Return of the Highland Laird: A Highland Force Novella

by Amy Jarecki

  She glanced over her shoulder and he stepped nearer. Heaven, give my boneless limbs strength.

  “Aye, m’lady. On both accounts.” He placed his hand on her shoulder—a simple gesture, yet Jane closed her eyes and leaned into him. “I am in no hurry to go, unless ye no longer wish for me to remain.”

  From the way her body trembled beneath his touch, it would be most prudent to send him on his way. “This evening, then?” Her words had a tremor.

  He removed his hand and a chilly breeze filled its place. “Aye.”

  His voice had undeniably grown deeper.

  Before she did anything else she would regret, Jane fled back to the cottage. Wringing her hands, she paced. Roderick had looked nothing like Alexander. In fact, she’d never seen her husband completely disrobed. She’d seen parts of him exposed, and that which she did see never caused any stirrings whatsoever. Mayhap before they were married, she’d had a stirring or two. Roderick did have a pleasing face, but he wasn’t as powerfully built as Sir Alexander—not by half.

  When he comes to dine, I must keep the Highlander at arm’s length. She wouldn’t don any finery at all this time. She would focus their discussion on work that needed to be done. Jane headed into her bedchamber and picked up a piece of vellum, a quill and ink. If she drew up a list, it would keep her mind off Sir Alexander’s rough hands…and her completely unacceptable, ridiculous desire for him to place those hands upon her.

  Beside the inkwell was a bolt of linen Mr. Cox had delivered with her trunk. Alexander said he only had one suit of clothes. Perhaps she should make a shirt for him? She was a good seamstress. Sewing was one of the few practical things she’d learned as the daughter of the Earl of Nottingham. Of course, most of her work was embroidery, but she could measure and cut a simple shirt, bar the neck and sleeve ruffles. If he wanted something fancy, he’d best go to a tailor.

  But Jane knew Alexander well enough. He wouldn’t care about ruffles or fine linen—not the way Roderick had. The earl had spent a great deal of coin and time ensuring he dressed in royal style, even though they resided in the far north of England.

  She’d simply handcraft the shirt to show her appreciation for his hard work. She would then encourage him to return to Scotland. If she ever again heard the sound of water splashing, she would turn and walk the other way. Ogling a naked man? How could I have been so daft?

  By the time Alexander knocked on her door, Jane had her writing materials set out on the table, a string for measurements, kettle scones made and her nicest-tasting pottage yet simmered above the fire. She smoothed her hands over her skirt, stood tall and affected her best air of English indifference. Having spent the afternoon building her wall of resistance, nothing Sir Alexander possessed would knock it down.

  Then she opened the door.

  Had his eyes become a darker shade of blue since this morning when she’d found him completely bare? The image of his exquisite, naked body flooded back to the forefront of her memory with the force of a white-capped wave.

  She stared. “Ah.” How on earth could a man bathe and present himself upon her stoop as if he were a Greek god?

  Alexander didn’t move. Unquestionably, the color of his eyes had taken on a midnight hue. An unmistakable look of longing stretched his features.

  They held each other’s gazes.

  Shivers coursed across Jane’s skin, her heart thrumming a rapid beat. His lips parted as if he were going to speak. Stepping inside, he uttered not a word. The door closed behind him and before she could blink, the brawny Highlander swept her into his embrace.

  Powerless to resist his advances, Jane’s knees gave way as he crushed his mouth over hers. This wasn’t a deep, exploring, sultry kiss. This was a claiming, fervent joining of the mouths that screamed, I need more of you. Ignited by a bone-melting fire that spread through her blood, she cupped his face with her hands and returned his ardent kisses whilst he carried her to the bedchamber.

  “My God, Jane. Ye stir yearnings in me I never knew existed.”

  She panted. “You as well?” He rested her on the bed. Jane scooted to the edge. “But we cannot…”

  His tongue shot out and moistened his lips. “Why? I ken the look in yer eye. I felt the passion behind yer kiss as well.”

  “Heaven’s stars.” Jane ran her trembling fingers over her hair. Please kiss me again. “Everything about you makes the blood course hot beneath my skin.” She glanced aside. “Cou-could this be the work of the devil?”

