by Mary McCall
Duncan raised a brow.
"My godfather is King Henry. He likes me so much that he gave into Mama's pestering when I was twelve, so I may choose my own husband.” What was wrong with her? Why had she let that last remark slip out? Lord, she was tired. Alera sighed then popped another bite of stale oatcake into her mouth. “I was supposed to inform him of my choice three days past. He will choose for me now, I fear."
She glanced back at Duncan. A wicked grin played across his mouth. The man was truly too handsome for his own good. What was she thinking? He was too handsome for her own good. And why was he looking at her with such intensity? Alera self-consciously dabbed at her mouth and chin with her fingers. “Why do you stare so? Have I crumbs on my face?"
"Nay, lass. My mind has been weighted with a heavy burden most of the day. These few moments with you have just lightened my load."
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Four
Duncan awoke to torture of the most carnal kind.
The lass couldn't just cuddle up, go to sleep, and lay in a peaceful slumber. Nay, she had to snuggle and squirm all night long, plastering every soft curve of her luscious body against his in the most provocative moves. Damn it all, he had restrained himself for four nights. He was a Highlander, for God's sake, not some prissy Englishman who had to keep his manhood strapped so it wouldn't fall off.
Alera purred. Damn if she wasn't at it again, rubbing her cheek against his chest while her toes stroked up and down his leg. She was a seductress, yet innocent. A unique blend of saint and sinner. And God help him, she was firing his passion with her whispered moans and unconscious caresses. The tension in his groin grew taut.
Duncan wiped a hand over his forehead. Hell, the lass had sweat popping out on his brow as if he were some untried youth. To perdition with control!
'Twas time her passions sizzled as hot as his. He intended to wed her on the morrow, but they would have their wedding night now.
He would have her writhing with desire before she woke. Then her need would thwart any resistance to his pleasure. Aye, he would make her ask him.
Duncan cupped one firm breast, testing its weight. Her flesh molded in his hand just right—as if made to fit his grip. He trailed a callused finger around and over her nipple, enticing a throaty moan from her lips that poured over him like warm oil.
He nipped at her tight peak, then licked and blew. She whimpered and arched her back, pressing the lobe toward him—an ambrosial offering he gladly accepted. He drew her nipple into his mouth and suckled. By Saint Andrew, he had never tasted another so sweet and ripe.
Her fingers threaded through his hair and she grasped his head. Her pleasured moan filled the chamber. Blood pounded through Duncan. He trembled with a need to bury his pulsating flesh inside her and stroke her for every fiber of passion she possessed. But damn it all, she wasn't ready and
he wouldn't seek his own pleasure until she was.
He stroked one hand down her back, then cupped one nicely rounded buttock and kneaded her supple flesh. She was so soft, so fine. He lifted his mouth from her breast and licked a trail to the opposite peak, where he resumed his feast.
Her erotic moans sang to his soul, urging him on. His hand caressed down the back of her leg and then up the inside of her thigh. He cupped her mound, applied a gentle teasing pressure then moved his hand to splay over her belly.
A pleading groan tore from her lips. He drank her cry into his mouth. Her body tensed at the initial contact of his lips on hers. Then as she relaxed, her lips parted. He plunged his tongue inside her hot mouth, drawing another passionate whimper. Damn if she didn't taste as divinely delicious as her heavenly scent.
Her dusky moans and whimpers blazed through him, increasing his urgency. Her fingers glided through his hair then tentatively caressed his back. He opened his eyes. Hers were still closed. He liked the way she hovered between her dream state and reality. Did she dream of him, or did she believe someone else the recipient of her passion?
Damn it all, she would know no other man!
Alera felt gloriously alive and on fire. A tingling pressure built in her womb, promising something she didn't understand, but saints above, she wanted it. Someone pushed her over onto her back before a hot hard weight settled upon her. Masterful lips sucked her soul from her body in a kiss of molten pleasure. How could she dream such marvelous sensations when no man had kissed her before?
She slitted her eyes. Duncan's face pressed to hers. She shouldn't let him kiss her, should she? Or did it matter since ‘twas only a dream? Aye, ‘twas a dream—a delicious carnal fantasy she had no desire to wake from.
