Seduced by the Highlander

by Julianne MacLean

  Carrying her to the bed, he kissed her mouth with a passion that bordered on violence. He set her down on the soft mattress and stood over her while he stroked her body with hungry, joyful hands, relishing the fact that he could touch her so freely through the thin fabric of her nightdress.

  He slid his palms across her luscious breasts, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over her pebbled nipples, then journeyed down her shapely hips to her thighs, where he gathered the white linen in a hand and began to tug it up over her knees.

  “I am going to pleasure you tonight,” he said, “and make you cry out in ecstasy.”

  “As long as it pleases you,” she purred, squirming lavishly on the bed.

  “Ah, it will.”

  She lifted her hips and sat up so he could pull her nightdress off over her head; then he crawled onto the bed to lie beside her sweet, voluptuous form.

  His erection was bone hard and enormous, pulsing against her hip, but he would resist the urge to bury himself inside her tonight. He would enjoy her body in other ways. He would not lose control.

  Leaning up on one elbow, he ran a finger slowly across the delicate line of her jaw, then down the side of her throat. With a featherlike touch, he drew tiny circles around her nipples, without ever touching the hardened peaks.

  She sucked in a quivering gasp of desire. His gaze lifted, and he smiled at her, then spelled his name with a light, stroking flourish across her belly. “Tonight, you belong to me.”

  “Every night I belong to you,” she whispered. “I’ve been yours since the first moment I met you.”

  Bending his head, he kissed her silky soft, porcelain skin and licked inside her navel. She melted into the bed, writhing pleasurably, letting out tiny whimpers of arousal. When her hand snaked out to rub his chest, he gently curled his fingers around hers, kissed the tip of each one, and shook his head. “No, lass,” he said. “You’re not to touch me. It’s my turn to touch you.”

  Her arm fell limp onto the bed. “If that is your wish…”

  He eyed her tenderly and rolled on top of her, with his elbows braced on either side of her hips, low down, so that his face was over her breasts and there was no chance of his manhood meeting accidentally with the sweet, soft, tempting dampness between her thighs.

  Closing his eyes, he bent to take a lovely breast into his mouth and licked and suckled her delicious nipples. Catherine sighed and combed her fingers through his hair while he slid his tongue across to her other breast and pleasured her with great sensitivity and diligence.

  Her legs spread wider, and he began to thrust his raging manhood into the bed, wishing he could rise up and slide into her now—she was certainly ready for him—but instead, he inched lower and dropped wet, openmouthed kisses down her belly to the glossy sweetness between her legs.

  She took hold of his shoulders and arched her back, moaning against a flood of delight. “Please, Lachlan,” she pleaded. “Do everything you can.”

  “Don’t worry, lass. I intend to.”

  Kissing the inner planes of her knees, he made his way up her thighs, where he paused a moment to admire the succulent temptation before him. Irrepressible passion charged through his body. Riotous with a desire he had been suppressing for too long and starving for her in every way, he touched his lips lightly to her swollen sex, then plunged in with an avaricious indulgence that consumed him like a dream.

  She held his head in her hands, pushing him deeper, moaning with pleasure while her legs trembled and fell open on the bed. “Don’t stop, Lachlan,” she sighed. “Please, don’t ever stop.…”

  Eager to fulfill all her desires, he slid a finger inside her throbbing wet passage while he continued to use his tongue on the glowing pearl at the heart of her folds. He stroked and tasted her for endless moments of rapture, losing himself in her inconceivable splendor, until at last she began to quiver. Her insides contracted around his finger while she thrust her hips toward the ceiling, pulling him closer, squeezing her thighs around his head.

  “Oh yes!” she whispered as a deep, groaning climax overtook her.

  When her body finally relaxed in complete surrender, he climbed over her on all fours and looked down at her lovely flushed face, damp with perspiration. She blinked up at him in a drunken haze of satisfaction.

