Her Savage Scot: 1 (Highland Warriors)

by Phillips, Christina

  When he emptied his seed within her.

  Liquid heat trickled from her pussy and spilled over his ever-expanding cock. She leaned forward a little more, gave herself more leverage and brushed her aching core over his sensitized glans.

  His grin evaporated, his grip on her hips tightened. Encouraged, she repeated her action, her erratic breaths mingling with his.

  “Do you intend to torture me for the rest of the night?”

  “I might.” But much as she enjoyed it, she had no intention of doing any such thing. Her need for completion was too demanding, too intense. “It depends on how well you behave yourself.”

  His hands slid from her hips. He palmed her bottom, his fingers perilously close to her immodestly exposed crevice.

  Even that thought inflamed her.

  “I can’t promise to behave myself when your sweet clit teases me without mercy.” His fingers grazed the tops of her inner thighs, skimmed deliciously between her heated lips. “Your savage Scot aches for you.”

  Desire coiled tighter at his seductive admission. She angled herself over him. “I’m too soft-hearted to watch you suffer.” She shifted, felt him nudge against her swollen lips and her teasing words fled her mind. “Connor, I need you inside me.” It was a plea and instantly his strong hands cupped her buttocks, positioning her for his imminent penetration.

  Except he didn’t penetrate. “Take me, Aila.” It was an erotic command, one she had never imagined Connor would make.

  Slowly she sank onto him, savoring every moment as he stretched her once again. She clenched her internal muscles, hugged him tight, felt his groan vibrate throughout her blood.

  Still cupping her bottom with one hand, his other hand trailed over her trembling flesh to capture her breast. She gasped, arched into him, quivered as his finger and thumb pinched her hard nipple.

  She returned the favor and he reared beneath her. Lust spiraled along her cleft and flickered through her aroused clitoris.

  Panting, she gazed down at him. Saw the same raw need reflected in his passion-glazed eyes. Abandoning his nipple, she gripped his shoulders. “Are you ready?” The words were scarcely coherent, but he appeared to understand.

  “For what?” His smoky voice enflamed her and his fingers exploring her breast and buttock drove her to the edge of sanity.

  “For this.” She braced her weight on hands and knees, lifting her hips until their bodies all but separated. And then she slid down his length, his size filling her, and it felt so right, so perfect.

  Breath scraping her lungs, she pulled up, plunged down, meeting his thrust halfway and the exquisite friction unraveled her tenuous restraint.

  “Aila.” His voice was rough, as primal as the way he rammed into her, as primitive as the way he gripped her bottom for added leverage. “Is it safe?”

  She understood his agonized question and a wave of heat, separate yet inextricably entwined with the lust consuming her, flooded her senses.

  Even now he thought only of her.

  “Yes.” The ragged whisper tore from the depths of her being. “Come inside me, Connor.” She saw how her words aroused him by the way his breath rasped between gritted teeth, the way his eyes glittered on the verge of madness. As the first delirious wave of orgasm swept toward her, she gasped with her last coherent breath. “I want to feel you pump your seed deep inside me.”

  He roared her name, thrust so hard he surely touched her soul. As she convulsed around his rigid length he emptied his sac and she could feel his hot seed filling her, could feel her body grasping and embracing, could hear her choked scream echo around the bedchamber.

  Connor. Her love.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Propped up on one elbow, Connor stared into the sleeping face of the woman by his side. The torches had burned out long ago, but when he’d awoken just now, he’d opened the timber shutters.

  In order to look at this fascinating, incredible woman.

  With her gold-auburn hair spread across the pillows, she looked like an angel. Yet her passion owed nothing to such sexless beings.

  Her passion had astounded him. Even now, the memory of how she had responded to his touch, how she had teased and taken and most of all given, caused the blood to thicken his shaft and quicken his heart.

  His Pictish lady, so reserved in public, revealed a fiery demand for sex in the privacy of the bedchamber.

  Unable to help himself, he gently tugged the furs he had wrapped around her after their last lovemaking. Her small breasts, so perfectly formed, boasted rosy nipples already hardening as the air caressed her naked flesh.

  He cradled her breast, delighting in how she fit so snugly into his palms. So warm and silky-soft. His heated gaze traveled the length of her body. She was so fragile. So small.

  For a moment black fear gripped his chest, curdled his stomach. Last night his passion had overcome his iron-clad control.

  God. How could he have put her life in such danger? She wasn’t big enough for childbearing. He never wanted to bear responsibility for killing another woman through the consequences of his lust. That the woman might be Aila didn’t bear contemplation.

  Yet she assured him all was well and he shoved the doubts aside. A woman knew her own body. Perhaps, in time, he would relax enough to enjoy other nights like this one. Nights when he didn’t need to withdraw before completion, a practice he’d remained faithful to for the last four years.

  She stirred, a soft sigh whispering from her lips, as he stroked her nipple with his thumb. Later this morning, when they met by the stream, he would ask for her hand. He’d ask her now, but he needed time to work on his strategy. Consider any objection she might have and come up with solutions that would lighten her heart. Present his heritage in its most positive light. He was, after all, related to royalty through his half brother Fergus.

