by Mary Wine
So soft yet firm… His cock rose beneath his kilt, throbbing with the desire he’d pushed aside all day.
But he’d only wanted Clarrisa.
She sighed, and he found the sound unmistakably pleasurable. His cock throbbed, and he cupped one of her breasts, grinning almost savagely when she arched. An enjoyable torment, indeed. It seemed they both suffered from it. Her eyelids fluttered, lifting only halfway.
“Why do you invade my dreams, Broen?” Slurred with sleep, her voice was a bare whisper.
He leaned down, smoothing his hand over the swell of her breast. “Because ye summoned me with yer longings, lass.”
She sighed and closed her eyelids. “I think about you too often…”
Her breathing deepened, and his frustration returned, but he smiled with satisfaction too. She couldn’t banish him from her thoughts either. Such a revelation should have convinced him she was a curse, one he’d be wise to get rid of at first light, but the idea of sending her to his overlord tore something inside him.
He straightened, the emotional reaction making him wary. Men who succumbed to loving a woman often made poor decisions. It was a point worthy of contemplation and possibly action. It would be wise to put distance between them.
But he leaned down and placed a kiss against her cheek before pulling the coverlet back up to protect her from the night air. He caught a whiff of her scent, and it sent a flood of desire pounding through him.
Sending her off to Sutherland would be best, but he wouldn’t enjoy doing it.
***
He was near. So very close.
Clarrisa could smell Broen. The scent of his skin touched off a ripple of need that settled in her belly. Her body twisted, unable to rest peacefully. She craved something, some form of satisfaction.
She sat upright, jerked out of her slumber. Instead of waking in a fog, her wits were sharp. The bedding was a rumpled mess, and her braid frizzy from her tossing.
Broen—although she wasn’t sure if it was fair to blame the man for her obsession with him. Maud had often lectured her on the enchanting powers of the barbarians who inhabited the Highlands. Looking them straight in the eye was a sure way to allow their pagan devil magic to work its will on her.
Clarrisa laughed. She couldn’t help it. Along with Maud’s words came the memory of how haughty the matron had sounded when she was handing out lectures. Pride was also a sin, but the older woman hadn’t seemed to recall that teaching from the church. With a shake of her head, she pulled the tie off the end of her braid. She worked the plait free and walked toward the table where the comb lay.
The moon was full, casting its yellow light across the floor of the chamber. Nearer to the window, she could see the stars twinkling in the night sky. The moon was more than halfway across it, but morning was still several hours away. Her chemise fluttered in the night breeze. Her skin was chilled, but not uncomfortably so.
Heat was still burning inside her from her dreams of Broen.
She drew the comb through her hair, wrestling with the admission that she was longing to go to his bed. Alone in the darkness, it seemed easier to admit her dark cravings. The church certainly had that portion of their teachings correct; the night hours were the time for spells and sinfulness.
She brushed her hair into a soft cloud, the braid having given it fullness. She placed the comb aside and gave in to the urge to slide her hands down her body. Her breasts were so sensitive, and her nipples were hard, and it wasn’t due to the cold. She enjoyed the feel of stroking the curves of her hips, and a soft throbbing began between the folds of her sex. So dark and wicked, but it felt completely right in that moment, so good, so satisfying.
The chamber suddenly felt cold, but the delicate fabric of her chemise didn’t flutter from any breeze any longer. She hugged herself and shivered, feeling the chill bone-deep. From the corner of her eye, she caught something moving across the mirror.
She whirled to face it but found no one in the chamber. The hairs on her nape stood up as she was sure she heard a deep male chuckle.
Twisting back to face the mirror, she saw a shadow shift behind her.
Argyll—the ghost of Deigh Tower…
Broen’s words rose up as clearly as a church bell as she heard something scrape across the corner of the room.
“Sweet Christ!” she shouted before bolting toward the door.
“Get away from me!” she yelled as she ran, her heart pounding. A full scream erupted from her when she ran into a hard body; hard arms clamped around her instantly. Fear coursed thickly through her, and she fought with every ounce of strength she could muster.
“Here now…”
She slammed her palm up into the hard jaw of the man holding her. He cursed and released her.
“Goddamn it, Clarrisa…”
She recognized Broen’s voice, but it wasn’t enough to override the pressing need to flee. She was covered in sweat, her heart feeling like it might burst through her chest, but she also felt stronger and faster than ever. She ran down the hallway, not caring that the floor scraped her bare feet.
She slammed into more men. They grumbled and clamped their arms around her. They jerked her to a halt, twisting her arms brutally. She gasped, the pain tearing through the fear clouding her judgment.
“Easy, lads… ’Tis our English guest.”
She couldn’t seem to stop struggling. The delicate fabric of her chemise tore, and the sound echoed in the silence.
“There… there is someone… in my chamber…” She panted, her lungs struggling to keep up with her racing heart.
Light came up the stairway, and the heavy steps of more retainers filled her ears. The two men holding her pushed her toward the newcomers as Broen turned and went into her chamber. She was pushed up against the wall, and the man who held her jerked his hands away when he realized how little she wore.
