The Sins of the Sire: Dark Highland Passions, #1

by Emily Royal

  Perhaps Duncan would marry her. He was kind, honourable, and would follow the wishes of his friend and laird. When he returned, he would speak with her.

  “Master Tavish, shall I go?”

  He turned to the man beside him. Gordon may be the son of a cowherd, but he was a skilled tracker. His task was to scout the property to confirm where Elyssia was being held.

  “Aye, Gordon. Make haste.”

  With luck, by this time tomorrow, they would be on their way home with his woman.

  * * *

  Elyssia rubbed her lower back. Stiff with cold, her hands cramped into claws. But she was grateful for the oncoming winter, for Edward’s visits had grown less. He had refused to let her see Alice, and her fears for her sister grew each day. The thought of her delicate body at the mercy of Edward’s harsh hands was almost unbearable. But Alice, it seemed, was no sport for Edward, her biddable nature her salvation. An old woman from Allendyne village who visited Elyssia to bring her food had given news of Lady Allendyne. It seemed that Edward, tiring of his wife’s passivity, had turned his attentions to the village whores.

  The sentries guarding her taunted her during the day, but her mind had long since hardened to their insults. “The Highlander’s whore,” they called her, laughing as they told her what would happen when she rid her body of the bastard. Edward had promised he’d permit the child to live, but what life would it lead, despised by all?

  Her skin prickled at a sound from outside; a clash of steel, a muffled crash as a door was flung open. Footsteps echoed across the wooden floor until they stopped outside her chamber door.

  She winced at a twinge in her lower belly, and her stomach churned. With no weapons, she had only her fists. But they would not take her without a fight.

  The door swung inwards to reveal the silhouette of a man. He filled the doorway, his shoulders almost touching either side. Thick calfskin boots were laced to the knees. A plaid wrapped around his body, enveloping him in the thick woollen material. The blade of his sword was covered in red smears. His free hand, on which he wore a glove, rested on his sword belt which hung low on his hips.

  His hair hung below his shoulders, longer than when she had last seen him. The candlelight picked out flecks of red and gold. But his eyes—they shone in the light, bright and hard as emeralds.

  Tavish MacLean had come for her.

  The memory of his hatred burned through her mind and she stepped back. She would never willingly be a man’s whore again.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to claim you.”

  “No.”

  “You belong to me,” he growled, “and you’ll come with me now.”

  “I belong to nobody. You cannot force me to go with you.”

  In a blur of movement, he crossed the chamber and pinned her to the wall with his body, reminiscent of their first meeting—the prisoner in the garrison, his hard, muscular body against hers, the scent of musk and man.

  He took her wrists, and his hot, hard mouth came down on her. She let out a cry, and he thrust his tongue in, swallowing her protest, probing, teasing before becoming more insistent. Lips moved hungrily over her mouth. Rough, strong male lips, abrasive against her skin, branding her as his. The friction sent shockwaves through to her core which pulsed in recognition.

  “Lyssie!” A familiar voice cut through the fog of primal lust.

  “R-Richard…” she panted. What was her brother doing here… with Highlanders?

  A deep rumble erupted from Tavish’s chest. “Leave the chamber, de Montford.”

  “MacLean…”

  “Duncan! Take him out.”

  “Let me go!” Elyssia cried.

  “No. You are mine.”

  He brought his mouth on her again, a gentle caress which soothed her bruised lips where he had crushed them just moments before.

  “Ye want me, woman. Or would ye deny it?”

  In a slow, deliberate gesture, he lifted her wrists until her arms were raised over her head, before pressing them against the wall and leaning against her. His body heat penetrated the thin material of her gown, and her nipples tightened to peaks, stiffening against the rough fabric. A low growl vibrated in his body.

  “Aye, ye want me.”

  He silenced her denial with his mouth. Holding her wrists in his gloved hand, he took her throat with his free hand, and circled it with his fingers, a thrall collar of flesh and bone. Though she struggled, his grip on her wrists was too tight. Dipping his hand below the front of her gown, his lips curled into a smile against her mouth as his fingers found her breast and teased her nipple which tightened to a painful point to betray her further.

