Highlander's Captive

by Mariah Stone

  “We didna expect ye so early,” Lachlan said. “We thought our guests would be gone by then.”

  Craig shook his head with a growl. “Get out of here, man.”

  “Where? This is the only place that’s nae occupied.”

  “I’ll kill Owen,” Craig said. “Go anywhere. Go to my bedchamber, take my bed for all I care. Just leave my wife and me alone.”

  “Aye, cousin.”

  Both of them ran away, holding hands. The woman’s hair was long and red, like Amy’s, though she was nowhere near as lovely.

  Craig shook his head and looked around. “Anybody else here?”

  No sound came except for the horses snorting softly. He exchanged a glance with Amy. She looked amused, thank goodness, not spooked or frightened or disgusted. She burst out laughing, and it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. He smiled, too, watching her laugh, and then her laughter caught him, and he, too, burst out. They stood, watching each other, giggling.

  And Craig had never felt as happy as he did now.

  Finally, their laughter died out and they breathed deeply, letting a few final chuckles surface.

  “Come here,” he said, pulling her to him.

  “Right here?” Amy asked.

  “Aye, Amy Cambel, right here. Ye heard the man, everything else is occupied. And I wilna share a room with anyone else. I want ye all to myself.”

  “Well,” she said as she came into his arms. “As it happens, I share your opinion.”

  “Thank goodness. If I canna have ye now, my ballsack will burst.”

  “We certainly do not want that,” she murmured sweetly and kissed him.

  Chapter 22

  Amy kissed him, and the kiss was slow, like poured honey. She took her time, enjoying his warm, soft, delicious mouth.

  He answered back hungrily, as though he’d never tasted anything so good and wasn’t about to stop. He laid her down on the heap of straw again, and it sank under her weight. He stretched out next to her. The scent of fresh hay enveloped her.

  Did she feel any anxiety at being in a dark barn? No. With Craig, she felt safe and warm. She was ready for the bad memories to be replaced by happy, pleasurable ones.

  Straws prickled through her dress, adding an edge to her excitement. He cupped her jaw and ran his hand down her body, making her skin tingle even through the clothes. She arched her back, pressing into his hand, reluctant for him to disconnect from her. He covered her breast with his palm and massaged it, circling her nipple with his thumb. It hardened and ached sweetly.

  “Oh, do ye like that?” he murmured against her neck, his lips brushing her skin.

  “Mmmm,” she managed.

  “And do ye like this?” He moved over her chest, leaned down and took her nipple gently between his teeth, right through the dress, wetting the fabric.

  A lightning bolt of sweetness shot through her. “Ohhhhh,” she cried a little louder, arching her back.

  “I kent ye’d like that. And what if I do this?”

  He took more of her breast into his mouth, sucking at it while he cupped her other breast and rolled her nipple between his fingers.

  Waves of delicious torture spread through Amy, and she moaned, unable to contain herself. “Oh, dear God, yes.”

  She ran her fingers through his silky wet hair, then over his strong shoulders. He trailed down her stomach with his mouth, kissing her through the dress, and somehow, it was more erotic than if she had been naked. Something about it was so simple. The stables. The man. The woman. Their desire.

  Amy’s skin tingled and sang where he touched her, as though he knew a secret to her body even she did not.

  Craig ran a hand down her skirt, then he reached under the and touched her leg.

  Instinctively, she pulled it away—she wasn’t shaved, of course, but he didn’t seem to care.

  Right. Medieval women probably had all kinds of hair.

  Hm. She could get used to not shaving.

  He ran his fingers up her leg, heating her skin. The closer he got to the apex of her thighs, the more she clenched in anticipation, aching, getting hotter and wetter.

  He looked up at her as he covered her sex with his palm.

  “Ahhh.” She tilted her head back.

  “Look at me, lass,” he said.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. His gaze was dark and burning in the semidarkness of the stables. His eyebrows were bunched together, his lips parted, a little swollen. There was so much heat, so much promise in his eyes, she clenched again.