“Get up there and protect the laird’s back,” he ordered the men behind him. He glanced back at her once he’d given his order but looked away with a sputter. Clarrisa looked down and realized the torch illuminated every curve of her body. Even her nipples showed through the thin fabric. She gasped and hugged herself to cover what she might. It was far too little, and she leaned against the wall, trying to decide what to do. Down the stairs was the hall where most of Broen’s retainers slept. They’d be on their feet now, worried the castle was under attack.
There was clothing back in her chamber, but a shiver shook her the moment she considered returning.
“There is no one,” Broen muttered as he re-appeared. His sword was in hand, but she looked away because he was wearing less than she was. The man was in nothing but his skin.
“I heard… I’m sure I heard…” Her cheeks were blazing, but she refused to be thought of as a foolish child frightened by her own imagination. “I was fully awake and on my feet…”
“Argyll does nae enter the chambers…” the retainer near her muttered.
“Well, he did enter my chamber. You promised he wouldn’t.” Her mind finally cleared completely, causing her to contemplate just what she’d seen.
Suddenly she wasn’t so sure. Edme’s potion had been potent.
Broen grunted and set his sword inside the open door of his chamber. “As flattered as I am to hear ye believe me so powerful, Clarrisa, I do nae have the ability to control the spirits.”
She snapped her gaze back to him but turned away because she was too tempted to look down the length of his nude body. “Maybe I didn’t see… I am not sure anymore…”
Broen’s retainers began muttering, offering their opinions. Her eyes went wide when she realized how many men were observing the moment. She looked back at Broen, desperate to escape. He was watching her, and his eyes narrowed when she locked eyes with him. He reached out and captured her wrist. His grip didn’t hurt, but it was solid. With a firm tug, he pulled her away from the wall and down the few steps to his open chamber door. She ended up stumbling into his chamber after a sharp
jerk and a slap against her bottom.
Laughter erupted in the hallway.
“My thanks, lads, for seeing to me welfare. Ye’ll have to forgive me for hiding the lass. She’s nae dressed for visiting.”
The MacNicols retainers laughed, a few adding comments that kept her cheeks burning brightly.
“I’d like to have the lass dressing like that to see me…”
“Found her quite pleasing as she was…”
“Do nae change for my sake…”
She stumbled a few paces from the door but froze when she couldn’t see into the dark corners of the chamber. Her need for modesty struggled against the fear rising from the memory of having heard a spirit speak to her.
“Argyll has never been seen in this chamber.”
She jumped but bit her lip to contain the cry that tried to escape. Clarrisa lifted her chin, forcing down the lump in her throat. “It… He simply surprised me.”
“He frightened ye,” Broen muttered in a soft voice.
“No, he did not, and you’re a—”
“Brute?” Broen finished for her. His tone turned menacing. He captured her wrist again and pulled her hand up until he could press her palm to his jaw. Along the side of it, she felt the warm presence of blood. “Ye’re the one who drew blood tonight.”
A soft cry made it past her lips. “Sweet Christ…” Everything began to crumple; her reasons and logic. There was only the warm skin beneath her palm and the scent of metallic blood in the air. She stepped toward him, delighting in the feeling of having his heat wrap around her. She smoothed away the blood and stretched up onto her toes to kiss the spot it had escaped from.
He groaned, the sound striking her as complimentary.
One kiss seemed too little. She pressed another and another against his jaw, until she was trailing kisses up to his ear. She didn’t want to stop and reached up to wrap her hands around his neck and tilt his head so she might continue.
“Clarrisa… ye’re testing the limits of me control…”
His voice was husky and shook just a little. That tiny confirmation that she affected him as much as he did her sent the passion she’d toyed with back into a full blaze.
“Good, because you’ve been driving me mad, and you promised to explain why you make me tremble.” He caught her face, framing it with both hands. The small amount of light coming in through the windows reflected off the glitter in his eyes.
“I was warning ye, lass.”
She moved her head, needing to feel his hands moving against her skin. Delight rippled down her body, and she felt her nipples contract into hard points.
“You were daring me to stand fast and allow you to be my lover.”
He drew in a stiff breath. She placed her hands on his chest, spreading her fingers and shivering at the feel of their skin meeting.
“Why are ye the only English lass who does nae quiver in me presence? I was going to send ye to me uncle at dawn.”
Her hands formed into fists, frustration making her ache. “Then do it, Broen MacNicols, and prove yourself a blackguard for kissing me when you were only toying with me.”
She shoved him away from her, hissing with disappointment when he released her face. But he caught the sides of her chemise and ripped it upward in a crack of cloth. The garment fluttered to the floor like a wounded bird as she gasped.
“I have no’ yet begun to play with ye.” He caught her, moving faster than she expected. In less than a moment she was secured against his body, her curves meeting his harder form from chin to toe. Against her belly, his cock was rigid. The spot hidden by the folds of her sex began to throb once more, this time her passage joining the demand to be touched.
“But I promise to mend me ways immediately. Ye tremble because ye want me inside ye, and I’m hard because I want the same thing.”
