Lusting for the Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  Then just as slowly he thrust back in, taking his time to watch every scintillating expression that came over Morgana’s face. Slowly her moans became more breathy, and she relaxed into the new, gentler pace.

  “That’s it, sweeting,” he praised, kissing her lips and down her neck. Her soft mews only made him want to go slower, but he refrained. Instead, he kept them there, suspended in the pleasure until could feel Morgana’s tight walls begin to tremble and milk his manhood, and he knew that she was close.

  Only when he felt her body teetering on her release, did he pick up the pace and begin to make love to her more vigorously, thrusting into her until he felt the wave break its crest and come flooding over his manhood. Morgana screamed in ecstasy as her juices coated him and flooded out over the fur rug.

  The feel of her clamped so tightly around him was enough to drive him to his own frenzy, and within seconds he joined her orgasm with his own third and final one.

  For several moments they merely laid there, trembling and locked together as they panted. When Gregor felt he could breathe properly again, he pulled out of her and dragged her into his arms. Morgana’s head fell sleepily onto his chest, and he held her to his side tightly.

  “Eat a little more first,” Gregor warned, easing the cup back down. “It’s not like wine.”

  He had been surprised when he had brought the tray down to the rug with them that Morgana confessed she had never tasted mead. He was even more surprised when she discovered she rather liked it. Parched, she had picked up the mug and had drank from it greedily, not aware of how strong the warmed brew could be.

  Morgana had grabbed one of the blankets and had wrapped it around her body, reminding him of a Greek Goddess draped in her toga. In the aftermath of their lovemaking, her gaze was practically glowing with blatant satisfaction, and her beautiful curls were disheveled in the most adorable way.

  Though ravenous from their lovemaking, they ate their dinner slowly, sharing kisses between mouthfuls, unable to keep themselves away from one another. When they finished their meal, he packed a pipe with tobacco, lit it and left Morgana to wash privately.

  Downstairs he borrowed a dry cloak and dashed out to the stables to check on Zeus and Hermes. The storm was still howling around them, thrashing about bitterly as night descended upon them. What had felt like only minutes in their room had turned out to be hours.

  “Oy there, balachs,” he greeted the animals. Zeus, completely used to him now, walked over to him to be pet, and Hermes neighed from his stall. He gave each some affection as he smoked his pipe and thought over the day’s adventure.

  Although the rain had been unplanned, the day had still been full of joy and relaxation, which is what he had hoped for. For a while, Gregor contemplated what his life would be like if Fordun would not be a danger to Morgana. They could take trips like this more often.

  He would take her all over his beautiful country, showing her just how proud he was of Scotland. He’d take her to every coastal town, every Highland hamlet, every plains clan. He pictured her by his side, walking through the markets, exploring beaches and forests with her mesmerizing smile across her face.

  Gregor understood that their claim of marriage had been a farce at first, but now there was no doubt that he was in love with her genuinely.

  How could I not be?

  He could not think of a single woman, not even his dear, departed wife, who could go through the type of abuse she had suffered from Fordun and still have a heart as open as Morgana’s.

  Weeks had turned into months since Fordun had disappeared. Although they had been grateful for the reprieve at first, he was starting to get restless about always watching over their shoulders. He wanted this to be over, once and for all so he could marry Morgana and they could move forward with a life full of goodness and love.

  Whatever he needed to do to rid her of the vile man, he decided then he would do it. The world could use one less monster, and from what Morgana told him, this one deserved the most gruesome of deaths.

  If Fordun wouldn’t come to him, then he would take the battle to Fordun.

  Chapter 25

  Henwen

  “Dear, are ye sure yer alright?” Alice asked, looking at Morgana with concern. “Ye look ill.”

  Smiling, Morgana shook her head no. “I’m just fine Alice,” Morgana replied, ignoring the waves of nausea and cramps that were wreaking havoc on her stomach. Though she was uncomfortable, she didn’t want to worry anyone more than what they already were.

  The pain had started that morning. At first she had thought it was her monthly flow, but as the hours wore on and she didn’t bleed, she started to worry about it being something else. She had gone to the window for some fresh air, and it had brought her great relief.

  Thinking she just need some fresh air, she asked Alice to join her for tea. The pain lessened even more when they were outside. At first. But after the first hour it began to rise again, as if something in her gut were trying to pull her out of her chair.

  “I’ll be fine,” she promised, picking up her teacup and looking over at Alice with a feigned smile.

  “I just need to sip on this for a bit.”

  Alice looked at her peculiarly, but didn’t push it. Instead, she wrapped her shawl around and gestured for Ava to pour them more tea. It had been just over a month since she and Gregor had returned from the beachside village, and fall was approaching steadily.

  Once they had returned, Gregor had placed his uncle Jamie in control of the kingdom while he and a group of his men had gone out in search of Fordun. When he had first told her his plan, she had begged him not to go. Yes, waiting around for Fordun to come back was agonizing, but she thought it the better alternative to Gregor going to find him.