  “Ye’re mine,” he said. “And I’m yers.”

  He parted her folds with his fingers, and Amy gasped, but she didn’t know what was sweeter—his words or his fingers. He pressed gently against her clit, and began circling it, whirling, churning her ecstasy.

  She grabbed the straw, trying to find something to hold on to, or she would burst into stardust right there in his arms.

  He pulled her skirt up with his other hand, gathering it at her hips, her legs and pelvis chilling a little from being exposed to cool air. He leaned down and settled between her thighs. He looked deep into her eyes as he said, “Lass…”

  His voice reverberated through her, low and dangerous. How could one word be loaded with so much heat?

  And then his mouth was on her, and she gasped from the intensity of soft pleasure that spread through her.

  “Ahhhh.”

  And then his tongue…his wicked, beautiful, masterful tongue began moving, circling, flicking, teasing. Amy unfolded, softened and clenched at the same time. Lost her mind from sensations she’d never known she could experience.

  She wasn’t a virgin—she thought she was good at sex.

  But this…

  Him…

  It was more than physical.

  It was something else.

  Something where she could see the stars.

  “No,” she breathed out and jerked.

  “What?” He rose, worried. “Did I hurt ye?”

  “You didn’t hurt me. Far from it, Craig. But I can’t hold off for much longer. And I want you. I want you inside of me.”

  His eyes darkened.

  “Oh, aye, my sweet lass? Did I not tell ye, ye must ask?”

  Amy shook her head once and chuckled. “Yes. Please.”

  He nodded, a smug smile on his face. “Only because ye are asking.” He stood up and undid his pants, lazily, letting them slide down his legs, then kicked them off. He stood before her, his gorgeous, sculpted legs a work of art, and then…

  Her throat caught.

  A long, thick erection, ready and willing, and growing even more under her gaze.

  Amy licked her lips. “Come here.”

  He sank between her knees, without breaking the deep eye contact. Amy felt like they were connected by something invisible, as though wrapped together in a large, warm plaid. And she didn’t know anymore where she ended and he began.

  Craig hung over her.

  “Ye’re mine, lass. Let me love ye like a man can love a woman.”

  “Yes, please.”

  He settled his cock against her entrance, and an acute awareness of that shot through her in a bolt of pleasure. Then he pushed. Stretching her deliciously, he pushed in slowly, filling her completely.

  He held her in his arms as she arched her back, wrapping her legs around his torso. His gaze was on her, as though it had weight, as though it could caress her, too.

  Then he withdrew, spilling more liquid velvet through her body.

  And then he started to pound into her faster and faster. Hitting the right spot, he was bringing her higher and higher, to heights she’d never known before.

  She’d had orgasms, yes.

  But not this cosmic, electric, soul-shattering connection.

  Like he sensed her, what she wanted, what made her tick.

  And harder, and harder, and faster he went. Unlocking her. Letting something break free right in her core.

  Her breath was err
atic. They panted, moaned, grunted.

  Something within her was stiffening with the sweet pleasure.

  And soon—too soon—he brought her to the edge.

  “Oh, Craig,” she moaned. “Oh, Craig!”

  “Aye, my sweet, find yer release.”

  With two more exquisite pounds, she was falling apart around him, clenching, unclenching, spasming, and softening.

  Matching her rhythm, he sank into her, with her. He was coming, too, his body hardening, his movements abrupt, his fingers clenching Amy’s hips, digging into her.

  With a shudder that rolled through his whole body, he collapsed on top of her. “My wife,” he whispered.

  Amy wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. They breathed in one rhythm, his chest rising and falling with hers.

  And as Amy was slipping away into sleep, peaceful and happy for the first time in a long time, a thought crawled into her mind.

  How could she leave and break his heart now that she was falling in love with him?

