for, in a way I’d never been in my whole life. So I kissed him, hoping it would crowd out my worries for my sister and the man who lay bleeding below stairs for my sake.

  He groaned at the kiss, but returned it, with as much gentleness as he seemed able. He pressed the length of his body against me, and I felt a familiar and delicious thrill of his skin to mine. I loved the feel of him, the scent of him, the way it seemed as if he were some dangerous beast upon a tether that might snap any moment. But he held those impulses back, tracing his fingers down my bodice, reaching up beneath my skirts and hoisting one leg over his hip. Whatever he was going to do, I wanted badly, and I hissed when his hand softly stroked between my legs. “Ah, does that feel good, Heather?”

  A little sob of overwrought pleasure was his answer. I’d never thought to feel someone touch me there—at least not known that it would feel so exquisitely warm and pleasurable. His strong fingers probed me delicately, finding a spot that caused me to cry out. Oh, yes. I wanted him to touch me there again, and when he did, I made fists of the bed covering, thrashing my head at the wicked delight. A moment more, and I was rocking against his hand, desperate, for something…for somethin
g…and then it happened. The searing climax that forced the air from my lungs, and left me clutching him, crying his name.

  “My laird!” I cried, shuddering still in pleasure. “I didn’t know I could feel such a thing.”

  That made him laugh a little. “Didn’t you? Aye, you’re more innocent than I ever guessed.”

  Perspiring and dizzier than before, I moaned a bit, squeezing his hand between my thighs as the lingering tremors shook me. Meanwhile, he looked enormously satisfied with himself. But I couldn’t be content. My heart thumped wildly and I knew he was aching with desire, because his erection made a tent of his kilt. And his eyes, oh, they smoldered.

  “Just enjoy it, lass,” he said, softly, when I tried to reach for him.

  “But I want to touch you,” I whispered, my hands sliding down his body. “I want…I want…I want to give you as much pleasure as you just gave me.”

  “You did,” he said, simply.

  But I couldn’t imagine how.

  Then I wondered if this is what he’d been trying to say to me all along. That he couldn’t take pleasure as a normal man or woman might, not with gentle kisses and stroking and touching. That he needed something more. That he needed the nakedness of a woman’s shame. And I was willing to give him mine. “What is it that you need from me? I would do it, if I knew.”

  “But I wouldn’t take it from you,” he said, softly. “I’ve already taken enough. Because you’re a vexing woman—one who surprises me anew every single day.”

  “What can you mean?”

  “I believed you to be a good, gentle, obedient girl. A simple girl who would acclimate to her circumstances and accept her fate. But in the time I’ve known you, you’ve not only changed from a meek and shrinking girl to a saucy wench, but into a hellcat besides.” He twined his fingers with mine. “Ian told me you waded into the fray with the Donalds without even a dagger. What the devil did you think you could do to those men with these beautiful little hands?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “I wasn’t thinking of anything but saving my sister.”

  He gave a shake of his head, kissing me softly where a bruise was surely rising on my jawline. “How can such a delicate thing have the heart of a warrior? Too bad you weren’t born a lad—you’d have made a fine fighter for the clan.”