Finding My Highlander

by Aleigha Siron

  On their return trip to the hideout, they dipped into a nearby loch to wash the burnt stench from their clothes and noses. Kendrick ran his hands through his wet hair. “At least we can have some meat tonight. I’m near famished.” A few squirrels and rabbits retrieved from Rabbie’s snares hung from their saddles.

  “My stomach growls louder than a wildcat.” Rabbie chuckled, and then grew serious. “What are we going to do about the Cameron menace?”

  Kendrick abhorred the idea of starting a clan war over the loathsome Camerons. There had been more than enough strife to beleaguer the clans. Constant skirmishes with the Sassenachs and the border clans who sought alliances with them kept everyone on edge. Many Highland clans hovered on the brink of starvation.

  “I’m not exactly certain. Though I’m not in favor of taxing our people further, we must find a way to settle this matter with Cormag and his clan for the last time. If he seeks war, he will soon find it. I plan to discuss it with father and meet with our allied clans as soon as possible.”

  “Aye, there has been much to beleaguer us; not to mention the loss of wealth in the failed Darien Scheme. It was good you stayed away from that misadventure.”

  “I lost my share, cousin, but there’s no sense worrying over the past. There’s more than enough trouble brewing. Especially now that Queen Anne has passed the Alien Act, one more blow preventing our ability to trade with the southlands, the French, or the colonies. There’s plenty of talk about bringing back the Prince. Yet other clans grow weary and consider a union with England the only solution.”

  Kendrick grew silent and stared toward their destination.

  “You’re thinking about her, I can tell. It appears a pretty, green-eyed lass has kindled her own sort of trouble with you.”

  “Leave it be, Rabbie.” Thoughts of her consumed him, but he certainly wouldn’t admit his growing obsession, nor would he discuss the matter with his cousin.

  * * *

  Andra was tucking the children under their blankets when Kendrick and Rabbie entered the cave. She acknowledged their entrance with a brief glance over her shoulder. Rabbie flashed a brilliant smile at her, which she returned. A stab of jealousy hit Kendrick and he shot her an angry scowl. She blithely ignored him, turned away, straightened her back, and rested her pert, little butt on her heels. One minute in her presence and she already attracted and irritated him. It felt like a sharp barb had lodged in his brain.

  Senga reached out and tentatively touched a finger to Andra’s hand. “What is it you need, Senga?” The girl turned her face away.

  Kyle answered. “Will ye sing for us, Lady Andra?”

  Kendrick noticed all the men turned toward the little group when Kyle made his request. Andra bent forward, kissed the wee ones’ cheeks, and sang. When the words, “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me,” rang out everything hushed but her crisp soprano voice, which seemed to bind their souls in a song-like prayer both tender and profound. When the verse, “‘Tis grace has brought me safe thus far, And grace will lead me home,” something hard knocked in his chest. Kendrick noticed the other men dip their chins, and clasp their hands in front of their bodies in a pose of suspended reverence.

  As the last note reverberated through the cave, she kissed the children, snugly tucked them into the plaids and whispered, “Good night, sweet lambs.”

  Andra appeared to collapse into herself and struggle for breath. When she turned toward them, her face twisted in anguish and her eyes glistened with moisture. Tears spilled over the rim of her lashes and streaked down her face. Bunching her skirt in her hands, she darted into the night. No one stopped her. The men looked away from each other as though embarrassed or confused over what to do.

  After a moment of hesitation, Kendrick followed her outside but stayed back a few feet, uncertain how to approach. A terrible torment seemed to possess the lass. She shook with pitiful, wrenching sobs and pounded the ground with her fists crying out to her father. “Please Dad, please, please, send me back home. Oh God, how can I survive here?”

  What could she possibly mean by those words? It didn’t matter; he would untangle her words later. For now, an overwhelming urge to wrap her in his arms swamped him. He felt an urgent need to protect and shelter her from whatever caused such searing pain. It took every ounce of reserve he possessed to permit her this release without interference. The brave, obstinate, defiant lass she’d seemed up until this moment bled into the ground along with her tears. He could not leave her in this disheveled heap, sobbing into the dirt.