  Chapter 23

  Hamish huddled in his cloak on the southern wall. Rain wasn’t that bad without the wind, just that damned wetness, though the damp seemed to penetrate his very bones. He’d been on guard duty for days—punishment for allowing Amy MacDougall into the underground storeroom.

  Ah well.

  She was looking for the secret tunnel, too, he knew it.

  He’d never seen her before coming to Inverlochy, hadn’t even known John MacDougall had a daughter named Amy. But since he had only met with the clan chief and his guards twice, and in the woods, he hadn’t met any of the family members.

  He did find it alarming John hadn’t alerted him that his daughter would be in the castle.

  Mayhap, she’d been supposed to leave by the time Hamish arrived.

  Or, mayhap, MacDougall didn’t care about his daughter. That may be, with the man’s cold, distant gaze. Hamish knew people like him. His foster parents had looked at him and Fiona, his foster sister, in the same manner.

  As though they looked at farming tools.

  Hamish felt sorry for Amy.

  Still, she was on his side. She playacted so well, he’d doubted her until he saw her looking through the storeroom.

  The tunnel was somewhere there. Mayhap, under that rock with the carvings. Mayhap somewhere else. But that must be why Craig had put guards there. He was afraid Amy would run away. And that someone else might find a way in through the tunnel.

  Now that Hamish knew where the entrance was, he didn’t need Craig anymore.

  He could free the lass from him.

  He watched as Craig and Amy rode through the village. Although he couldn’t see their faces in the darkness, their postures were relaxed. When they jumped from their horses, they stood close to each other. They even looked happy.

  Then Craig had kissed her.

  Poor lass.

  Hamish clenched his fists. She must be pretending to tolerate his touches, only for a chance at freedom.

  Like Fiona had. Pretended the work wasn’t too much. Pretended she wasn’t tired. Pretended she wasn’t in pain. Anything so that their foster parents wouldn’t beat her. He’d done her work, too. As much as he could but not so much that they would notice.

  But Fiona was weak. She’d needed rest and care. None of which she got.

  And then he’d buried the only living person who’d been kind to him, who’d given a damn about him, who was like him.

  Suppressed. Imprisoned. Used.

  Like Amy.

  Tonight, Owen had gone into the village with Lachlan and a few others and invited half the village for a feast. There wouldn’t be a better opportunity to do what Hamish had come here to do. Most of the men would be drunk and busy with willing lasses.

  No one would suspect.

  Time to finish his mission. Tonight. Get his money from John MacDougall, take his daughter back to him.

  Then Hamish would finally be able to buy a small piece of land with farms and a keep or a castle. Mayhap, an island. And live there peacefully.

  He’d already let go of the only woman he could imagine marrying. It had been nine years ago, in the Borderlands, that he had fallen in love with Deidre Maxwell, daughter of the Maxwell clan chief in Caerlaverock. She was of gentry. He was a nobody. He’d just started looking for missions at the time, not a penny in his pocket. And yet he’d seduced her, and she’d given him her virginity. Their love affair had been the happiest time in his life.

  And then he’d left her. He’d run away. Because she’d wanted him to marry her.

  And he just couldn’t get attached to someone like that only to lose them. Like he’d lost Fiona.

  He shook his head in an attempt to shake off the painful memories. He needed to concentrate on the mission. Part of it was to join Bruce’s army and undermine them from the inside. John MacDougall only kent from Lord Comyn that there was a tunnel, not where it was.

  And if the auld MacDougall lord didna care about his daughter, it was an even bigger reason to protect her.

  Aye, her misery would end tonight.

  He watched as Amy and Craig went into the stables, then after a while, they ran out into the Comyn Tower, holding hands, their clothes wrinkled and hay straws stuck to them.

  His jaw tightened, his teeth grinding. Poor lass. She had to sleep with the man.

  Hamish would free her.