  “What I wouldn’t give to make love to you now,” he softly said, but he cared for her too much. Nothing would make him risk it.

  “Let it be my turn now.” She sat up and pressed her open palms to his chest. Pushing him onto his back, she began to stroke him below as she laid openmouthed kisses down the center of his abdomen. “I want to do what you just did.”

  He closed his eyes and groaned as her mouth slid over the thick head of his erection. Time stood still in the ensuing moments as he pondered the impossible, mind-numbing pleasure she gave him. The sensations swamping his body were staggering, penetrating, and wild. He drove into her mouth deeply and unbearably, imagining in his mind that he was making love to her on a moonlit beach, giving her everything, without limitation or restraint.

  It went on and on; she was relentless and vigorous with her mouth and tongue. He never wanted to be without her.

  The climax, when it came, bombarded his senses with a violent explosion of pleasure, and the whole world seemed to disappear for endless flashing moments. All he felt was an aching hunger to claim and possess Catherine in every way possible.

  When he opened his eyes, he was on top of her, using his hand to coax his seed onto her stomach.

  Panic struck him. He had lost himself for a moment. Thank God he had not given in to that dream.

  As he shuddered and convulsed above her, he cursed Raonaid for this cruel torture. He wanted to choke the life out of her. All his violent warrior instincts rebelled and blasted out of him on that fierce, erratic orgasm. He couldn’t take it anymore.

  He collapsed onto the bed beside Catherine and wept.

  A second later, he was up off the bed, running a hand over his wet face, fighting for composure. He hated that Catherine should see him like this. Hated it with every inch of his being.

  He went to the basin and washed himself clean with a towel. He couldn’t look at her. His mind was filled with shame.

  The bed creaked, and he felt her careful approach across the room.

  She laid a warm hand on his shoulder. “In two days’ time,” she said, “we will reach Edinburgh, and I will do whatever I can to help free you from this curse. Perhaps it is not even real. Perhaps it never was.”

  He tossed the towel into the basin and faced her. “It’s real enough to keep me from loving you properly, Catherine. Real enough to make me weep in front of you like a broken man.”

  His temper flared. He wanted to pick up his sword and lash out at something.

  “Come back to bed,” she gently whispered, holding both his hands in hers. “I understand that you are upset. Let me help you. Stay with me tonight and hold me. All I want is to be close to you.”

  He felt very tired all of a sudden.

  Catherine led him to the bed and drew back the covers. They climbed in together.

  He gathered her close, spoon fashion, and they lay quietly in the dying firelight for a long time.

  “What you did to me tonight…,” she softly said. “It was like floating up to heaven.”

  He ran his thumb across her shoulder, then kissed her tenderly between her shoulder blades. “I’m glad.”

  But it was not enough. He needed more. He wanted all of her, body and soul.

  He was quite certain he had made a mistake, he thought, by letting down his guard. God help him, he had never wept in front of a woman before. He was out of his depth with her.

  Hours later, just before dawn, he proved himself right on that account when he woke to the tempting allure of her warm bottom pressed tightly against his pelvis, and he was overcome by an unstoppable wave of passion.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Lachlan breathed in the lavender scent of Ca
therine’s skin and laid soft, feathery kisses across the back of her neck and shoulders. She woke with a sigh and rolled to face him, meeting his heady desire with sweltering kisses of her own.

  “Oh, Lachlan,” she whispered, “I want you so much.”

  “I want you, too, lass.”

  He rolled on top of her but was careful, as always, not to position himself too close, though he wanted desperately to hold her against him, to worship her with his hands and adore her with his mouth.

  He pressed his hot skin to hers, pushing, stroking, kissing … They were so close and tight to each other; her breasts were crushed against his chest. Her soft belly quivered against him, and she moaned and whimpered, digging her nails into his shoulders and wrapping her long, shapely legs around his clenching buttocks.

  He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. His hands stroked her back while he kissed the soft, warm tendons at her neck. A rush of sensation coursed through him. The extent of his yearning was incomprehensible.