  He withdrew his hand, and she whimpered at the sense of loss before he placed his hand on her belly in a gentle caress.

  “This child is mine.”

  “No,” she sobbed, “it’ll never be yours, only mine. Leave me alone!”

  “I will not,” he said, his voice laced with ownership. “I want you—and the child.”

  “No, you don’t,” she cried. “I was merely a vessel for your revenge.”

  He tightened his hold on her wrists. “You were mine from the day I first saw you in that garrison. I wanted nothing more than to lift your skirts and bury myself inside you, to take you against that wall as I will do here and now.”

  “No…”

  “Aye, Elyssia. Remember what I said. A woman is only ever truly owned by the man who first gave her pleasure.”

  He cupped her breast and pinned her to the wall, his body hard and ready. The instinct to submit destroyed her defences, the shield with which she protected her mind against the battering ram of his manhood, the raw, potent mastery of the dominant male taking his mate.

  “Who first gave you pleasure, Elyssia?”

  A shock of heat grazed her nipple as he took her breast into his mouth and nipped it with his lips before soothing it with his tongue. A deep roar of need echoed in his chest, sending shockwaves through her body. Murmuring her name, he stroked and suckled, a man dying of thirst drinking from the well he had sought at the end of a long, arid journey.

  He pulled up her skirts, his hand abrading the sensitive skin of her thigh before he opened his palm to caress her belly, the feather-soft movement so unlike the dominant grasp of his hand on her wrists.

  “My child,” he whispered. His breath caught as the babe moved inside her. His caresses spoke of something more than mastery over her flesh. Did he cherish her, or was it merely the child he wanted?

  He moved his hand lower, and the pagan returned. His fingers reached their destination, and he drew in a sharp breath.

  “My woman.”

  Unable to fight her body’s reaction, she parted her thighs, and his fingers caressed her in smooth, slick movements. A cry erupted from her, and he suckled at the sensitive skin at the base of her throat. The nip of pain increased her craving and another surge of need pulsed from deep within her.

  He rumbled his approval, the primal sound vibrating against her body.

  “Your lips may deny me, woman, but your body speaks the truth. It knows you are mine and is calling to your master.”

  Her body tightened at his last word. With a sigh of defeat, she surrendered and waited for him to ignite the fire which would consume her.

  He stopped moving his finger and the embers within her dulled. She whimpered with unmet need.

  “Tell me, Elyssia,” he said, a hard edge to his voice. “Say you belong to me.”

  Tears of shame and denial burned her eyelids. Biting her lip to prevent her cry of submission, she shifted her legs against his hand, chasing the flame of desire which flickered just out of reach, offering herself to him in her desperate need for release.

  He gripped her thigh, holding her still while she squirmed in need, forcing her shame to the recesses of her mind.

  “No, woman,” he growled. “Choose your fate. Tell me what your body begs for—or deny me. If you tell me to leave, I wi
ll go, and you’ll never see me again.”

  A voice in her mind screamed at her to deny him. Holding her firm, he eased a finger inside her.

  “Tavish!” the cry burst from her lips as her body began to ripple around him.

  “Tell me to leave.”

  “No!” she cried, tilting her pelvis towards him, submitting to the burning passion that only he could satisfy.

  “Will you come to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you belong to me? Are you mine?”

  “Yes!” she sobbed, the voice of her defeat resonating through the chamber. “Yes, Tavish! I’m yours!”

  He withdrew his finger before plunging it back in, joined by a second and a third, curling them round inside her. The sweet agony burst into an inferno. She screamed with the force of it, crying out his name until his mouth crashed into hers, marking her as his forever.

  He released her wrists. Ignoring the ache where the rough material of the glove had bitten into the flesh, she drew her arms around him, fisting her hands in his hair, pulling him towards her, drawing him in deeper, wanting him to consume her, wanting her flesh to dissolve into his.