  “Nay.” He grasped her hand and smiled—a devilish grin that made her head swoon. “A passion that grows between a man and a woman is a thing to be cherished. I did no’ have it when I was married, and I suspect ye did no’ as well.”

  He lowered his gaze to her breasts. His tongue sneaking to the corner of his mouth, he traced his finger across her exposed flesh. “Make love with me, Lady Jane.”

  The whispered words claimed her heart and transported her to a place with no shame. When she closed her eyes, a deep sigh escaped her lips. How could a rugged man’s touch be so gentle and his deep voice send her insides into a maelstrom of flitting butterflies? Powerless to resist, she reached for his hand and kissed his open palm.

  Chuckling, he unlaced her bodice and revealed the tops of her breasts. Jane couldn’t think of her past—couldn’t even remember it. Not now. Alexander pulled the ribbon on her shift and revealed her stays. Jane threw her head back as he fluttered kisses over her tingling flesh. His tongue shot beneath her bindings and found her nipple. “I need to taste ye.”

  Oh God, yes.

  He helped her shrug out of her kirtle, and when she stood, the gown cascaded to the floor. He made quick work of unlacing her stays and casting them aside. Wearing only her shift, she tugged his shirt up from under his belted plaid. “I want to see you bare again.” She didn’t care how brazen she sounded—her whole body was afire with desire.

  His white teeth sparkled with that devilish grin. He whipped the linen over his head and kicked off his boots.

  Barely able to keep her hands steady, Jane reached for his plaid and tugged. “May I?”

  He nodded.

  She unwrapped the wool twice, before it fell away and exposed all of him. In the candlelight, he was even more magnificent. With a deep growl, he inclined his head lower and captured her mouth. The hungry swipe of his tongue made the air whoosh from her lungs. His hard manhood ground into her abdomen. But she needed him lower.

  A flicker in her mind reminded that she could conceive, but she dismissed it. After eight years of marriage, she’d remained barren. I want him lower.

  His fingers clutched her shift, slowly drawing it up over her thighs. The anticipation drove her to the brink of shameless abandon. Jane craved for her bare skin to touch his.

  When at last he pulled her shift all the way off, he cupped her breasts in his palms as if he were holding a tiny bird. “Ye are so fine, m’lady.”

  Jane’s breath stuttered as he dipped his chin and suckled her. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she closed her eyes and moved her hips toward him, her body demanding more friction. While his tongue swirled around her nipple, Jane feared she might burst. Steeling her resolve, she took his hand and slid onto the bed. “I’ve never done this without being beaten first.”

  Alexander pulled back. Suddenly aware of her nakedness, Jane crossed her arms over her breasts.

  “Nay.” He climbed over her and gently tugged her arms away. “The act of lovemaking should never be done by force.”

  Unable to speak, she gazed into his storm-blue eyes and nodded. Heaven help her, she wanted this. Her past be damned.

  He suckled her finger and then ran languid kisses all the way up her arm. His auburn locks had come loose from the thong and hung over one eye. He could ravish her with a look, and Jane could have begged him to do so.

  He kissed her flesh all the way to her navel then grinned. “I’ll wager ye’ve never been shown the depths of yer passion.”

  Jane h
ad no idea what he meant until he coaxed her legs open with his shoulders. Oh Mother Mary, he wants to kiss me there too? “No!”

  He looked up and winked. “Just close yer eyes and let me take ye to heaven.”

  Jane tried to relax. He flicked his tongue across her womanhood. Gasping, her thighs quivered with need. Heat churned deep inside her body as her mind pictured the length of his manhood. She couldn’t keep her eyes closed. She had to watch him.

  Glory be, he’d meant what he said about heaven. Alexander’s tongue worked magic and Jane was powerless to stop him. She grasped the bedclothes in her fists and gave in to his wicked licks while she watched him. Her breath sped. She cried out. All at once she could take no more. With a burst of euphoria, the world shattered around her. Tossing her head from side to side, perspiration at her temples, Jane’s body pulsated as never before.

