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

by Emily Royal

  “Your brother.”

  “Richard?”

  “He showed me mercy, Elyssia. Richard did what was necessary to appease your father until he was able to free me. I wear these wounds with pride—to mark my rightful punishment for what I did to you.”

  He brushed his lips against her knuckles.

  “I would have each and every finger torn from me if it would atone for what I did to you—the only woman I have ever loved.”

  “What of Margaret? I saw you, Tavish. I heard your words.”

  “They were the words of a man who regrets the waste of a life. Before the bitterness of loss and jealousies of adulthood consumed her, she was a gentle, loving child. The night I killed her, I mourned the loss of that child. But I don’t regret killing the woman she had turned into, for she wanted to take you from me.”

  “And who am I, Tavish? A body to possess?”

  He drew close, nostrils flaring.

  “You may have the body of a whore, but do ye think I prefer the skinny body of one who deems herself to be a lady over one such as yours? That I would prefer anything over a lovely round arse and beautiful round, ripe teats that were made fill my hands? We Highlanders are a hungry race. The mountain air fuels our passions. I came here to claim your sweet curves, Elyssia. I want to feel the flesh of my woman quivering beneath me against the land of my ancestors while I bury myself inside her and brand her as mine.”

  “You want me to be your whore again?”

  He fisted his hand in her hair and brought his face close. Desire and fury flared in his eyes.

  “No.”

  His body trembled with unmet need, the passion threatening to burst; a thundercloud ready to strike, unleashing the torrent within.

  “I want ye to be my wife, Elyssia. I want ye to rule Clan MacLean with me, as my equal, to watch our son grow to be a man and teach him that strength comes from forgiveness, not vengeance. I want ye by my side for the rest of my life, to bear me lusty sons and strong daughters, and to hear their laughter carry across the wind of the forest and the air of the mountains.”

  He brought his mouth down on hers, his lips demanding until she yielded. Her body obeyed him as instinctively as her heart pumped her lifeblood through her veins—the lifeblood destined to flow through her children.

  His kisses grew tender, gentle administrations to conquer her soul as his strength had conquered her body long ago. He traced a path across her cheek before he whispered in her ear, his hot breath warming her body against the winter air.

  “But most of all, lass, I want ye in my bed, every night, waiting for me.”

  He nipped her ear, sending a wicked pulse through her body. The scent of male need and deep timbre of his voice spoke of his primal desire for her.

  “Willing…”

  “Eager…”

  “Ready…”

  A low moan escaped her lips and his eyes lifted in a knowing smile.

  “There’s nothing more desirable than a woman who is ready for a man.”

  A surge of heat pooled in her centre, the sweet aroma of her own need mixing with his to form a heady cocktail.

  He drew the plaid back to expose her body. Yet the cold did not penetrate her. Warmth, fuelled by desire, intensified as he unlaced the front of her gown, tearing the material in his eagerness for her. The skin of her breasts tingled, and her nipples peaked to aching points before his hot, wet mouth soothed the ache and nipped the sensitive buds.

  “Do ye take me, Elyssia?”

  He lay back against the ground and pulled her on top of him.

  “I offer you myself—my land, my heart, and my soul. But I will not stand in your way if you wish to leave. The decision—and the power—belongs to you, and you alone.”

  “You would let me go if I wished it?”

  He blinked, his eyes moistening. “I love ye, Elyssia. Enough to desire your happiness above all things, even if that means letting you walk away from me.”

  “Hush, my love.”

  She leant against him, pleasurable pain spiking in her hardened nipples as they rubbed against the coarse material of his tunic. Parting her thighs, she gripped his legs with her knees, the wiry hairs of his thighs pricking against her skin. She crawled forwards until his member bulged against her body, pulsing against the source of her heat.

  “Elyssia…”

  She pulled his tunic up, and her body surged as the tip of him rubbed against her flesh, burning heat meeting burning heat. The tide of unmet need, which had swelled during their separation, finally burst within her.

  Emboldened by his surrender, she moved against him. The iron-hard flesh and muscle beneath her swelled against her thighs, ready to spear her.

  A groan of need burst from his lips, which she silenced, capturing his cries with her mouth. He invited her in, waiting for her to claim him.

  She thrust her tongue into his mouth, savouring the potent taste of man and spices, the earthy taste of her pagan god, who worshipped the goddess he offered himself to. She flexed her thigh muscles and rubbed herself against him until he hardened to bursting point. His manhood strained to bury himself inside her.

  “Elyssia… I cannot hold on…”

  She shifted away. “Not yet. You must wait.”

  “How you… you torture me so… you… you sorceress!” His breath came out in broken rasps. “Were you sent by the gods of old to torment me?”

  She moved until her flesh met his once more and teased him with her body, denying him entry though he jerked his body upwards, seeking entrance.

  “Take me, Elyssia. I am yours,” his voice strained through gritted teeth. “Do not deny me.”

  “And I belong to you, my love.”

  As if her words gave him permission, his body sprang into life. In one swift, dominant movement, he flipped her over until she landed on her back and he pinned her to the ground with his body.

  “Tavish…”

  Old memories darkened her vision, and a thick cloud of fear paralysed her.

