The Rebel of Clan Kincaid

by Lily Blackwood

  “A little,” she whispered. “Very … little.”

  “There is nothing little about mine,” he replied, then clenched his teeth in immediate regret, for he intended nothing vulgar or bawdy. Not with her, an innocent. “What I’m saying is that I don’t want to frighten you.”

  “I won’t be frightened,” she asserted softly. “Not by you. I am only amazed, and…”

  She blushed so deeply, he could do nothing but kiss her mouth.

  “And what?” he murmured against her lips, tracing her jaw with his thumb.

  “Wanting more,” she whispered, demurely turning her face aside.

  He caught her chin, and lifting her face, kissed her hard.

  “And I … want … more,” he said.

  Heart pounding, he guided her hand to the front of his plaid, to press against his hard sex.

  Through clenched teeth he uttered, “This is what being alone with you … kissing you … seeing your body … wanting to be inside you … does to me.”

  With a quavering breath, she slowly slid her palm against him, gauging his shape and his size until he groaned.

  “You don’t know what you do to me, touching me like that.”

  “Then show me,” she said, a wide-eyed temptress in the firelight. “I want to see you. To touch you, as you are touching me.”

  “I’ll die if you don’t,” he growled.

  Fisting a hand in his plaid, he seized the garment upward and pressed her hand to his bare, hot flesh, turning her palm, curling her fingers so that she gripped him tight.

  She showed no fear or shock … instead she stared down at his sex in her small, pale hand, her lips parted. He stared down at his sex in her hand, knowing he would remember the erotic sight forever.

  “I think I understand now.” She relaxed her hold, and let out a shallow breath. She smoothed the fingertips of her other hand along his length, grazing his crown with her thumb—drawing a gasp from deep in his throat. “Although I’m not sure how we shall manage it.” A frown tugged at her lips. “We seem to be…”

  “What?” he groaned, throbbing, half blinded by need.

  “Unsuited,” she said, eyebrows raised, her expression crestfallen. “You are far too … well, it won’t work, I fear.”

  “I promise it will,” he countered, in a rasp. “It’s rather amazing, how it happens.”

  She looked into his eyes.

  “Truly?” she asked, her expression doubtful but … interested.

  “I’ll show you.” Kissing her, he carefully removed her hand, and pressed her again to the bedpost, guiding her arms upward, to encircle the wood column above her head. “Stay … like that. Don’t move.”

  Asserting control over his almost out-of-control passion, he inhaled deeply, kissing her forehead … her eyes, her nose … and languidly worked his way lower … squeezing, kissing and licking her breasts. Her warm, fragrant skin.

  “Oh, Magnus … I…” she pled softly, her back arching, her body moving restlessly. “Please.”

  “Please … what?” he murmured, caressing her waist, savoring the perfect torment of prolonging their passion, knowing he must heighten her arousal, so that she would be ready.

  “I … I don’t know,” she answered.

  “Tara?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t let go of the post.”

  Sinking to his knees, he pressed his face against the tight seam of her thighs, and above, into her soft curls. He breathed in the scent of her—lavender and woman—kissing her there, urging her with his hands and his thumbs to open to him, which she did, murmuring his name and emitting sweet, urgent sighs until at last he pressed deeper, plunging his tongue deep into her softness.

  Desire coursing like fire in his veins, he made love to her with his mouth, indulging in a deep, rhythmic spearing of his tongue until she responded, panting and moving her hips urgently against him, her hands coming down at last, to seize handfuls of his hair.

  “Magnus!” she cried, her knees buckling.

  “Shhhh.” He stood, lifting her up, off the floor, his hands beneath her soft, sweet bottom. He guided her legs around his waist and held her suspended against him. She clung to him, kissing his face. He loved the feel of her hair falling down over his arms as he held her. “Quiet, love.”

  He lay her on the bed, and paused a moment, crouched above her. He’d grown to care for her in such a short time. His desire for her came from his heart, running soul deep. He did not want to hurt her—but nor did he want to let her go.