  At least in Henwen Gregor would have a home advantage. But out there, wherever he was hiding, Fordun was in his natural element. There would be no sneaking up on him or getting the higher ground. Instead, there would only be battle and heartache.

  As if agreeing with her thoughts, her stomach spasmed in pain again. This time it was so great that it brought her to her feet, scaring her. Suddenly she felt like she needed to walk away, and had no idea why.

  “Actually Alice, I don’t think I’m doing too well after all,” Morgana said, changing her mind. “I think I need to go for a walk.”

  “Of course dear,” Alice replied, getting up. “Let me escort you.”

  “No no, that won’t be necessary,” Morgana assured her, wanting to be alone. “Please, stay. I promise I’ll be alright.”

  Although she was thankful for Alice keeping her company while Gregor was gone, she was starting to feel restless with just sitting around. Guiltily, she also wanted away from Alice’s penetrating glance. She was grateful when the woman understood, and sat back down to her tea.

  Once Alice was seated Morgana began to walk in the direction of the southern gardens, which was separated from the wood by a tall stone fence with spiked edges placed on top.

  As she walked, Morgana took in the wilting blooms of the fields of flowers. They too were starting to feel the effects of fall. Soon their petals would wither and fall off completely, leaving the garden achingly bare until the next spring. Somehow she felt connected to those flowers, and she fought a sob as she continued her walk.

  Twenty minutes later, Morgana found herself sitting on a stone bench in the gardens that sat on a hill. From her position she could see out over the castle’s walls, and into the Scottish wildlands. The trees were still thick with green, but tufts of brilliant red and yellow were starting to speckle the landscape. Above, the sky was swirling with light gray clouds, blocking out the sun.

  In her stomach, the pain started to roil again, and she put a hand over it. Though she had been feeling nauseous the last week or so, this was different. Suddenly she felt as if she had made a mistake in walking to the distant gardens, and she wished she would have brought Zeus with her.

  Behind her, Morgana heard footsteps ap
proaching, and she turned around just in time to feel someone’s open hand strike her so hard across her face that it sent her spinning the opposite direction. Pain exploded in her cheek, but as soon as she hit the ground she hurried to her feet.

  She barely made it a meter before two guards wearing Fordun’s crest across their armor stepped in front of her and grabbed her by the waist and wrists. Immediately she began to scream for help, but a gag was shoved in her mouth and tied tightly at the back of her head.

  “Well done, Morgana,” the familiar voice praised. Morgana froze, her heart filling with dread as Fordun came around from behind her. He had a cocky smile spread wide across his face, his cocky attitude shining through.

  He approached her, coming so close she could smell his foul breath, and ran a finger down her cheek. Revulsion coursed through her as she pulled away from his touch, but that only seemed to egg him on further. To prove he had the power, he gripped her chin hard and forced her to look him in the eyes.

  “It seems my work with the priest worked greatly,” he mused, looking her over. “Let me guess. Stomach cramps? Nausea? A need to move but not understanding why?”

  Morgana narrowed her eyes hatefully. “What did you do to me?” She asked, rage shaking in her voice. “Where is the priest?”

  “Don’t you worry, he served his purpose,” he told her, still staring down at her. “You were away the first time I tried this. But I have you now. And I’m not letting you go.”

  Morgana had no idea what he was talking about, which made her even more frightened.

  Chapter 26

  “My little Morgana Le Fay,” Fordun mused. “My, my, how you’ve grown.”

  He leaned in and inhaled her scent, running his nose up her neck. The intimate gesture caused her stomach to lurch again, and she fought the guards even more.

  “Easy,” Fordun coaxed, snapping his fingers. Immediately the guards tightened their grip on her, painfully holding her in place.

  “I don’t mind starting your punishment now, but you might.”

  Morgana tried to scream through the gag then, and was rewarded with another slap across her face; this time by Fordun’s specially-gloved hand. It was a unique contraption he’d picked up in Turkey. Made out of metal like other armor but covered in many razor-sharp spikes. When it came heavily across her face it caught the tender skin of her cheek and left eye, painfully etching scratches there.

  “Scream like that again and I’ll cut your tongue out,” Fordun warned, his tone deadly. To prove his point he unsheathed his dagger and held it up to her unscathed cheek.

  “I may not be able to kill you just yet,” he whispered, the evil grin taking over his face once more. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t amuse myself with other sorts of…fascinations of mine.”

  An evil lust glittered in his eyes as Morgana was dragged away from him.

  “Get her in the wagon,” he ordered as someone drew a bag over her head. She began to kick violently, using her legs as much as possible to keep hands off her. In retaliation one of the guards delivered a hard blow to her stomach, making her gasp and double over in pain.

  Morgana felt her entire body being lifted then, and she was thrown over someone’s shoulder. As the man below her began to move, laughter and guffaws filled the air, and Fordun’s men took the liberty to pinch and prod at her however they saw fit.