  “No, my love!” he cried. “I’ll never take you unwilling again. You are mine, but not a possession to own and conquer. You’re mine to protect, to cherish and worship. The other half of my soul. My equal. My love,”

  The tide of fear which had threatened to drown her receded. Though it may return, the fear always nestling in the darkest recesses of her mind, he would help her conquer it.

  He loved her. Not for her title or her ability to tend to his home and bear children, but as a companion, a mate for life, to turn to for support and succour when needed, as he would give it to her.

  “Aye,” she whispered. “I am yours. And I love you.”

  His eyes crinkled into a smile, flecks of gold igniting the emerald green before a wicked glint pulsed in their depths.

  “Do you trust me?”

  She nodded, returning the smile.

  He nudged her thighs apart and pressed his body against her, the raw heat of man contrasting against the cold ground at her back. She parted her knees, issuing her invitation, but instead of driving himself into her he teased her as she had teased him. The tip of his manhood moved slickly against her flesh which pulsed with longing. A deep, slow rhythm reverberated throughout her body; a pagan chant, calling for the gods to descend.

  Her body tightened, and she threw her head back, pleading for release, but still, he tormented her, denying that which her body screamed for.

  “No, Elyssia.”

  “Please!”

  “No,” he repeated more quietly, but his voice held the tone of steel, a blade being drawn ready to fight to assert his place as the dominant male.

  “Your pleasure shall come at my command.”

  “No, Tavish. Would you torture me?”

  “As you tortured me just now? I merely seek retribution. But this time, my love, it’s not borne of a need for vengeance, but of a wish to give you pleasure.”

  He eased himself into her, but before she could draw him fully in, he withdrew. The ripple
s in her body died before they had begun. A cry burst from her throat at his denial. Her senses heightened with each movement—the rush of the air; the screams of the eagles overhead mirroring her own; and the overpowering scent of a male animal ready to take his mate.

  “Wait for me, my love.”

  She bit her lip, the sharp pain giving only slight relief from the pleasurable agony of his administrations. Her soul might be free, but her body had always been his. His to command, to take pleasure at his direction.

  “Now,” he whispered, his voice a soft echo in her head.

  “Now!”

  He sheathed himself inside her in a swift, powerful motion before withdrawing and plunging in again. A roar of triumph erupted from his chest, and her body burst into wave after wave of pleasure at his command, rippling and contracting round him. Her limbs writhed and danced, tempered only by the iron-hard body which claimed her as his. He speared her again with a deep cry which spiralled into the air to join the eagles, finally declaring her as his true mate, the other half of his soul.

  Pleasure crossed the threshold into pain before returning to pleasure. She cried his name until her voice broke and she let out a primeval scream—that of the female accepting his mastery over her body. Their twin cries echoed into the winter air, absorbed by the rocks to become part of the earth.

  He fell forwards with a roar of completion, his life essence flooding her with love. His huge muscular body was not stifling but protecting. The contours of his muscles hardened as he tightened his hold on her, his breath sending puffs into the air, his chest hammering in unison with hers.

  The Highlander had found his mate.

  * * *

  The pink hue on the ground had long since turned purple. The sun had slipped beneath the horizon, and the air had grown quiet, the eagles having disappeared for the night. But warmth cocooned her—the body heat of the man on top of her.

  Her Highlander.

  Her back ached, and her thighs burned from the pleasures he had given her—rough, animalistic pleasures. Her skin would be bruised; marks of love, not shame, given to her as she had urged him to bring her to completion.

  He opened his eyes. Two sleepy ovals which sparked with joy as they focused on her.

  “Are you real?” he whispered.

  “Aye, my love.”

  “Do you belong to me, Elyssia?”

  “I do.”

  He flashed her a devilish smile. “I must put that to the test once more.”

  His words sent a pulse of warmth through her centre, though her skin ached where he had taken her.

  “No, Tavish…”

  “Would you deny me?”

  “You said you would never take me by force.”

  “And I never will. I shall take you with gentleness. Your trust is the greatest gift you can give me, and I will treat it well. Do you trust me?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then lie back.”

  He kissed her. Not savagely, but reverently—the tender worship of his mate. He brushed her breasts with his knuckles, and her nipples stiffened, pleading to be tasted again despite her earlier denial. Placing a light kiss on the sensitive little bud, he moved his hand lower, towards the source of her need. The soft whisper of a fingertip reignited the flame within.

  “Do ye remember what I said that night in the forest when we first met?”

  “Aye. You said you would show me the pleasure a man can give a woman.”

  He traced a circle across her flesh, and the spark of life returned under his expert fingers.

  “The greatest honour I can give my woman is to show her pleasure when we are united in love and at one with the land which is part of my bones. I pledge myself to you now, before the land of my ancestors, to bind myself to you as your husband. It is my destiny—for I was the first man to give you pleasure.”

  Her body burst with life, and he claimed her cries with his kiss. Her limbs danced to the echo of the first pleasures they had shared at the very moment he had become her Highlander. The captor no longer existed.

  Elyssia closed her eyes and let the ripples of pleasure wash over her before she fell back into a delicious languor in his arms.