  “Are you certain?” he asked. “Once it is done, there’s no going back.”

  *

  He took her breath away, looking as he did in the firelight. Magnus with his warrior’s body, taut and powerful above her, the firelight playing off the flexed muscles of his shoulders. They were very much strangers still, she knew … and yet she felt as if from the first moment her soul had somehow recognized him. As if this had been intended forever.

  “I’m certain,” she whispered. She did not want to go back. Whatever happened tomorrow, or the next day, without question—she wanted this now.

  “You want me … inside you…” he said provocatively, his eyes glittering with arousal.

  Her cheeks flamed at the boldness of his words, but she understood … he wanted her to know the truth of what would happen between them.

  But she also knew this was no simple seduction, based on lust alone. Gravity underscored his words. His every touch. From the moment they’d met in the forest, their hearts and their destinies had been entwined.

  “Yes,” she answered, without qualm.

  Always, before now, others had made decisions for her. This decision—this most important decision, she made for herself, and she knew set the course for the rest of her life. She would give her loyalty to this remarkable man—and he would give his loyalty to her. She knew not what the coming days would bring—her escape or … her doom. She did not know if he could save her—perhaps she could only save herself, but she could face tomorrow more bravely just knowing he cared.

  He backed out from the shadows of the bed. She lifted up to sit, to watch him, not wanting to miss a moment. He was a magnificent sight, all long limbs and corded muscle. Lifting his foot to the edge of a stool, he dispatched one leather boot, and then the other. His gaze pinned to hers, he straightened, his hands going to his plaid, which he unfastened and unwound, the shadows defining the chiseled indentions defining his chest, his arms and his abdomen and at last … his sex, which jutted out from his body, rigidly aroused.

  She stared at it, exhaling unevenly, fearing again that they would only meet with frustration, for despite his assurances, she could not imagine how this thing between them would be accomplished.

  He returned to the bed, his eyes burning on her. She went up on her knees, meeting him for a kiss—wanting to be woman enough for this warrior.

  “You are … extraordinary,” he murmured against her skin. His hand fisted in her hair. Pulling her head back, he pressed kisses along her neck and lower, onto the upper swells of her breasts. “More than extraordinary.”

  “You make me feel that way.” The barest touch of his hand awakened her passion anew. Each kiss thrilled more than the last.

  “Tara…” He let out a deep, rough sound, bringing his knee up, pushing her gently down onto the pillows, spreading her hair across the linens. Kissing her. Smothering her. Overwhelming her with his mouth and his touch until she succumbed to delirium. She lay on her back, him sprawled beside her, the both of them tangled in linen, the firelight playing off their bodies.

  Slowly, he stroked her between her legs, pressing his thumb to the exact place where she felt so painfully tight and aroused. Aye, the man clearly knew a woman’s body and that caused her both consternation and pride, though she would make sure he never needed another woman for as long as he lived. He stroked slower … and deeper … and deeper still, until she moaned with want for something else. Her arms went round his neck, her ha
nds into his hair, she hanging on, lest she be swept away.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, his gaze searing over her.

  Yes, beautiful—the way he made her body respond. But the pull of pleasure between her legs was too much, and coaxed her close to the edge of some pleasurable oblivion. She arched, her head thrown back—

  And gasped as his long, square-tipped finger sank inside her, only to ease away, and enter her body again, joined by a second, stretching her … shocking her with an even more satisfying sensation than she’d known before. She cried his name against his throat.

  “Yes, love,” he soothed. “Shhh. Quiet.”

  Suddenly he was there, his hard legs … his knees, parting her thighs, his hips … his weight coming down between. His hand came between them, and she looked down, watching … spellbound by the sight of him, in shadows and firelight, holding his swollen member. She felt … and watched the hard, steely prod of his sex against her damp and needful flesh, and the rounded, swarthy crown pushed just inside. She closed her eyes in ecstasy and her heartbeat quickened, knowing he would take her now.