  When at last her breathing slowed, Alexander rested on his side and nuzzled into her hair. “Was it good for ye, lass?”

  Oh, how she could listen to that alluring brogue forever. “Yes,” she whispered. His manhood pressed into her hip and she cast her gaze downward. Her shameless need ignited inside again. “But not for you.”

  “I gain me pleasure from watching ye come undone.”

  She rolled to her side and grasped his manhood in her palm. “Do you like it when I touch you?” Her fingers gripped lightly as she worked her hand along his shaft.

  “Mm,” he purred. “Verra much.”

  Lowering his lashes, his lips neared. Alexander’s kisses were not as urgent, but the languid strokes of his tongue were all the more impassioned. She returned his kisses with fervor while gently stroking him. Her own desire leading her to the ragged edge yet again.

  His warm hand cupped her breast. “I can hold back no longer.”

  Neither could she. Jane wanted to feel a man make love to her without being afraid. She’d lived eight and twenty years and had never known this kind of passion.

  Alexander climbed between her legs, his member swollen and rigid as a sword. “Are ye ready for me?”

  Too overcome to speak, Jane nodded, reached down and guided him. With his first thrust he filled her. She gasped repeatedly while he slowly slid her length. Once they were completely joined, a satisfied moan rumbled through his chest.

  Jane had never been so alive, so willing to give herself to another. Alexander rocked his hips, slid in and out in a steady rhythm. With mounting friction, her thighs trembled again. Together they rode the wave of passion until once more she cried out and gasped for breath. Alexander sped the pace while she quivered around him. After one deep thrust, he held his body taut, threw back his head and roared.

  ***

  Alex languished with Jane in his arms, allowing himself to savor their lovemaking. Having slept on the stable floor for a month, the feather down in Lady Jane’s mattress cradled him as if he were floating on a cloud. Even better, the woman who’d consumed his every waking thought lay with her locks of tawny hair sprawled across his chest.

  She trailed her fingers along his belly and made gooseflesh rise upon his skin. “Why are you still here?” she asked, her soft voice curious, rather than accusing.

  The past came back to him so quickly, his every muscle grew tense. “Ye’ve needed me.” It wasn’t the full truth, but they both knew that.

  “Yes, I have.” She rested her warm palm on his chest. “But your wounds are long past healed. You have your bow and arrows. You could have set out and returned to your people sennights ago, but still you chose to stay.”

  He smoothed a hand over her silken tresses. “I agreed to remain here to help ye until the work is done.”

  “Mm hmm.” She nuzzled into him. “But there’s more.”

  He’d told her he had sailed from his home after Ilysa’s death. But they’d both agreed not to talk about their pasts. Lady Jane had some dark secret she couldn’t reveal. Alexander’s story was grim, though everyone on Raasay knew of it.

  They lay quietly in each other’s arms for a time.

  “Where are you from in the Highlands?” she asked.

  Why not tell her? “Raasay—a small island nestled between the Isle of Skye and the mainland.”

  “Is it nice there?”

  “Aye, lass. The keep presides over the Inner Sound of Raasay, and seals swim onto our shores.” He exhaled. “’Tis isolated, like a wee kingdom.”

  She sighed dreamily. “It sounds delightful.”

  “It was. Once.”

  With a catch of her breath, her acorn eyes met his. “Why no longer?”

  The searing pain in his heart spread throughout his chest while a lump the size of an apple swelled in his throat. “Ilysa’s death was me own fault.” He clenched his fist and shook it. “If I’d been a bit faster, I would have saved her.”

  “You feel responsible?”

  “I am responsible.”

  Silence filled the chamber while Alexander’s mind recounted the events from the most horrid day in his miserable life. He clutched his arm around Jane’s shoulders and stared at the rafters above. “Ye asked me why I chose to stay. Aye, ye need me help. But I cannot think of returning home and facing me clan—or walking along the battlements and passing the crenel notch where Ilysa fell. She’d climbed up to watch the seals play on Brochel beach—half the clan was there making merry. I do no’ even ken how it happened.”

  “It was something very bad, wasn’t it?” Jane whispered.