  And then, when the Princess Devorgilla demanded her presence in Dal Riada, as he was sure she would, Aila would already know a new life waited.

  With him.

  His chest tightened and he lowered his head and trailed kisses over her pale, luscious globe. His tongue flicked over her nipple, sucked her into his mouth, her erect nub sending arrows of raw lust streaking directly to his rigid cock.

  There was plenty of time for another leisurely joining before they needed to face the day.

  Her fingers tangled in his hair and she stretched, angling her breast more securely against his greedy mouth. God, she tasted good. He would taste her all over before he allowed her to leave this bed.

  And then she stiffened. “How late is it?” There was an unmistakable thread of panic in her voice.

  With reluctance, he relinquished her irresistible flesh.

  “Don’t distress yourself. Dawn has only just broken.” He grinned up at her over her wet, erect nipple. “Good morning, my Pictish lady. I trust you slept well.”

  Instead of a teasing response, her eyes widened in growing alarm. “I have to leave.” She scrambled to sit up and because he knew he could persuade her to stay a little longer, he allowed her to. “I have to return to my chamber before anyone is about—I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” She sounded as though her world was crashing around her ears.

  Damn the importance men placed on a woman’s reputation. And yet he would not do anything to besmirch the reputation of this woman.

  “It’s still early.” Aye, and he was as hard as a rock and despite the early hour he was destined to remain so until tonight. Surely Aila would visit him tonight. They could celebrate their betrothal. “No one will be about yet.”

  Her fingers clutched at the furs. She looked anything but reassured by his words.

  “There was something I—but never mind.” She gave him an oddly furtive look. “You will still meet with me later this morning?” Was that a hint of uncertainty he detected in her tone?

  He covered her hands, pressed her palms against his heart. “My king himself couldn’t keep me from you.”

  She smiled, as if she
doubted his word. But at least she smiled.

  “There are things we need to discuss. But I don’t have time now.” She glanced around, obviously searching for her discarded clothing.

  He put his own needs aside and dutifully brought her gown to her. “Aye. There are things we need to discuss. I’ll be at the stream at the fourth hour.”

  She relaxed. “We’ll have a beautiful day today, Connor. I promise you.”

  * * * * *

  With a sense of satisfaction, Connor emerged from the Pictish king’s inner sanctum, Ewan by his side. He hadn’t expected the early morning summons, but it was obvious the king didn’t want to waste any time before discovering why the Scots had descended upon his kingdom.

  “That didn’t go as badly as I feared.” Ewan’s remark mirrored his thoughts on the matter. “Although I was sorely tempted to give a more realistic impression of the noble and honorable prince Fergus when mac Lutin asked after his character.”

  “What did you expect me to say?” Connor rolled his shoulders, attempting to dislodge the knotted tension. “We wanted him to agree to the match, not sling us out on our arses.”

  As they crossed the feasting hall, its long tables now stacked against one side of the room, Ewan grunted. “He did seem overly interested in Fergus on a personal level though, didn’t he? As if that mattered more to him than the royal connection.”

  It had been odd. Connor had expected a great many questions and demands from the Pictish king, but he hadn’t been prepared to give personal recommendations on the proposed bridegroom. “It appears he might be fonder of his eldest daughter than we believed.” A twinge of guilt assailed him. But what could he do? This was politics. He was only following the orders of his king. If the Pictish king decided to give his own daughter in marriage to secure an alliance, it was nothing to do with Connor.

  He hadn’t lied about his half brother’s qualities. He’d just been economical with the truth.

  Just before they left the hall, he caught sight of a time-keeping candle in a recess and cursed violently. The flame was already halfway between the fourth and fifth hours of the morning.

  He was late for Aila.

  The moment he crested the ridge and saw the woman by the stream, tension knotted in his gut. Where was Aila?

  Lady Elise turned at his approach and he offered her a bow. “My lady.”

  “Connor.” She inclined her head. “I have a message from Lady Aila.”

  “Is she quite well?” He recalled asking Elise a similar question days ago. How much had changed since then.

  “Yes.” Elise’s fingers clenched on her shawl and instantly his sense of unease heightened. “She asked me to convey her apologies but her—her father is returned and commanded she wait at the palace to receive him later this morning.”

  His tension dissolved. The delay was nothing to concern himself with. Not that he had been concerned. Why wouldn’t Aila wish to see him again today?

  She herself had made the arrangements. But a single, or widowed, woman could no sooner disobey her father than she could her husband. Or than a husband could disobey his king.

  “Thank you. And I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I also was unavoidably detained this morning.”

  She waved her hand in a gesture that reminded him of Aila. “Of course. I understand.” She hesitated as if there was more she wanted to say and yet could not decide whether she should. “Connor.”

  “What is it, my lady?” Now he was no longer concerned that Aila had changed her mind about seeing him, he noticed the tension etched on Elise’s face. If he could help her, he would. Although he could not imagine how a Scot could help a woman with Elise’s fine pedigree.

  “My lady Aila—my beloved cousin—thinks very highly of you.”

  He couldn’t help the satisfied grin. And then Elise’s words fully penetrated.

  Her cousin. And Elise was a minor princess from the neighboring kingdom of Circinn.