  The myriad of colours swirling in her vision merged into a soft grey as her climax subsided. Opening her eyes, she saw the edge of his plaid where he had placed her head on his chest. One arm held her in a tight embrace, her body limp against his. Tender fingertips caressed the skin at the nape of her neck, his breath a warm sigh, sending sparks of fire through her skin, answering the deep pulse of aftershocks in her body.

  Tears burned her cheeks, salty beads of shame and defeat moistening his plaid, some standing proud against the rough woollen fabric, others melting into the fibres.

  “Shhh…”

  He caressed her hair, the gesture of the Highlander of her dreams; so unlike the savage she had willingly given herself to.

  Eventually, he released his hold and opened the door. Richard stood at the threshold, Duncan restraining his arms. Her brother’s face was ghostly white, horror etched into his delicate features. His eyes met hers, pity in their soft expression before he dropped his gaze to her hand which clutched Tavish’s arm, fingers curling into the material of his plaid. Her dear brother had witnessed her surrender, had seen—and heard—her true weakness.

  Richard’s expression twisted with fury and he pulled free from Duncan’s grip. The arms holding Elyssia stiffened, muscles tense, ready to crush the challenge of another male. Recognising his dominance, Richard dropped his gaze.

  “Are you ready, Tav?” Duncan said.

  “Aye,” Tavish replied. “It’s time I took my woman home.”

  * * *

  The further Tavish moved from the hovel in which Allendyne had incarcerated Elyssia, the weaker the influence of the spell he’d woven around her. Shame at how he had mastered her body in the cottage ate away at his conscience, but he had been unable to stop himself. For there was only one tool, he could use to engineer her willing flight—their mutual craving for each other.

  But her desire warred with the one thing that had driven her actions almost from the day she had been born. It resurfaced with each step they took.

  “Alice…”

  She pulled her hand away from his, crying in frustration as he held her firm.

  “We must leave, Elyssia. There’s no time to lose.”

  “You found time to force yourself on me!” she hissed.

  He pulled her close. “Be quiet, woman, lest you betray us. We’re not clear of the estate.” Grasping the back of her neck, he forced her head around to face him. Her eyes glittered with defiance, but he would not back down.

  “I did not force myself upon you, woman. You gave yourself to me and will come with me now unless you want more deaths on your conscience.”

  “Damn you!” she cried. “I’ll not suffer Alice’s death on my conscience!”

  Richard took her hand. “Lyssie, please listen to him. I like it not myself, but he speaks the truth. You must come now. Willing or no, MacLean will take you.”

  “What of Alice?” Elyssia’s voice increased in pitch with fear for her sister. “Please, Tavish, do not take me without her! She has no one to fight for her.”

  “Forgive me, there’s no time.”

  “No!” she screamed. “I would rather die than abandon her! If I leave her to her fate, then everything I sacrificed on her behalf was for nothing!”

  Dear Lord, she spoke the truth. His own sister had been sacrificed to protect Alice. Even Elyssia herself willingly sacrificed her virtue and her dignity, submitting herself to humiliation and torture at the hands of Tavish and his people—all for Alice.

  And he owed her, though she would never tell him.

  “Duncan, find her sister.”

  Elyssia struggled in his grip. “Let me.”

  “Don’t be a fool!” he said. “In your condition, you’d not get far.”

  Richard pulled Elyssia to him. “I’ll go. Alice is my sister also.”

  Perhaps in the face of his sister’s bravery, the young man would be worthy to be called her brother after all. Tavish released Elyssia from his grip, his heart aching as she flew into her brother’s arms.

  “Let me be the one to look after her this time, Lyssie.” Richard nodded towards Tavish. “Your place is with him. It’s time you placed your own welfare before that of others.”

  She took her brother’s hands, her eyes shining with the same love she held for her sister. Would she turn her loving eyes on Tavish again, or had he destroyed it irrevocably?