His mouth captured hers, the kiss bold and hot. Whatever she’d been thinking to say scattered into bits of thought too tiny to notice. What drew her attention was the flood of sensation flowing over her. She kissed him back, seeking out more heat. He caught a handful of her hair, combing his fingers through the strands before gripping them near her scalp. She was helpless, but feeling his strength heightened her enjoyment. In some corner of her mind, she liked knowing how strong he was.
“I want more than just to get inside ye,” he growled against her mouth, trailing kisses along the length of her neck. She trembled, never realizing how acute a simple touch might be.
“What else?” It wasn’t a proper question, wasn’t something she should even think, but the rules of the civilized world seemed impossibly far away.
He chuckled, the sound dark and dangerous. She was free for a moment, his hand slipping over her shoulders and down her chest until he was cupping each breast.
“I wanted to cup these last night and nuzzle against them before kissing their tips.”
Knowing what he was going to do intensified the moment. Anticipation tightened in her belly, making it difficult for her to breathe. Broen kissed her collar and then lower, following the same path his hands had forged. He selected her left breast first, kissing the top of it before nuzzling against it.
He slipped his arm around her waist again, this time using it to support her when he bent her back so that her breasts were thrust up.
“Close yer eyes, lass, and just feel. I’ll not let ye fall.”
She struggled to comply, wanting all her senses to help her understand, but it wasn’t a moment for thinking. She leaned her head back, feeling the ends of her hair against her calves. It felt like she was free, truly unbound for the first time in her life.
She gasped when he claimed her nipple. His lips felt hotter than she’d ever believed a man’s mouth might be. It was too much, and she tried to straighten.
“Ye cannae deny me such a treat, Clarrisa.”
He scooped her off her feet and carried her to his bed. For a moment, she recalled the first time she’d seen him, when she’d thought him a barbarian. He placed her among the rumpled bedding, pressing her onto her back against a blanket of her hair.
“Nor deny yerself the pleasure it can give ye.”
He cupped her breast once more, leaning on one bent elbow as he lay beside her.
“Breasts are for feeding babes.”
He laughed. She was beginning to recognize the tone he used when he was in the mood to tempt her, and excitement brewed inside her. He leaned down, the ends of his hair teasing her skin. “But first they are meant to be handled by a lover to help entice ye into allowing him inside ye.”
He sucked her nipple back into his mouth, cupping her breast as he did it. She arched, her body rising to seek what it craved. A moan crossed her lips as she reached for him. She suddenly wasn’t close enough to him. Need became a living force inside her, and the only thing it craved was contact with him. She gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer.
“Exactly like that, lass.”
He slid his hand down her body, teasing the smooth skin of her belly before continuing on to the soft curls growing on her mons. She shied away, but he pushed her back and settled his fingers in the curls. “The best place of all for a lover to stroke.”
She shivered, but not from cold. Anticipation threatened to overwhelm her, possibly even leave her mind broken when it had run its course. That didn’t seem to matter. Her clitoris was throbbing, its name rising in her mind from some half-heard gossip—a few comments muttered in husky tones before the more-experienced women of her uncle’s household had noticed she was near.
Broen found it, pushing the folds of her sex aside until his fingertip rested gently on top of it. Pleasure spiked through her. She jerked, lifting her hips and gasping when even greater delight resulted from the friction.
“Ye felt that, did nae ye?” He was challenging her now. He rubbed a bit harder, producing a pleasure that began to satisfy the raging hunger inside her.
“Lift yer hips in time, lass. I promise it will yield what ye’ve bee
n trembling for.”
There was an urgency building inside her. Nothing but reaction remained in her mind. There was the pleasure each stroke produced and the increasing need to move faster. She clamped her thighs around his forearm, frantic to maintain the pressure against her clitoris. He didn’t deny her. He pressed harder and rubbed faster in response to her demands. There suddenly wasn’t room in her mind for distracting things like sight. She arched and closed her eyes as her fingers clenched the bedding. Every muscle in her body grew tense, feeling like they might snap. Beneath his finger, pleasure tightened until it burst in a blinding shower of white-hot delight. In spite of the bed beneath her, it felt like she was falling through the air, her body suspended inside the pleasure for a moment that felt endless. It twisted through her, biting into her before dropping her back into reality, where she struggled to draw breath. She’d cried out but only noticed it now as an afterthought.
“That’s what ye craved from me, lass.” He was smug and arrogant. She opened her eyes, the urge to be reckless overpowering her.
She reached down, closing her hand around his length. “And what is it you keep kissing me to gain, Broen MacNicols?” He groaned, the hard flesh in her grasp jerking slightly. She rolled onto her side, pushing him back as she worked her hand from the top of his weapon to the base.
“I may be a virgin, but I know men want more from women than to pleasure them.” The bed shook as he flopped onto his back. The moonlight showed her his expression and his gritted teeth.
“Do yer worst, lass. I have nae stopped thinking about yer promise to polish a man’s weapon. Show me the courage that had ye holding back a king’s lust for power.”
She slid her hand back up to the crown of his cock. “So long as it is Broen asking me for such a thing and not the laird of the MacNicols demanding a service.”
“I’m foolishly admitting how captivating yer words are to me.”
