by Laura Glenn
She glanced around. The sun was hanging low in the sky but they were in the middle of nowhere. A dense forest surrounded them with the blue-gray waters of a small loch glistening between the trees behind him. “Here?”
He nodded, his lips curling into a seductive smile. “Come. It is time I tasted you properly.”
She sucked in a surprised breath as he dismounted and held his hand up to her. Dazed, she swung one leg over. He guided her hands to his shoulders and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her to his chest and easing her down the length of his body until her feet touched the earth.
He threw her a wink and clasped her hand, dragging her deeper into the woods.
“Rathe, someone might see us,” she declared in a dismayed whisper.
“No one will follow, I promise. You will be as shielded as if you were concealed in my bedchamber.”
Her body hummed in a disquieting swirl of arousal and fear as they walked. What if he was wrong? What if she was too loud?
“Rathe, I don’t—”
He stopped and turned to her. Grabbing her by the waist, he backed her up to a large oak tree. He dropped his lips to her neck, dragging them up to her ear. “Do you trust me, lass?”
She froze. Did she? Panic rippled through her belly. There hadn’t been enough time. Sure, he’d opened up to her today but there were still too many questions. Too much doubt planted already.
His mesmerizing, commanding gaze drew her eyes to his, despite her fear of admitting the truth to him. Much to her surprise though, his features didn’t twist into anger or hurt over her distrust. He simply nodded. “Fair enough. I have yet to prove myself.”
Remorse eased the tension in her face. “Rathe, I—”
“Shh.” He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. “It will come with time.”
His hand slid over her stomach and up to one breast. With a light, skimming touch, his thumb flicked over her nipple through her clothing as his lips trailed along her jaw. An erotic shiver of anticipation radiated outward, pulling her hardening nipple outward. Moisture seeped between her legs.
“Tell me you want me, lass.”
She crushed her cheek to his, her eyes fluttering closed. Her lips parted, seeking his ear. Her tongue darting out, running along the edge. “I want you, Rathe.”
He dragged his lips across the base of her throat, his hands grazing down her hips. Cool air swirled around her ankles, up to her thighs as he raked her skirts upward. She shivered as he pulled away, pushing her garment up to her belly, exposing her to his gaze and the world around them.
She almost panicked. But his sudden intake of breath gave her pause. Her breathing turned shallow.
He grinned. “Spread them.”
The man was downright diabolic. She bit her lower lip, tearing her gaze away. She reached back, grabbing the tree for support. She shifted her feet apart, a wicked power spiraling through her, forcing her shyness into the background.
He dropped to his knees, threading his fingers through the curls of her mound, pushing her skirts back. He secured them against her as he gripped her hips. His warm lips skipped across her thighs, his breath hot against her cooling skin, teasing her legs into jelly.
His tongue dipped between her legs, skimming her folds. She gasped, a shudder coursing down her legs. Her eyes were drawn back to him. His black hair stood in stark contrast against her nakedness. He dipped his tongue in again, flicking her clit. She moaned, terrifying, pulsating surges sending her core into a tremble.
Her cheeks heated. Out in the middle of the woods with a man’s tongue between her legs? Who was she anymore? This would never have happened to the old Leah. Let alone with a man like Rathe. Dashing. Daring. Absolutely demonic in his ability to draw mind-bending pleasure from her body and coax her into shedding her inhibitions.
And then his lips were around her clit, sucking the engorged bud into his mouth. Her eyes fluttered to the back of her head, a moan tearing open her lips. She leaned her head back against the tree, closing her eyes. Surrender. There was nothing left for her to do.
His tongue encircled her clit, flicking and sucking. Driving a maddening ache through her abdomen. Then fingers. Fingers pushing up into her, spreading her open. Her pussy throbbed around them, sending waves through her thighs. Faster pulsations, blood thundering in her veins, vision blurring. Tension mounting, thighs shaking.
And then the spasm. Vibrating through her clit, growing outward in ever expanding rings until her pussy clamped down on his fingers and she gasped for breath, her vision turning black.