  Approaching cautiously, he knelt and touched her shoulder. “Lass?” She flinched but did not pull away. After a few moments of hitching sobs, she turned into his arms and clung to his neck. She cupped his stubbled cheek with a cool hand and pressed her face into his shoulder.

  He wiped her tear-stained face with his thumbs, and brushed back silky strands of hair that always managed to escape her braid. Resistance was impossible. He kissed her hair, her forehead, her eyes; he tasted the salt on her cheeks and lips. Gently at first and then with riveting passion they pressed into each other, grasping, claiming. His desire for her penetrated his bones straight to the marrow.

  With eyes wide open, she searched his face, perhaps seeking words he knew not how to give. With an expression full of aching need, she lifted her lips to his and granted him a quenching kiss. Never separating from his mouth, she pulled him beside her onto a bed of pine needles and fallen leaves.

  “A stór, you taste sweet and salty.” Kendrick suckled her lower lip, invaded her mouth with his tongue.

  She matched him stroke for stroke. His hands traced the line of her neck, across her chest, along her ribs, squeezing at the curve of her waist. She turned into him more fully. He continued his exploration along the full roundness of her hip and tight buttocks. Her hands moved across his arms, shoulders, up his neck and tangled into his hair.

  Some part of his thoughts screamed, “This is not right. You should not compromise her in this vulnerable state.” Nevertheless, he wanted her, craved her touch, and needed her passion as much as she needed his. Ignoring the reservations tugging at his conscience, he ravished her mouth and slipped his hand under her shirt to cup her breast. A breast holstered in the same silky contraption she had worn by the pool. He remembered the pink blush of color that almost matched the flush on her milky skin. His thumb circled over the puckered bead under the silken fabric. She moaned and lifted fully into his palm.

  Pulling his shirt out of his plaid, she slid soft cool hands over his abdomen. Long, slender fingers raked through the wiry hair on his chest then followed the thin line that continued down past his belly. She stopped just past his waist and sat up to wriggle out of her vest. They spoke no words, each pulsing with intense need.

  He helped pull her shirt over her head. Even in the dim light, her skin glowed like polished pearls. He pressed his lips to her neck, nipping and drawing kisses down her chest and took the tip of her breast, silk material and all, into his mouth. Her hands reached behind her back to unfasten her silky undergarment. She pushed him away and let her full breasts spill out.

  “I rather enjoyed the feel of you through that silken holster.” But the heat of her unadorned, rosy flesh was far more enticing.

  “Shush,” she quieted him. Unpinning his plaid, she pulled his shirt over his shoulders, fumbled with his belt to release his kilt, sporran, and the dirk strapped there.

  Kendrick briefly held her apart from him. He was no monster to take advantage of her in a moment of extreme distress. “Mo chuisle, I burn for you, I do, but I will stop if you wish it. Just say the word. Are you certain you want to continue?”

  Every fiber of his being wanted to claim her completely, wanted to plunge into her soft, heated folds and drown in the taste and smell of her. In spite of this urgent need, he held still, waiting for a response. He needed her acceptance.

  Her voice was a husky whisper as she placed trembling fingers to his face. “Th
is is so…unlike me. It has been a very long time since—,” she continued to feather sweet kisses over his face and neck as she spoke and he could barely concentrate on her words. “I do not want to question it. All I know is what I feel. I want…” She faltered, and then laved her tongue along his neck and whispered, “I want this moment, this fire exploding between us. This madness is the only real thing worth having in a crazy, unreal world.”

  She nipped his earlobe sending a bolt straight to his loins where he hardened and thickened with need. Then she stood to pull off her skirt and those tantalizingly tight fitting trews. His hands cupped her breasts, then followed the descent of her clothes over full hips and down strong, firm legs, helping to push them away from her feet.

  He tugged his plaid under them to serve as their bed. She stood before him naked, shivering, yet her flesh felt hot under his hands. Her fingers snaked through his hair while his rough hands rubbed over her taut buttock. One hand slipped across her hip and traced a finger along what appeared to be a long scar on her abdomen.