  “Yes,” she whispered, lifting her hips.

  Bracing above her, his stomach taut, he gave a thrust of his hips, stabbing deep.

  “Ah…” he gritted out.

  He stretched her tight. She groaned in discomfort, seizing his shoulders, and widening her legs, digging her heels into the backs of his muscled thighs.

  “Almost…” He moved slowly … rocking deeper, and deeper. “Almost … perfect.”

  Yes … perfect.

  She went suddenly still, as everything changed in an instant. His thickness, moving inside her, no longer gave her pain, but pleasure.

  Gasping deep, she moved, matching each of his movements with her hips. Intensifying pleasure and heat spiraled through her, but concentrated there, at the place where their bodies joined, with such intensity, she felt the need to cry out, but she knew she could not. She had never imagined making love would feel like this. So ethereal—so divine.

  “I could die here now, inside you, Tara.” He hissed, peering down at her through passion glazed eyes, his cheeks ruddy. “You feel that good. But I need more, and I fear I will hurt you.”

  His words gave her just as much pleasure as his body. She had never felt so close to anyone, in all her life.

  “I’m yours,” she whispered feverishly, gripping his forearms. “Do as you will.”

  With a sudden thrust, he buried his face in her neck. Pain streaked through her womb, a powerful renting from within. Tears glazed her eyes and she let out a shocked cry—which he smothered with his mouth. His body went still.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured against her lips.

  Aye, there was pain. She nearly cried out from it, but the pain made her his, and she took a different kind of pleasure from that. They belonged to each other now.

  “I’m all right,” she whispered, stroking her hands down his back. “Don’t stop.”

  She kissed his neck, and slowly, he moved inside her, each time deeper, until at last, his body coaxed the same response from her as before, only this time more powerful. Her breasts felt swollen with it, and her nipples grazed tantalizingly against his chest as they moved together, panting and gasping and groaning. And yet she felt desperate and greedy for more. More of his hands on her, more his mouth on hers, more his sex inside her. She squeezed her thighs at his hips, demanding all from him and receiving it—

  And suddenly her womb seized tight. She gasped, holding him close, as pleasure wracked her body, through and through.

  “Oh, Magnus,” she half-sobbed.

  “My beautiful love,” he murmured.

  His muscles shuddered beneath her hands … and she felt his sex pulse larger, again and again, deep inside her womb.

  He kissed her deeply, gasping into her mouth. After a long moment, he rolled to his side and gathered her close against his hard chest, laying face-to-face, as he breathed heavily into her hair.

  “Tara,” he rasped, kissing her temple. “God … I never imagined it could be that way.”

  She clung to him, feeling … changed forever.

  She thought of Arabel then, and her broken heart. Had she been abandoned by a lover who cared nothing for her, or torn from the man she loved and who loved her in return? But just as quickly she closed her mind to those thoughts. Not because she wanted to forget her sister, but because she had to believe her life would not end in tragedy as well. Everything felt so perfect in this moment, she feared the slightest strike or crack would shatter it.

  “Careful not to stain the linen,” he said softly. “The servants will see.”

  She left him, to go to the basin, dropping the cloth, afterward, onto the fire. Afterward, he did the same. Together, they returned to the bed, where he smothered her with kisses, leaving her breathless, and eager for the next time they would make love.

  “Where will we go?” Tara whispered, holding him tight.

  “Where you will be safe.” He pressed her back onto the pillow, and peered down with a dark glimmer of intensity in his eyes. “With people I trust.”

  “What do you mean, where I will be safe. What about you?”

  *

  “I must return to Burnbryde,” Magnus said.

  Her eyes widened, flashing with sudden fire. “Return to Burnbryde?”

  “There are matters at hand of which I cannot speak. Matters which must be concluded.”

  She opened her mouth as if to argue, but he cut in.

  “I will tell you everything, Tara, but not until you are safe and far from here.”