She fell forward, fighting to breathe, her legs giving out. He caught her around the waist, twisting her in midair, bringing her down to the damp forest floor. Still shuddering, her hips rocking, she grasped his face, bringing it to hers. Covering his lips with hers, thrusting her tongue inside.
He growled, twisting his tongue around hers. Lifting his hips, his hands fumbled along her inner thighs. And then, in one smooth, quick motion, he thrust his cock inside, burying it to the hilt.
She gasped in surprise at the sudden, intense invasion. His teeth grazed over her jaw, his fingers digging into her hips as he pulled back and drove forward, hard. She sucked in a breath, the weight of him resting against her. She wrapped her legs around him and locked her ankles together. He sank deeper and groaned. Licking and sucking her neck, pounding into her in a furious, hurried rhythm. Another pulsating ache uncoiled through her pussy and released, sending her into wild undulations beneath him. He continued to thrust into her over and over, forcing moans of pleasure from her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed and she was lost, giving herself over to the shuddering vibrations.
He snarled against her neck and stilled, cock throbbing within her. His breath skated across her neck to her cheek until his lips were on hers, drawing them into a slow, deep kiss. He lifted his head and brushed the hair away from her face as he grinned down at her.
“Dear Lord, lass, you are fetching thing. Beautiful. Bewitching. I am a lucky man.”
Her lips parted, but no words came to her. It didn’t seem possible. In her time, she’d be watching a man who looked like him up on a movie screen playing some warrior in a medieval drama. Not smiling above her with his thick shaft buried between her legs in the middle of the woods.
He laughed and kissed the tip of her nose. “And you have no idea of it, do you?”
He slid out of her, tucking his cock back into his breeches before drawing her skirts down over her legs. He sank to the ground beside her and rolled to his back, slipping one hand behind his head and staring upward at the dimming sky high above the treetops.
They were alone. Finally. And he wasn’t running off.
She rolled toward him, stretching out along his side and resting a hand on his chest. “Why do they call you the Satan of the Highlands?”
He shrugged. “Though many would like to think otherwise, I have yet to meet the devil with whom I supposedly have a pact. The truth of the matter is I do not suffer fools or traitors. If I have to be merciless, then so be it. I am good at what I do.”
A chill rippled through her. “You mean killing?”
He threw her a sharp look. “Yes, I do it well. It is better than the alternative.”
“Getting killed yourself?”
He nodded, a crooked, half-smile playing at his lips.
A heat of desperate agreement rushed through her. This was too enjoyable, too comfortable for it to be torn away from her. Lying here, his solid form beneath her with no one else around. Just talking, breathing, being alive. Life swirled through her veins, his heart beating in a steady rhythm beneath her fingers. Yes. His presence was seductive, draining away thoughts of home.
“And Andrew MacTavish?” she whispered. “Why does he hate you so much?”
He slid one arm around her and smoothed his fingers through her hair. They caught on a tangle, which he set about to work free. “It goes back ages, lass. Long before our grandfathers’ time. They attacked the Sinclair
s under the order of a rival claimant to the throne. But I suspect it goes deeper than that for the current MacTavish.”
She snuggled closer, the chill of the ground seeping into her. “How so?”
“My father’s older sister was ordered to marry the MacTavish’s father about forty years ago. The king thought bringing the two houses together would calm the tension and violence plaguing our lands.”
She jerked upright, staring at him. “You two are cousins?”
He nodded. “And until my father claimed me as his son, the MacTavish was due to inherit Sinclair lands upon my father’s death.”
“Claimed you? What do you mean?”
His features hardened. “I am a bastard, Leah. The product of my father’s seduction of the young daughter of another rival laird, the MacNaughton.”
“Oh.” A thousand questions assaulted her at once, but she pressed her lips together and remained silent. Just below the surface of his steely tone lay a sharp edge of pain. Pressing him with more questions now seemed insensitive.