  His mouth covered hers, and she sucked at his tongue, thrusting her hips, stroking his hair away from his face. She gazed into his eyes with love, and his heart trembled achingly.

  “I want to be closer to you,” she cried, squeezing him between her legs, caressing his lower back.

  He nodded and wrapped his whole body around her, groaning in the predawn light, so hungry for her, his feelings so raw.…

  Then slowly, without ever meaning to, he slid inside the warm and welcoming haven between her legs. Her moist heat surrounded him in rapture, and he was overcome by emotion.

  They both went absolutely still, for he was in deep, pressed firmly to the hilt.

  “You’re inside me,” she whispered, her teeth colliding with his shoulder.

  “I know. Please, don’t move.”

  Neither of them spoke. He could barely breathe over the heavy pounding of his heart.

  “It feels so good.” She turned her head to the side on the pillow.

  “Aye. But I need to pull out.”

  Yet he could not seem to do so.

  His blood rushed wildly through his veins. Dangerous seconds ticked by on the clock. Her sweet, honeyed depths engulfed him in bliss, and he soon found himself pulling out, only to push right back in.

  “Just for a few seconds,” he huskily implored.

  She nodded and pulled him in deeper, meeting his oncoming thrust with a firm push that placed the tip of his erection tight up against her womb.

  His chest heaved with alarm. He could not continue this. He had to withdraw.

  He promised that he would, but it was three strokes, then four, then five. Soon he was driving in and out of her with heedless abandon and vigorous haste, and she was squeezing his buttocks, pulling him deeper inside every time he tried to separate himself from her exquisite, glowing warmth.

  Suddenly a scorching heat poured through all his bones and muscles. He recognized the signs of a climax, shuddered uncontrollably within, and a second too late pulled out and hauled himself up on his hands and knees above her. He finished his orgasm on her stomach.

  When it was over, his eyes flew open.

  She was staring up at him in shock.

  “What have we done?” he asked.

  Catherine’s cheeks flushed with alarm. She sat up, but had no answer to give.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Catherine gazed anxiously at the flurry of activity that surrounded her as she made her way down the front stairs of the inn, across the taproom, and toward the front door. A plump kitchen maid rushed forth to thrust a cloth-covered basket into her hands, and Alex appeared out of nowhere, taking hold of her elbow to escort her out.

  “One would think there was a fire,” Catherine mentioned, laboring to sound casual when she was, quite simply, paralyzed with fear. She had allowed herself to make love to Lachlan a short time ago, after dozens of promises and assurances that it would never happen, and now he was more agitated than ever. He would never trust her again. No matter what happened.

  The rest of it—that she might fall victim to her sister’s curse in nine months’ time—did not bear thinking of. Surely it was absurd, she tried to tell herself as Alex opened the door in front of her. There could be no validity in such hexes and sorcery, and yet she could not seem to let go of the possibility that it was true. Lachlan certainly seemed to think so.

  But neither could she let go of the memory of his touch, and all the sensations she had experienced when he slid inside and made love to her at last. She was still light-headed and completely overwhelmed.

  Alex led her outside, where the chilly morning air struck her cheeks. A shiny black coach was waiting for them on the opposite side of the narrow street.

  The well-appointed vehicle, led by four handsome gray horses, sported bright yellow stripes along the side panels. Tassel-ornamented blinds covered the windows, which were cloaked in crusty frost. Sitting up front was a liveried driver with a curly brown wig under a tricorne hat, which he tipped at her as she approached.

  “I don’t know why Lachlan was in such a hurry this morning,” Alex said as he led her across the street. “He was in a foul mood when he pounded on our doors to wake us. And he said we won’t stop again until we reach Edinburgh, except to change horses. We’ll be traveling until the wee hours of the morning, I expect.”