  “Sleep safe, my love.”

  He curled his big body round hers. Her Highlander, sent by the pagan gods to love and protect her.

  Lyssie…

  A voice whispered in her heart.

  …be happy with him.

  In her mind’s eye, she saw two women holding hands—Alice and Flora. Two gentle souls too pure for the mortal world, faerie spirits free to float on the breeze and watch over all at Glenblane.

  Epilogue

  Elyssia held the crying child to her breast. Tavish didn’t know whether he cried from cold or hunger. Perhaps he knew his uncle was leaving.

  The faint undertone of hoarseness in his wife’s voice, indiscernible to others, spoke of her pain. She would miss her brother dreadfully.

  “Must you go today? It’s such a long journey.”

  Richard laughed. “Motherhood becomes you, Lyssie, but not all men are weak babes, despite the fact that, compared to you, most men would be found wanting.”

  His eyes crinkled into a smile, so like hers.

  Oh, how she smiled now! From the day Tavish first saw her, in the power of the sadistic Allendyne, he’d been captivated by the soulful expression in her eyes. But never had he realised how her smile would illuminate the darkness and drive out the shadows in his heart.

  He moved behind her, and his body hardened. The familiar warmth pulsed through his veins at her closeness. Since they had made love on the mountainside, she had barely left his bed, his need for her only momentarily satisfied before he craved her once more, drawing her back to take her again. Their cries of ecstasy echoed through the passageways, soaking into the walls of the solar, banishing the screams of terror and pain which had plagued his memories and driven his thirst for vengeance.

  Her craving for him was as potent. The breath caught in her throat with sorrow at parting with her brother, but also with the effort to temper her desire. She leant against him and tipped her head back, offering her lips.

  The child stirred in her arms and drew a little fist into his mouth.

  His son. Richard McTavish MacLean.

  Richard de Montford kissed his nephew before cupping Elyssia’s face in his hand. Sorrow etched into his forehead as he traced the scar on her chin with his thumb.

  “You have a husband and a son to care for now, Lyssie. Let me shift for myself.”

  “Can’t you wait until summer is here?” Elyssia persisted. “Wouldn’t it be less dangerous?”

  “There’s little danger. Conall and I will be safe.”

  Flora’s son. The boy had the makings of a fine man and was devoted to his older brother. He sat on his mount, proud and erect, determination in his stance; a determination to honour his family—both English and Scottish.

  Tavish nodded towards a third horse, tethered to Richard’s mount. Its rider had been secured to the saddle, hands bound. Though she wore a finely spun cloak, streaks of dirt stained her face, her hair a tangled mass. Two brown eyes glittered with defiance.

  “What about the barbarian?”

  “She’ll be no trouble,” Richard said. “I’m more than a match for one thin child, brother. Has she not pledged not to harm me?”

  “Aye,” Tavish replied. “I was there when she made her vow before her pagan gods, offering herself up to be struck down by the demons if she were to break it. But the old ways run deep. You must be wary of her.”

  “Treat her with kindness,” Elyssia said. “‘Tis plain to see she’s had little or no love in her life.”

  “You’re too soft-hearted,” Richard smiled.

  Tavish held out his hand. Richard took it and curled his fingers into an iron grip. His voice carried an edge of steel.

  “Take care of my sister, MacLean.”

  “Aye, I will,” Tavish replied, mischief in his heart. “I found
a spirited lass among my enemies and fell in love the day I opened her eyes to the pleasures a man can give. Take care, de Montford, lest you find yourself doing the same.”

  A curse sprang from the girl’s lips. Richard turned to look at her, his nostrils flaring before he threw back his head and laughed.

  “You and I are so different, brother! You would never have been happy with a biddable wife. I myself prefer a peaceful existence. I wish you luck with my hellion of a sister in your bed.”

  He mounted his horse and, with a final salute, spurred his mount forward, his two companions in his wake. The rhythmic hoofbeats of the three horses drifted across the air long after they had disappeared among the trees.

  Tavish drew his wife close and tipped his head forward, breathing in the scent of her hair.

  “Why would you tease my brother so?” Elyssia asked.

  Tavish laughed. “I’ve grown to know your brother well. I’ve seen him in many guises—an enemy on the field; my captor; torturer; the man who delivered me from death; my comrade in battle; and finally, my brother. He and I are more alike than he thinks. I see a man whose heart is ripe for the taking—ready to be ensnared by a spirited lass who cannot be tamed.”

  He kissed the top of her head.

  “Come inside, my love. It grows cold. Pass Richard to me.”

  Cradling his son in the crook of his arm, he took her hand and led her across the courtyard towards his future—a life governed by love.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

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  Emily is a mathematics geek who grew up in Sussex and has always had a passion for romance and strong alpha heroes. After graduating from Oxford and enjoying a brief dream of becoming an airline pilot she started a career in financial services in order to indulge her love of mathematics.

  She now lives in rural Scotland with her husband, two daughters and a menagerie of pets including Twinkle, an attention-seeking boa constrictor. She reignited her passion for romance when she joined the Romantic Novelists’ Association under their New Writers’ Scheme.