  She pushed out of his arms, and moved to sit at the edge of the bed, the blaze of her hair falling down her naked back, then twisted back to glare at him … presenting him with a beguiling profile of one perfectly round breast and its lovely, pink tip.

  “Either we both leave, or neither of us do.”

  He let out a breath. “This from the woman who has talked of nothing but escape since the moment she arrived.”

  Her gaze intensified. “Things are different now. I have a key to get out of this tower, whenever I wish. And most importantly, I have you. Because of that I am not afraid. At least not as afraid as before and Magnus, before I go I must find out what happened to my sister.”

  He considered her words—but after a half-moment’s contemplation, shook his head. “Tara, I could hardly bear to see Hugh touch you before. Now, I’ll kill him, which could get me killed. No. You’ll go where I know he can’t get you.”

  “I am not a child, Magnus, or a stupid girl.”

  “I know you aren’t.”

  “If you think I’m so fragile that I can’t survive his … grabbing my arm or … speaking vile words to me then you’re wrong. You’ll get me out of here before any wedding can take place. I know you will. That is all that matters. That and that I find out the truth of what happened to Arabel.”

  He admired the stubbornness, the bravery he saw in her eyes. But he wouldn’t risk her being hurt. No matter what she demanded. He just wasn’t going to argue with her right now, while they were both naked, and still in the bed. He would take her to Inverhaven at the first sign Hugh grew out of hand, or at the first sign of Buchan’s impending arrival, whether she’d learned the truth about her sister or not.

  “If you insist,” he said.

  “I do insist,” she said seriously.

  “I insist on kissing you.” With one hand, he pulled her down, so that she lay flat on her back, her breasts and her torso and legs aglow in the firelight, and he kissed her lips from upside down.

  “Yes, do that.” She sighed, her hands coming up into his hair, and kissed him back. “Again, and again.”

  “Come here,” he murmured. “Lay beside me. I want to hold you while you sleep.”

  She did fall asleep in his arms. Hours passed, but he remained awake. Aware. Vigilant. He did not regret making love to her—taking her innocence for his own. He had not done so out of selfishness, but b
ecause he could not convince his soul there was any other answer but being with her.

  He would change nothing. And yet …

  Damn if his life had not become infinitely more complicated in doing so, for now he must live for her and not only for himself. If he died, he must make sure she would be safe and protected, without him. What if they’d made a child tonight?

  He gently eased her to the pillow and left the bed to stand naked in front of the dwindling fire, allowing the night chill to claim his skin. He had no doubt his cause against the Alwyn, and certainly also Buchan, was right. And yet now … beneath all the righteous certainty there existed a heavy thread of guilt. Guilt that to satisfy his desire for her, he’d made her his prisoner, just as certainly as any other villain in their story. She hated Burnbryde. Would she hate Inverhaven too? Yes, they were truly different places and different clans, but at present, this corner of the highlands was a place of constant turmoil and danger. If he truly cared for her, more than he cared for himself, would he not have found some way to let her go to some safe haven? Some other place?

  There came a rustling from the bed. Looking there, he could just make out the pale gleam of her shoulders, and the titian glimmer of her long hair as she sat up, peering out from the curtains at him. She held the coverlet against her breasts. “Magnus?”

  He felt the blood and heat rush through his body, and into his groin. That was all it took, one glimpse of her … her sleepy-eyed and speaking his name to make him forget his conscience.

  He neared the bed. Her gaze dropped—sweeping over his naked body, inflaming his arousal further.

  “Come back to me.” She lay back and drew aside the bed linens in invitation. He took in the sight of her perfect skin, her pillow-soft breasts and slender waist. “I want you to make love to me again.”

  A laugh emitted from deep in his throat, a raspy, needful sound and desire took over. He climbed between the curtains, covering her soft, pliant body with his, kissing her, loving her scent in his nostrils. Her hands and her mouth, eager, on his skin.

  “Like this,” he murmured.