  Naturally, Alex was curious, and probably concerned about the sudden urgent need to reach their destination. But under no circumstances would Catherine reveal what had occurred in her bedchamber that morning. If news of their lovemaking got out, Alex and the others would likely put a pistol to Lachlan’s head.

  Alex opened the door of the coach and handed her inside while the horses grumbled and blew great puffs of steam out of their flaring nostrils. Catherine sat down on a deeply buttoned leather-upholstered seat and gazed around the cozy interior, taking note of two thick blankets folded and set upon the opposite seat, as well as a green-and-white-striped silk pillow with gold fringe, which looked as if it had just been snatched from someone’s drawing room.

  “Where did all this come from?” she asked Alex, who was leaning in the door, also looking around.

  “Lachlan purchased it from the banker. He said he paid double what it was worth, but those were Angus’s instructions.”

  “I see.”

  Alex pointed at the floor. “There are hot bricks there for your feet, my lady, and there should be enough food in that basket to last until nightfall.”

  “But we’ll stop before then, will we not?”

  “Aye, don’t worry. We’ll stop to change horses a few times. You’ll be able to step out.”

  Scarcely reassured, Catherine tipped her head back and shut her eyes.

  “They’ve already loaded all the bags on the roof,” Alex told her, as if he sensed her unease and hoped to distract her with trivial conversation. “Gawyn, Roderick, and Rodney will be following close by, and I’ll be riding ahead to scout the route.”

  “Where is Lachlan now?” she asked, needing to know if she would see him before they departed.

  Alex looked up and down the street. “He’s around here somewhere, but I don’t recommend holding him up. As I said, he’s in a foul mood this morning. He wants these wheels rolling. Can I get you anything else before I close the door?”

  “No, Alex. That will be all.”

  He shut it, then shouted to the driver, who shouted to the horses, and almost immediately the great vehicle heaved forward and began to rumble down the street—toward a very uncertain future.

  * * *

  The hours that followed brought Catherine no peace of mind, for she had not seen or spoken to Lachlan since he left her bedchamber that morning. He had dressed in a hurry and stormed out the door, saying only, “Get dressed. We need to get to Edinburgh.”

  Now, as the coach jostled and bumped over the frozen rutted roads of the Lowlands, through open lonely glens, into bleak forests with bare, skeleton trees, it was difficult not to feel completely catast
rophic over the condition of her life.

  She longed to tell Lachlan that she was sorry—that she had never meant to tempt him into doing what he did not wish to do. But she also wanted to tell him that she had loved every glorious minute of it and longed to do it again. That it was the most profound and beautiful experience of her life. At least what she remembered of it. She had not caught a single glimpse of him, however, not since they left the village.

  It occurred to her that he might have ridden ahead to Edinburgh to face Raonaid alone. The thought made her feel sick to her stomach.

  * * *

  Later, Catherine ate the biscuits and cheese from the basket, finished the small amount of wine she had been given, and lifted her feet off the bricks. She wiggled uncomfortably on the seat, for she needed to use a convenience. Pray God, they would reach another village soon.

  Putting away her lunch and peering out the window—immune now to the endless monotony of the passing forest—she tried to see what was ahead of them. There was still no sign of Lachlan, or Alex for that matter.

  Growing impatient, she stood up in the swaying vehicle and pounded hard on the ceiling. “Stop!”

  She was immediately tossed forward onto the opposite seat as the coach pulled to a sudden halt.

  “Thank God,” she groaned, flicking the door latch and spilling out of the coach onto the road, in a clumsy heap of skirts and petticoats. She looked up at the driver, who quickly hopped down from his elevated position out front. “May I be of some assistance, my lady?”

  “No. I only require a bit of privacy.” She turned toward the trees to examine her options.

  In that moment, rapid hoofbeats disrupted the silence of the forest. Lachlan appeared from around a bend in the road, galloping at a brisk pace toward them.

  He reined in his horse and spoke impatiently. “Why are we stopped?”

  “The lady has to…” The driver gestured toward the woods with a discreet toss of his head.