  Far from trying to impress Aila and her unknown father with his own connection to royalty through Fergus, it appeared royal blood flowed through her own veins.

  “I think very highly of Lady Aila also.”

  “It’s just…” Again Elise hesitated. “She does not indulge in such romantic intrigues as many ladies do.” A blush stained her cheeks. “Goddess, I should not be speaking so to you.”

  “What are you trying to tell me, my lady?”

  Elise took a deep breath. “There’s something she wishes to confide in you. I don’t know how you will react but please, don’t be angry at her.” Before he could demand to know what the hell she was talking about, she continued, “And promise me upon your word of honor that you won’t tell her I warned you in advance.”

  Warned him about what?

  “I’ll keep your counsel, my lady.” His voice was hard and Elise flinched. Another time he might have queried such an odd reaction. But now only one thought thundered through his brain. A foul, distorted thought. And as Elise turned to leave, he asked the question that now haunted his mind. “Is she married?”

  Elise swung back and stared at him in obvious surprise. Whatever Aila’s great secret was, it apparanetly had never occurred to Elise he would imagine it to be that.

  “Of course not. My lord Onuist died a hero’s death, nine years ago. While saving Lady Aila from certain capture and slavery at the hands of the Vikings.”

  For the third time Aila checked the shadows on the sundial. She was already half an hour late for her liaison with Connor and despite her father’s command that she wait for him, he had yet to send for her.

  Of course she longed to see her father again. But why did he want to see her so urgently? He had only been gone for two weeks, after all.

  “Aila.” Her grandmother’s voice pulled her back to the present and she turned to where she sat on her favorite stone bench in the secluded royal garden. “What is your obsession with the time this morning?”

  Aila gave a dismissive flick of her hand and forced herself to sit beside her grandmother. “I’m anxious to see my father.” It wasn’t a lie. She loved her father and was anxious to see him.

  She simply wanted to see Connor first.

  Her grandmother glanced to the far side of the garden, where the queen was addressing a couple of slaves.

  “Your mother might believe that, but whether you choose to ignore it or not, you and I are too similar in character. It most certainly isn’t your father who occupies your thoughts at this moment.”

  Blood heated her cheeks. Curse her grandmother’s perception. And then another, far more shocking thought intruded. Suppose her grandmother guessed—or knew—what she and Connor had done last night?

  “Really, Grandmamma, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” She avoided eye contact because she knew, in her heart, just how similar they were. It wasn’t only her grandmother’s hair and eye color she had inherited.

  But they were the only gifts she chose not to ignore.

  Her grandmother gave an impatient sigh, as if she still hadn’t given up hope of Aila one day embracing all she had once rejected.

  “Then allow me to tell you this.”

  Against her better judgment, Aila looked back at the dowager queen. For a fleeting second, she had the uncanny sensation of looking at an image of herself from the far future.

  In forty years time perhaps she would look like her grandmother. But unlike the dowager queen, Aila would never be surrounded by the love of her direct blood descendants.

  “Tell me what?” It was a whisper, and she didn’t know why she had asked. Why she was encouraging her grandmother. Aila had no interest in whatever message the old gods might wish to convey.

  Her grandmother covered Aila’s hands that were clenched on her lap. Her grandmother’s grasp was firm. “The Scots’ true purpose here is concealed, obscured by dark fog. Even they themselves are unaware of what lurks in the deep.”

  She wanted to pull her hands free. To laugh in derision at her grandmother�
��s dramatic declaration. But against her will, in the fundamental core of her being she understood the truth of the cryptic words.

  “We’ll know of their true purpose soon enough. My father will tell us.” And yet even as she spoke the words, she knew she didn’t believe them.

  No matter how much she wanted to. No matter how hard she fought against the insidious, intangible sense of knowing that had once, long ago, been an integral element of her existence.

  Her grandmother didn’t look convinced, which served only to increase her own disquiet.

  “The darkness swirls about you, Aila. And yet you’re protected from its worst destruction.”

  This time she succeeded in snatching her hands free. “Grandmamma, I’m not interested. You can believe the malevolent whispers in the night if you wish, but I choose not to.”

  “Because,” her grandmother said, as if there had been no interruption, “you are the founding stone. For the bridge that will one day unite all our kingdoms.”

  Aila stood and marched toward the sundial, unable to remain still for a moment longer. She had no desire to be a founding stone. All she wanted was Connor and that was impossible.

  Her fingers clutched the stone edge of the sundial as the impossible wavered before her eyes.

  Was that what her grandmother was telling her? That her dreams weren’t impossible? That it was acceptable to love again—to hope for a future where nightmares no longer haunted the darkest hours?

  Were the old gods telling her, through her grandmother, that her penance was paid, her guilt absolved and freedom beckoned?

  She dug her fingers into the stone, scraping her flesh. She no longer believed in the old gods.

  But would she believe once again, if this was the pathway for a lifetime with Connor?

  Slowly she turned, heart hammering. Her grandmother stared back at her, concern clouding her normally clear green eyes.

  “What should I do?’ She didn’t know of whom she asked the question. God? Her grandmother?

  Or the deities of her ancestors?