  When they reached the wagon she was thrown rather like a sack of potatoes into the back of it, where she was grabbed by another set of hands and chained to the side. Not wanting to give up, she threw her head back and connected with someone’s nose.

  A howl of pain went up behind her, and she took the opportunity to lunge forward. She made it to the edge of the wagon before she was grabbed by a fistful of her hair and yanked backwards hard. Pain exploded in her scalp as she was pulled back, but she ignored it and flung her elbow back as hard as she could.

  Her elbow hit nothing but air, and as the momentum spun her, someone grabbed her head and pushed her hard to the left. Brilliant glowing stars erupted in the darkness of her hood as dizziness and pain made her crumple in a heap.

  “That’ll teach you,” someone murmured, chuckling.

  Morgana felt something warm and sticky trickle down her forehead, and the nearby laughter was growing more and distant.

  As she lost consciousness, Morgana felt the iron shackles go around her wrists, and she knew there was no getting away from Fordun this time.

  Gregor groaned as he stumbled out of his tent, nearly tripping over one its flaps as he did so. Outside, he took his time stretching as he watched the morning sun peak up and flood the valley with light. Around him his men were all in various states of waking up and getting ready to tear down camp.

  When he had first decided he was going to find Fordun he had thought it a good idea. Now, weeks later and without so much as clue or a trail, he was starting to wonder if his idea was really as good as he originally thought it would be.

  He had thought for sure that with the hounds and his best trackers that he would be able to find something, anything, that would pick up Fordun’s trail. But there had been nothing, not even when they had crossed into England.

  That had been a first for Gregor, and although he and his men ran into no trouble, he decided he would much rather stay on Scottish soil as much as possible. When it came to the English folk, the only one he wanted to interact with was Morgana.

  “Laird Henwen!”

  Gregor looked away from the morning view and turned to face the young squire, Fergus Adair running to him. At fifteen he was the oldest boy of Michael and Carlyn Adair, who were expecting their fifth child within the next couple months. Fergus was a tall, scrawny lad with wheat straw hair and powder blue eyes. A smattering of freckles laid heavy across the bridge of his nose, making him look younger still.

  “Fergus?” Gregor greeted, clapping the lad on the shoulder. “What brings ye to me?”

  The boy’s complexion suddenly paled considerably, and Gregor noticed that his hands were shaking as well. Something wasn’t right.

  “What’s happened?” he asked, his voice flat.

  “It’s yer uncle, Laird Henwen,” the boy explained. “He just rode up hard on our camp and is demanding to see ye.”

  The blood in Gregor’s veins turned to ice as he heard the words. Jamie wouldn’t be riding to him unless there was an emergency, and right now Henwen only had one enemy. His mind instantly went to Morgana, and he regretted ever leaving her alone.

  “Where are they?” he snarled.

  Fergus led Gregor to the edge of camp where Jamie and his handful of men were waiting for him. Gregor knew by the look on Jamie’s face that his fears were valid. He listened, barely able to breathe as his uncle told him how Morgana had been taken while on a stroll in the gardens.

  “How in the bloody hell did this happen?” Gregor roared, his rage rolling off of him in waves. “Where were the guards? The gardeners? Bloody anybody?”

  Jamie waited for Gregor to calm down before he spoke. The man was radiating anger from his every part of his being, and he knew that to try to talk sense into him during such an explosion was futile. Like his father, Gregor became deadly when someone close to him was threatened. It was a noble trait, but Jamie knew they needed a cool head for now.

  When Gregor seemed ready to accept the information, his uncle relayed the course of events that had resulted in Morgana’s capture. The invasion into the castle grounds had been no one’s fault, as Fordun’s men had slit the southern gate guard, dear old Corvin Douglas’s throat and left him in his chair like an ornament.

  From there they had killed three others that were unfortunate enough to come across their path, leaving a bloody trail directly to where Morgana had been taken. Outside of the gate they had found wagon tracks, but the dreariness of the weather had washed out the tracks after only a few kilometers.

  “So, what yer saying is that Fordun has me intended and we’ve got no way of tracking him down, aye?”
Gregor asked, his eyes glowing with hatred.

  Gregor pushed his anger away and took some time to think. Fordun had been hunting her for more than a decade, which meant one of two things.

  One, Fordun would want to kill her immediately. Two, he’d want to torture her first, make her pay for making him chase her and looking like a fool. Although he had not known of Fordun before meeting Morgana, what he had gathered was that he wasn’t the type of man to just be quick about such things.

  The very idea of Morgana being tortured sickened him so much that he immediately felt his anger rise again, and he flung his dagger into a nearby tree. It hit the center of the knot just like he had intended, and that somehow calmed him down enough return to his thoughts. Fordun wanting to draw out Morgana’s suffering, while grim, afforded him more time. If he was smart, he could find her, rescue her, and get rid of the evil filth all together.