She relaxed and moaned in her throat, sucking on his tongue. His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue thrusting inside again and again. He tasted spicy and wild. She was so hungry. That stale bread and gooey porridge hadn't sated her hunger. She might just have to eat this barbarian. She smiled in her mind at the thought and ran her hands over sinewy shoulders, marveling at his hardness and the power encased in his flesh.
A hand moved on her belly, infusing a tingling heat from enchanted fingertips. Her entire body tensed with anticipation, but for what? The caress moved lower. The hand cupped her private flesh and pressed in a carnal command. Her legs parted in response. Callused fingers rubbed against her delicate folds. Tiny sparks shot through her in sinful rhythm with the tongue in her mouth. She purred her thanks for the wondrous sensation.
Father Lawrence would surely have her in the chapel on her knees reciting litanies for six months when she confessed this dream. Mayhap she should wake? Little fires burst in her brain. Moisture seeped between her legs. Her tingling pressure grew exquisitely strong. Welladay! Six months...a year... She would dream this dream a little longer.
Alera tightened her embrace around her dream lover and rubbed her swollen breasts against his hairy chest, trying to impart the frantic feelings encompassing her. She stroked his tongue with hers while moving against his hand. A long finger slid inside her feminine core, filling her with an acute tension before withdrawing. She whimpered and bucked, clamping her legs together, trying to capture the source of her pleasure.
The urgency of the tongue in her mouth claimed her attention. He tasted so fine, smelled so intoxicatingly delicious. Strong thighs spread her legs wide. Prickly hairs tickled her sensitive inner thighs, then hot flesh probed at her opening.
The kiss broke. Alera groaned and opened her eyes, still enthralled by her wonderful dream. Duncan peered at her through searing eyes, every sculpted plane of his face drawn taut. He seemed to be waiting for something, but she couldn't focus. The burning pressure in her womb cried out for... She wasn't sure what, but she was certain he knew.
She dug her nails into his shoulders, tried to bring his mouth back to hers. He didn't budge. Didn't he know she needed help?
"Please, Duncan, help me."
His eyes flared to glittering, and a satisfied smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Aye, Alera. I'll help you."
Masterful hands cupped her bottom. White-hot pain sliced between her legs. An agonized cry caught in her throat as his lips captured hers. His tongue thrust into her mouth.
By all that's holy, ‘twas not a dream! The barbarian had pierced her through with some kind of savage weapon! The weight of his lower body was crushing. The weapon throbbed within her. Horror enveloped her. ‘Twas his manhood inside her.
She was joined to Duncan.
She tried to tear her mouth away, but his lips on hers turned bruising. She pushed and pounded on his shoulders. He caught her hands and held them captive on the bed on either side of her head. Tears gathered behind her lids. She struggled but couldn't escape his grip. Lord, help her, how could she mistake this reality for a dream? Her entire life passed before her. Her virtue lost—no man would want her now. She was left with nothing.
His kiss gentled. His tongue caressed the roof of her mouth in soothing strokes. His grips on her wrists eased. He laced his fingers through her. Her
pain receded. The burning tension in her womb rebuilt around his throbbing flesh.
She was caught up in a primal maelstrom. Her mind ordered her to fight, but her body assumed control, seeking to sate her newfound carnal appetite. Her struggles ceased. Duncan released one of her hands. His hand moved between them and stroked a sensitive spot in her private folds that she hadn't realized existed. His tongue joined the rhythm. The pressure inside her grew to an unbearably sweet torment.
Her freed hand slid up his arm to slide her fingers through his slick mane. His hand left her woman's folds. His pulsating flesh pulled from her body.
Her heart beat erratic. He couldn't leave her now! She would shatter if he did.
She locked her arm around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist. Her pleading whimpers turned into a pleasured sigh as he refilled her slow and steady. He set an unhurried rhythm. In and out. Over and over. Stoking a blaze her body suddenly craved. Alera gave herself over to the glorious sensations, meeting his thrusts with a natural passion.