  “How did you receive this injury, lass?” It was a significant scar; he wondered how she’d survived such a wound. When he opened his mouth to speak again, she touched her fingers to his lips to quell his questions. He pressed his face against her belly, kissing and nipping along the pink ridge. His hand slipped high between her thighs and a finger delved into her moist heat. His thumb rolled over her pleasure bud eliciting a throaty gasp from her lips.

  Andra closed her eyes and lifted her knee to his shoulder, granting him access to her sensuous core. Piercing him with a look of pure need, she leaned against his hand supporting her lower back and buttocks, and flung her head back. He kissed and bit her inner thigh, flicked his tongue through her slit and tugged on her pearled nub. She moaned, gasped, and pulled his hair as he brought her to a crescendo of passion with his mouth.

  The explosion caused her to vibrate in his hands, and he waited a moment for her to recover. He pressed his face against her warm belly and then pulled her down, under his body. Holding himself over her, his turgid shaft pressed against her wet entrance, he asked one last time, “You want me, Andra? Say it.”

  She wriggled under him pushing his throbbing tip into her folds, “Yes, yes please, now Kendrick, I want you. Now.”

  Her answer, heavy with desire, clutched at his soul. In one fluid motion, he entered her. He stilled to let her grow accustomed to his invasion. She lifted her hips and thrust hard bringing him to the hilt of her womb. He withdrew slowly, then thrust back, lifting them to higher and higher pinnacles of pleasure as their pace increased. Compelled to connect completely, he kissed, licked, and grasped her to him and she responded in kind; each consumed by the intricate dance of need. Their movements synchronized, and despite the newness of their acquaintance, it felt as though they had been engaged in this dance all of their lives.

  “Andra, a stór,” he moaned with a deep growl in the back of his throat, for she was already a treasure to him, even though he might try to deny it.

  “Harder, Kendrick, more.” she panted. Her legs wrapped around his hips and she raked her nails across his muscled back. The sound of his name called out in the throes of passion pulsed in his brain. He wanted to hear her call to him repeatedly.

  “Say it again. Tell me you want me again.”

  When she cried out his name, he swallowed her voice, his tongue demanding and thrusting in rhythm with his hard shaft. Their vigorous joining, ravenous and without restraint, demanding in its fierceness, culminated with one, final explosion as they reached their climax in unison. He failed to withdraw before releasing his seed. Something he never did. She didn’t seem concerned and consideration of the possible consequences faded from his thoughts when their passion had swept him up like a turbulent wild wave on a stormy sea.

  He collapsed on top of her. The sweat from their bodies melded and cooled in the night air. The scent of sex mingled with the smell of mint and lemon, a scent that was hers alone. He tried to pull away thinking his weight too much, but she wrapped her arms and legs around him, clutching him tightly to her body. He reached behind and pulled a portion of his plaid over them.

  “Mo chuisle. You have undone me completely.” He lifted on his elbows and brushed damp hair away from her face, kissing her softly, gently touching her, still imbedded in her heat.

  * * *

  Andra thought she should be embarrassed, but she wasn’t. For the first time in her life, she understood how sorrow, fury, and a fearful rush of adrenaline required a sexual release. Refusing to argue with herself over the insanity of her behavior, she relinquished all thought to his heat and the exquisite feel of his lavish invasion.

  Their coupling had been more intense than anything Andra had previously experienced. She’d known very few lovers. Of course, Ray, the father of her child, rotten as he had turned out, was the worst. They had met in their last year of college. He had stolen her heart, then smashed it irrevocably with his thoughtless indifference. Following the car accident that claimed their baby’s life, he visited her only a few times in the hospital and then disappeared. She never saw him again. In recent years, however, she had kept busy, helped her father with the pharmacy, worked on producing her own line of scented oils and body lotions, and stayed away from men and the painful memories they evoked.

  There had never been a lover like Kendrick. Perhaps the extreme circumstances of where and when she found herself could account for her behavior. She did not care about the why, she felt sensually alive, as she hadn’t in years, perhaps ever. The raw heat and sexual release helped burn away her pain and fear.