“What say you, wife? Any objections to being married to the bastard son of a minor laird?”
Her brows drew together and she shook her head. “No, of course not. Why should it matter to me?”
The rigidity vanished from his face and her stomach coiled. Not that she cared at all about his illegitimate birth, but the implication of her words haunted her. Suggesting she was comfortable with the marriage and had accepted her fate. She should be concentrating on going home in less than a year, shouldn’t she?
He lifted his head and placed a quick, affectionate kiss upon her lips. “For many women it would. But you are not just any woman, are you?” He gave her backside a playful smack and arose. “Come, lass. It is too cold for you on this damp ground without a blanket to shield you. It is time for a full belly and a fire to warm your bones.”
He gained his footing and reached down to pull her up to him. She tilted her face upward as he towered over her. His black hair fell forward, brushing against her cheeks as he grabbed her chin and kissed her. Wonder and contentment swirled through her, curling her toes.
God help her. She liked this guy.
Chapter Thirteen
It was all too much. And it was happening too fast. She couldn’t fall for this guy.
Leah bit her lower lip, taking the opportunity of Rathe’s inattention to study him from atop the back of the black horse that had refused to allow her to ride him the day before.
Rathe had roused her early with a heated kiss and the goal of teaching her the basics of riding a horse before breakfast. He didn’t give her time to panic. In fact, she was still wrestling with the last remnants of sleep when somehow he’d gotten the black horse, which was called Bran, to approach her with a nudge on her shoulder. Within no time, she was on the animal’s back, attempting to absorb Rathe’s instructions and put them into practice.
Once they’d gotten a bit of food into them, they were off again, heading toward the MacAirth holding where they would rest for the night. Where there would be an actual bed for her to crash in instead of the makeshift tent on the cold, hard ground she’d shared with Rathe.
Her gaze roamed about his form, wandering down his arms to his broad, straight back. Those arms had kept her plenty warm last night. The ground may have been hard and bumpy, but she was otherwise so comfortable and humbled by his attention it didn’t matter. He was gentle and accommodating and he made her laugh. And even though she understood almost nothing as he switched to Gaelic to speak with his men, she couldn’t help but smile at his easy way with them and comfort in his own skin. So self-assured and accepting of himself and everyone around him. It seeped into her, drawing a quiet tranquility into her heart.
Rathe’s arm twitched. A moment later his hand shot into the air as he pulled up on the reins to stop his horse. She followed suit along with the rest of his men. The stiffness of his features set off an alarm in her head.
His gaze flicked to hers before uttering something in Gaelic. Some men ventured off into the woods to either side of them while the rest of the warriors encircled her and Rathe, forming a wall between them and the woods.
Her skin crawled with trepidation. She leaned forward and whispered his name.
His eyes darted back and forth as he put a finger to his lips.
She shrank back, her stomach twisting in fear. Her muscles locked into place and she sat motionless except for her eyes, which launched from one side to the other as thumps and shouts echoed from the woods.
Men emerged from the trees, their jaws stiff with anger. Rathe spoke in fast, hushed tones. They all turned as the clash of metal on metal rang up the hill through the trees on the opposite side. A sharp pang of dread shot through her chest and she gripped the reins tighter. Her eyes darted to each man around her, settling back on Rathe.
When he lifted his gaze to hers, apprehension flickered in his eyes. Her lips parted in surprise. Damn it, he was supposed to be the Satan of the Highlands. Shouldn’t they be glowing with some otherworldly glee at the prospect of bloodshed? If there was any time for him to be cocky and self-assured now would be good.
He remained silent. Panic rose in her throat. Why wasn’t he saying anything?
“Rathe?” she choked out.
He reached down into his boot and withdrew a short-bladed dagger. Guiding his horse toward her, he handed her the weapon. “Hold this,” he ordered.
She fumbled as he shoved the handle into her hand, almost dropping the dagger to the ground. She gasped as he flipped her skirt up to her knee and tore off a long strip of fabric from her chemise. He grabbed the weapon from her and wound the fabric around the blade.