Urgency seized her. She tensed, suddenly afraid, and opened fearful eyes. Duncan loomed above her, reveling in a fierce passion of his own as his body danced in and out of hers to a primal beat.
"Easy, lass. Just come with me."
Her eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. Rapture exploded within her like a gusty white wave crashing over her on a windy day. Currents of bliss coursed through her in ripple after ripple of swirling ecstasy.
Duncan grunted with satisfaction as her tight core convulsed around his shaft. He increased the force and velocity of his thrusts, grinding his hips against hers to prolong her pleasure until he could stand the restraint no longer. With one last powerful lunge, he arched his back and released his seed within her, roaring as his orgasm consumed him.
After the intensity faded, he shuddered and glanced down at Alera. A grin crossed his face. The lass had fainted from the magnitude of her release. “Ah, Father Cunningham, you were wrong. This vengeance is sheer bliss."
Duncan eased out of Alera and turned onto his back. A moment later he slipped an arm around her and pulled her against his side. Her sleeping body snuggled, fitting perfectly against his, then relaxed. Her gentle warm breaths fanned his chest. The erotic scent of their mating lingered about the bed.
A sense of rightness settled upon him, and Duncan frowned. Damn it all, the lass was a good swive, the best he'd ever had. But how could he feel this content with an English woman in his arms—and King Henry's goddaughter at that?
Duncan dodged. The water pitcher sailed past his head, crashed against the wall behind him, and shattered into hundreds of pieces. He shut the door and ducked, letting the basin hit the wood. It was a damn good thing he'd hidden her dagger.
"Do not come near me, you...you...you...despicable son of a rotten she-dog!” Alera knelt upon the center of the bed, wrapped in a wolf pelt. Her disheveled curls tumbled in a riotous mass around her shoulders. Damn it all, she was a feisty beauty. She threw a cup from the side table and grabbed a jar.
"I would not throw that if I were you, Alera,” Duncan warned with a wicked grin. “Your poor feet have need of the balm's soothing effect. Not to mention your soft womanly flesh must surely feel tender this fine morn. ‘Twas red and swollen when I washed you."
"Oooooh!” Alera flushed angry red, flung the jar, then reached for another weapon.
Duncan caught the jar, crossed the room as fast as a crafty fox, and grasped her wrist in a vise-like grip. “Let loose the phial, Alera."
"Get away from me, you lecherous pig!” She released the phial and pummeled his chest with her free hand. “You will not rape me again!"
Duncan tossed the jar on the other side of the bed away from her reach and grasped her swinging arm by her wrist. He pulled her against him, so she knelt upon the edge of the mattress, their faces almost nose to nose. The pelt fell. Her breasts flattened against his chest and her nipples hardened. Alera gasped and fought to wrench herself away.
He broadened his grin. “'Twas not rape, lass. You begged me."
"Nay!” She squirmed and tugged her arms.
He grunted at her perversity. “Aye. You said, ‘Please, Duncan, help me,’ so I did."
"I thought I was dreaming, you randy rotter! Oh, let go of me! I hate you!"
She had better damn well get this out of her now. He wouldn't tolerate such behavior again. “So you dream of me, do you? I think I like that. Are your dreams always as hot as you were in my bed last night?"
Her struggles abruptly ceased. She raised appalled eyes to his, and the color drained from her face. “Your bed! I thought ‘twas a guest chamber."
A long harried sigh escaped his lips. The lass must be daft after all. She couldn't truly believe any man would sleep alone with her lush body next door. “Of course ‘tis my bed. I have decided to keep you, Alera."
She shook her head and tried to pull away. “Mama warned me about conniving Highlanders taking any woman they wanted and forcing marriage upon her. Well, I shall not wed you, you slimy serpent!"
Duncan narrowed his eyes. Damn if he would wed a shrew who hated him. He would still keep her, though. “You can quit shouting. I thought about marriage, but since you obviously refuse, you will be my leman."
She gave her head another violent shake and renewed her struggles. “I will not! I am a lady, damn you! You promised to take me home!"
"I did. I told you before, Laidirkin is home."
"I meant England, you devious spawn of a bloody oafish goat!"