  Her hands thrilled at the solid feel of him. His spicy, male scent, the musky smell of their loving and the heady aroma of pine surrounded them. The crisp, clean air held the scent of rain and damp earth. She was drowning in these new smells and sensations. Their sexual encounter might be the most reckless thing she had ever done in her life, but she’d not regret a single second of it.

  Andra returned his light kisses and ran her hands through the sweat-soaked strands of his hair. “Perhaps we should dress and go back before someone comes looking for us.”

  He chuckled, but he did not pull away. “Nae, they’ll not disturb us, my sweet.”

  A weighted sigh escaped her swollen lips. “Thank you, Kendrick.”

  “You thank me?” he sounded incredulous. “Why do you thank me for disregarding your virtue? For taking advantage of you in a moment of pain and distress?” He brushed his mouth against her forehead and gently cradled her face with hands that could easily crush.

  She laughed at his musing and then realized he was serious. “Well, I think I needed that. Perhaps we both needed that release.”

  “Aye, mayhap so. Do you often release your anxieties in such a manner?”

  She tensed under him the moment the words escaped his mouth. “No, I do not! Don’t let it swell your head, Laird MacLean.” There was no doubt she’d needed that carnal release, but in hindsight, recognized it might reduce her standing with this powerful man. She pushed her fists hard against his chest, trying to roll away.

  He tightened his hold on her. “Nae, Andra, forgive my foolishness. I meant no disrespect. It was a bad attempt at levity. You’ll learn that about me. I’m not good with the witty repartee.”

  Her fingers reached to stroke through his hair and along his jaw. “I think we both craved that release, laird.”

  “Kendrick,” he corrected. “After what we have just shared, you must call me Kendrick. Aye, I believe you’re right. We both needed that passion. I’m truly sorry to have spoiled this perfect joining. Please forgive my—please accept my apology for any harm my words or deeds may have caused you.”

  She could hardly believe he asked her forgiveness.

  He showered kisses over her face. “I’m thinking these past few days have unsettled you, Andra. Most women would have succumbed to weeping and wailing especially after the scene you witnessed yesterday. Have you witnessed battle before
?”

  Even now, he probed for answers about her past. “No Kendrick, all my battles have been of a different nature. What I witnessed last night was too terrifying for words. One could hardly refer to it as a battle—it was a complete massacre. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not revisit it, especially now.”

  “Of course not,” he soothed, pressing his lips to her temple. “You’re a most amazing woman. I understand your need to relieve tension from these past days, and I’ll not regret our joining. I hope you’ll have no regrets either.”

  She patted his cheek and gave him a quick smile. “No regrets, Kendrick. Life is too short.” Where in the hell did that come from? All my relationships have been full of regrets. Well, no more. Perhaps this was a turning point, no more regrets, no more self-recrimination. A good adage to live by, one with which her father would agree.

  “We should go back,” she repeated with barely a whisper and turned her head away from his renewed kissing and the swell increasing between her legs. She needed to regroup, gather her thoughts.

  He hesitated a moment, pressed a kiss to her forehead, then rolled away and helped her up. They dressed in silence and dusted themselves off, brushing the leaf and pine debris from each other’s clothing. When he gripped her butt and pulled her into his arms for one final, bruising kiss, evidence of his renewed arousal pressed firmly against her belly. Her nether regions wept in response. The man fulfilled every fantasy she’d ever held about lusty Highland lairds, and then he gently released her.

  Though their arms brushed as they walked, they did not use their hands to touch. She stepped a few paces ahead of him when they reached the cave, and he permitted it. She entered with her head held high. Gliding past the men, she went to the pool in the rear of the cave. The men halted their conversation as she passed, then resumed talking as if nothing were amiss.

  What must they think of me? Females were not so brazen in this time. In fact, women who slept with men outside of marriage were mistresses or whores or bar wenches, which was the same thing. They were chattel, had little or no rights, lived hard, grueling lives and frequently died early in childbirth. So why was she throwing herself at this man with complete abandon? She chose not to examine the answer to that question too closely.