  When the couple disappeared, he left his post. He checked the dagger that Sir William had given him was in his boot. It was a beautiful, goodbye gift for his years of loyal service as squire. Years during which he’d trained to be an unstoppable warrior. Years he’d been training for the campaign to earn his freedom. When no one else would have the audacity to tell him what to do.

  He raced through the courtyard into the great hall. He glanced up to check which of the guards might have seen him. But he knew a couple of watchmen were probably sleeping, and the rest probably weren’t paying attention.

  He went into the great hall, which was loud with laughter and music, and stinking of body odor mixed with alcohol. People danced to the music, and he greeted a couple of men to make himself be seen. Then he untied his cloak and left it in the corner. He threw back a cup of uisge, laughed and sang loudly. Then, when enough people had noticed him, he slipped out of the hall back into the night. He raced to the Comyn Tower and up the stairs to the first floor.

  Behind the door, in the lord’s private chambers where the Cambels slept, the sounds of a satisfied woman and a man in ecstasy made him chuckle.

  Owen, Owen. ’Tis good I kill Craig tonight. Because he’d have killed ye tomorrow.

  Hamish continued climbing the stairs until he finally stood before the door into the lord’s bedchamber. A man moaned loudly, and rhythmically, but the woman sounded as though she was struggling.

  A low groan escaped his throat. Removing his dagger from his boot, he quietly opened the door. Two figures were moving under the blankets. Craig’s dark head was on top, and Amy’s red hair spilled over the pillow. Her hands were above her head, and he was pinning them to the pillows.

  Hamish moved without a sound and came to stand by the bed. Their eyes were closed.

  He grabbed Craig’s hair, pulled his head back, and slit his throat in one swift movement. Blood spilled onto Amy in pumping jerks.

  Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to scream, but Hamish was ready. He put his hand on her mouth to muffle the sound.

  “Shhh!” he said. “’Tis all right, Amy, lass—”

  His eyes widened.

  It wasn’t Amy. She had the same red hair, but it was a woman he’d never seen.

  He cursed. That was one rule he had. Never to harm an innocent woman.

  “To all devils of all the red seas,” he mumbled and looked at the man’s face.

  Lachlan!

  He’d killed an innocent man. He’d actually liked Lachlan. Hamish’s gut was hard and heavy. A tight lump formed in his throat.

  He glanced at th
e lass who was about to scream.

  “If yer life is dear to ye, shut up, dress, and come with me.”

  He would need to part with a significant portion of his savings today. But it was one rule he couldn’t break.

  Innocent women and children were untouchable.

  Or he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

  Chapter 24

  Craig tangled his fingers with Amy’s and studied her feminine hand. They were now fully dressed, lying in hay. The horses were asleep, rain drumming softly against the walls and the roof. She was lying on top of him, her weight pleasant and soothing. Her chest moved with his as he breathed. Her scent encompassed him, her hair and skin smelling like sweet grass and rain and her.

  Craig felt sated, his body heavy and broad, as though he’d expanded and grown. Lightness filled his chest, the echo of hope that he sometimes felt in spring.

  Amy…

  She was more than he’d ever thought or hoped she would be. From enemy, she had turned to someone else now. He did not know what yet, or rather, didn’t want to put a label on her.

  She might still do something to break his trust and hurt him. Hurt him like he’d never been hurt before.

  Because what he really wanted to call her, was his love.

  The love of his life.

  His wife.

  The woman he could trust more than himself.

  He needed to trust someone like that.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “I wilna get used to the strange words ye say sometimes. Okay?”

  She smiled. “Sorry. I mean, are you all right? Your heart started to beat faster all of a sudden.”

  She put her chin on his chest to look at him. Her eyes were big and soft and glossy. He took a strand of her hair, auburn now in the darkness.

  “Aye, I am all right. I was just thinking about ye…”

  “Oh. Well, good thing I was thinking of you, too.” She kissed his chest gently.

  “And about trust.”

  She stiffened and looked up at him, the smile faded on her lips.

  “Do you think you can ever trust me fully?” she asked.