One of her knees shot off the mattress and made sharp contact with his hip. Duncan grunted and brought her flush against him to protect his groin. “'Tis a colorful way you have with words, lass. Is this common speech amongst the ladies in England these days?"
"Oooooh! Get your hands off me! I will get home on my own!"
Duncan grinned. His Alera could wage two battles at once—one against him and one against her own body. ‘Twas too bad she would have to lose both. “You'll not be going anywhere till I tire of you, so you may as well accept your lot. ‘Tis an honor I pay you by making you the laird's leman."
"Then pick someone who wants the dubious honor. I am not a whore. Nor can I abide your hands upon me."
"Ack, lassie. Now you're lying to yourself and me. Shall I remind you how much you enjoy my touch?” He pressed her tighter against him and breathed over her ear. “You fainted from the pleasure of your release last night."
Alera gasped. His hot breath vibrated against her ear, and a tingle shot down her spine. She jerked her head back and snarled. “'Twas disgust."
Duncan chuckled. He rubbed his chest against her breasts and his pelvis against hers. A heated shiver zoomed from her breasts to her womb. Her heart skittered a wild tattoo. Henry, help her, he could set her ablaze and make her want his touch. And from the glint in his eyes, the barbarian knew it.
Duncan raised a mocking brow. “'Twas lust."
Gripping the base of her skull in one hand, he lowered his mouth beside her ear. His tongue swirled inside her lobe until her breaths came in pants and she trembled. Then he seized her lips in a demanding kiss. She clenched her jaw, tried pulling back. He nudged his arousal against her pelvis. Fire sizzled through her limbs. Thirst for his kiss consumed her. She needed him to put out the blaze.
She couldn't give in. He would see that as acquiescence. She couldn't and wouldn't stay here. There was no future for her with this savage. As fine as he tasted, kissing him back would make her no more than the heathen her father feared she would become. Yet this man was an adept seducer. His scent enticed her. His taste fed a new-found hunger. His hot flesh fired her own. She was losing this battle for control. She wanted this as much as she despised him for making her want it. She melted into his embrace, molding against him. Soft against hard. Gentleness against strength. Woman against man. Slanting her head, she opened her mouth to his possession.
He released her wrists and massaged the tension from her back. Her ar
ms moved around him. She returned his tongue strokes, drinking his passion, memorizing his taste. She couldn't get enough. An erotic quiver surged through her. He released her mouth and removed the hold of his arms.
Alera slowly opened her eyes to Duncan's smug expression. Henry, help her, how had this happened? She was the one embracing him! How could her body betray her so? What kind of power did this savage have over her?
She let go and pushed away, falling backward upon the mattress. Her bottom landed upon her injured feet. With a painful yelp, she rolled onto her hip and bowed her head as shame washed through her. Her gaze fell upon her virgin's blood on the bed. She sucked in an anguished breath.
Where was her rage? Anger she felt, but a strange void existed where her passionate, strength-giving fury used to reside. Had Duncan stolen her demon? Had this lustful passion replaced it? How could she hope to escape and survive the wilderness without the power her rage evoked?
Too much had happened in too short a time. She needed to think on this. But she didn't want Duncan near her while she did.
"I am not yours, Duncan Ranald. You stole me and my chastity. I will not forgive you, and someday, some way, I will exact revenge."
He grinned and nudged her irate gaze back to his. “Nay, Alera, you gave me your maidenhead. And I'll be thanking you,” he said in a congenial tone sure to re-stoke her fire. “'Twas the most precious and pleasurable gift I have ever received."
"I will escape,” she vowed.
"Then I will find you and bring you back. And I'll probably be damned provoked when I do.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
She looked at him then. ‘Twas about time. And ‘twas a damn good thing he was impervious to the daggers she hurled from those seething eyes. She looked gloriously savage. Damn it all, she pleased him.
"Why me?” She beat a fist against the mattress then threw her arms wide. She looked down at her naked body, gasped, and grabbed the pelt. Tossing him a withering glare, she draped the fur across herself. “Would you not be better appeased by a woman who wants you?"