  Richard kissed his sister on the forehead. “Your concern for those dependent on you has almost ruined you, dearest sister. But no more. ‘Tis time your brother became a man. While I have breath in my body, you shall suffer no more. I would die to protect you, Lyssie, and I’ll kill anyone who brings you harm.”

  Richard lifted his gaze to Tavish, the height differential between them destroyed by the resolve in his expression. Eyes the colour of ice conveyed the unspoken message.

  Tavish bowed his head in acknowledgement of the warning.

  “Very well, de Montford. Give us half the night before you make your move. In her current state, I cannot travel quickly with your sister, and I want to put as much distance as possible between us and Allendyne before the alarm is raised.”

  Elyssia embraced her brother, the twins whispering words of love to each other before Richard handed her back to Tavish.

  “Take care of her, MacLean.”

  Tavish nodded before leading Elyssia to his mount. He lifted her swollen body onto the saddle before swinging himself up behind her. Elyssia clutched the horse’s mane, but her body shook with fatigue. It would be impossible to ride hard in her condition.

  The party set off at a slow pace. It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter 25

  The darkness deepened, clouds obscuring the moonlight. Tavish was reluctant to order the party to stop to rest, even though the woman in his arms was exhausted. At one point she had nearly lost her hold and fallen. Now she lay back in his arms, secured by his plaid which he had wrapped around them both.

  The steady tread of the horses’ hooves reverberated through the ground beneath them, punctuated by the screech of hunting owls and the squeals of their prey.

  Soon Tavish’s own party would be a quarry for another hunt, their predator more formidable than a woodland bird. He straightened his back, the skin burning at the memory of Allendyne’s lash marks. If he caught up with them, he would not be merciful. He would not stop until Tavish, and his men were dead.

  And what of the woman in his arms? Allendyne would not willingly let her go. Tavish tightened his hold on her at the thought of that man’s hands on her, and she let out a soft moan.

  “Hush,” he whispered. She let out another groan which increased until she pitched forward and screamed. His mount whinnied in protest.

  “Let me down!”

  She screamed again. The men began to protest. Her cries echoed in the
night air. On an open path, they would be easy prey.

  “Into the forest!” he cried, and he spurred his mount and led the party into the trees. With each jolting motion, she grunted in pain until she let out a long screech as if summoning a creature from beyond the grave. The inhuman wail prickled at the base of his neck. His body itched to flee as primal fear rose from within. It was the fear every child carries—fear of the dark, of ghosts, of the dead.

  “For the love of God, Tavish, silence her!”

  He reined his mount to a halt and dismounted, pulling Elyssia with him. The clouds broke, and a shaft of moonlight highlighted a creature from another world, skin deathly pale, eyes dark and wide.

  “The child…” She dug her fingers into his arm.

  A large stain spread across the skirt of her gown, dark red liquid glistening in the moonlight.

  “Help me with her—someone!”

  Twigs snapped underfoot as a man ran towards him. The cowherd, Gordon.

  “Give her to me, Master Tavish, I know what to do.”

  “We need a midwife.”

  “You think one will spring from the bracken? Don’t be a fool! I can tend to her.”

  “She’s not one of your cows!”

  “It’s no different to birthing a calf. You have no choice. Do you want her to die?”

  Elyssia let out another wail.

  “Very well. See to her while I keep watch.”

  Handing her to Gordon, Tavish turned his back, but a hand restrained him, and he looked into Duncan’s angry face.

  “You’re to abandon her while she suffers?”

  “Birthing is not a man’s job.”

  “Help her, Tav. It’s your child she carries.”

  “The father is never present at the birth of his child.”

  “Neither should he violate the mother.”

  Duncan’s words carried the tone of judgement, but none could judge Tavish as harshly as his own conscience. To see her suffer when it had all been at his hand, knowing that she may die tonight—the guilt gnawed away at him.

  He turned back at another howl. Elyssia was on her hands and knees. Her body rocked to and fro, grunting with each movement. Gordon knelt beside her, palm flat on her back.