He yanked the neckline of her dress forward and secured the dagger point-down between her breasts. He then placed his palm against the weapon on the outside of her dress and wiggled it. “Be careful. You could easily gut yourself if you bend over too much.”
She stiffened, terror ripping through her. “Rathe, what—”
His hand snaked around the back of her neck and pulled her close. The fear in his eyes faded, replaced by grim determination. “Listen well, lass. There are men to either side of us but not up ahead. You will ride north as fast as you can. Stick to the trees. There is a stream not far from here. Cross it and keep going through the pass between the mountains. On the other side there are fields and you will be on MacAirth land. Tell them who you are. Who your husband is.”
She shook her head in disbelief. Was this even real?
He touched his forehead to hers. “I will find you, I swear.”
She swallowed the lump of panic in her throat, her heart beating in an erratic rhythm. “Rathe, I—”
“Hush, lass. I know you are frightened, but there is no time. Just do as I say. I cannot fight well if I know you are not safe.”
Fight? Oh God, they were being attacked. Tears stung her eyes and she gave him a small nod, bumping her nose against his.
He squeezed her neck. “Just do me one favor.”
“Anything.”
“If you are attacked, you fight like hell. You understand?”
Doubt crashed into her, her mind whirling between various violent scenarios. She bit her lower lip, squeezing her eyes shut.
“You are strong enough,” he insisted in a fierce whisper. “Go for the neck or the gut.”
She sucked in a mouthful of air and exhaled. “Okay.”
“Or the balls,” he growled. “Just castrate the bastard who dares to touch you.”
A laugh forced its way through her throat and her chest heaved as she attempted in vain to contain it. A broad grin spread across his face.
Another clash of swords reverberated through the woods. Rathe glanced to the side for a mere second and then turned back, smashing his lips against hers in a demanding, urgent kiss. Startled, she jumped against him. Possessiveness radiated though him and her lips softened in surrender. A strange thread of satisfaction wound through her until shouts from somewhere below inter
rupted its course. Tears spilled onto her cheeks and she seized his face between her hands in a desperate attempt to delay their separation before he rode into battle.
He could die. This man. These lips. The infuriating smirk and flash of arrogance in his devilish green eyes. It all could be gone in an instant.
But he pulled away and her hands were empty. She grappled until she caught his arm as he attempted to guide his horse back toward his men. As he raised questioning eyes to her, she stumbled over her words. “You have to do me a favor too.”
“What would that be?”
“Don’t die.”
Amusement twinkled in his eyes. “Pact with the devil, remember? You cannot get rid of me that easily.”
He gave her a wink and smacked her horse on the backside. She squealed and grasped at the reins in a frenzy as the horse took off into a run. A shrill, unearthly whoop followed by a roar of voices in unison and the thunder of charging horses’ hooves trailed along behind her and then died out.
Leah managed to pull forward in time to avoid being unseated by a low-hanging branch. She hunched down in the saddle, draping her torso over the horse’s neck. The animal veered off the trail and into the woods. She squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped her arms around his neck, trusting his instincts to keep them safe.
When water splashed against her legs, she pried her eyes open. The stream. The horse’s hooves sent another splash right up to her face. Sputtering, she sat up, wiping water out of her eyes.
Was this the stream of which Rathe had spoken? She glanced ahead and her breath caught in her throat. Mossy, craggy mountains with tops hidden by mist rose to meet her. The lush greens and earthy purple heather interspersed with white clusters of thistledown spread out before her into the valley between two of the mountains.
Was this the valley Rathe had wanted her to take? She glanced around. None of the other mountains seemed to offer much of a pass through them.
Bran slowed to a stop once they reached the other side of the stream. He shook and snorted, lowering his lips to the water. She took the hint and grabbed the horn of the saddle as she dismounted. She stumbled backward a bit as her feet tangled in skirts but then she breathed a sigh. She stretched her arms above her head and then rubbed the ache out of her lower back.