  He sucked in a hissing breath. “Ilysa screamed. I lunged and reached for her, but the lassie’s hand slipped just beyond me grasp.”

  “She fell?”

  He opened his fingers and stared at his palm. “Aye. Two hundred feet to the rocky crag below.”

  Jane’s body curled into him. “Dear Lord, how devastating.”

  Alexander closed his eyes and swallowed. Hard. Then he drew in a stuttered breath. “I must head home soon, for I left me wee bairn in the care of me mother’s arms.”

  Jane lifted her head and looked him in the eye. “You have a child?”

  “Aye, Malcolm, me heir.” Alexander ran his fingers through Lady Jane’s hair and inhaled her God-given scent. “Me mother’s the daughter of the Earl of Southampton. ’Tis why I ken yer bred of nobility.”

  Chapter Eight

  Ian MacLeod sat on the dais in Brochel Castle’s great hall and listened to the last supplication of the day. The blacksmith and the farrier couldn’t come to terms on the number of horseshoes that had been made or used. Ian wasn’t sure which. He had no idea how his brother and his father before him could listen to driveling complaints twice per week. And with the opposing information presented by each side, it was obvious neither party would be satisfied with a compromising outcome.

  Hamish, the smithy, stretched his arms to his sides. “Ye shod every horse in the stable, plus the crofters. Ye took eighty shoes.”

  “Ye’re a bloody thief as well as daft. I used half that,” said Simon, the self-righteous farrier.

  “Then where’s me wrought iron gone? Got up and walked out the smithy shop on its own, has it?” Hamish leaned in and shook his finger. “Explain that.”

  Simon stepped into the accusing finger. “I’m no’ responsible for yer miserable iron.”

  Ian rolled his eyes toward Sir Bran. The MacLeod henchman stood to his right and looked as irritated as Ian’s gut felt. “Stop.” Ian sliced his hand through the air. “How much wrought iron is missing?”

  Hamish scratched his thick beard. “A stone, I’d reckon.”

  Ian leaned forward. “How much would seven pounds cost ye?”

  “Four pennies, m’laird.”

  Though he was acting laird, Ian preferred to be called sir. His brother was laird, and he hoped to God Alexander would return to Brochel soon. “Very well, the MacLeod coffers will make up half yer losses.” Ian looked to the farrier. “Simon, pay Hamish one penny and the smithy will take the loss for the other.”

  Hamish stepped forward. “But—” />
  Ian stood and fisted his hips. “That is all I will hear on the matter. Now be gone with ye and yer petty grievances.”

  The double doors to the great hall opened with a whoosh and in strode William, Clan MacLeod’s most trusted messenger.

  Ian beckoned him forward and raised his voice. “What news?” He shot a grimace toward Bran. “It had best be good.”

  By the guarded expression on William’s face, Ian harbored little hope they’d found Alexander. Blast.

  The messenger walked straight to the dais. “No one’s seen him. ’Tis as if he vanished.”

  Ian refused to believe it. “Not in Glasgow or Edinburgh?”

  “Nay, not a sign.”

  “What about Harris or all the Hebrides?” Bran asked.

  “Nay.” William spread his palms. “And we nearly got our throats cut when we dropped anchor at Lewis.”

  “God’s teeth, will it never end? Uncle Ruairi is still up to his ruthless tricks.” Ian paced. “Did ye try Inverness?”

  “Aye, and nay, he’s no’ up north, he’s no’ in the Orkneys or the Shetlands.”

  Frowning, Bran crossed his arms over his mammoth chest. “Iona?”

  “The abbey?” William threw his hands out to his sides. “Now that’s pushing it a bit, but, nay. He’s no’ there either.”

  Ian wasn’t about to let it rest. “Did ye sail the Firth of Solway?”

  “Nay.” William dragged his fingers through his hair. “Bloody hell, dunna ye remember ye told me to go no further than the Mull of Galloway afore I reported back?”

  Bran pulled out a chair and slumped into it. “Did ye show everyone the drawing?”

  “Aye.” William’s voice rose. “Nary a bloody soul in the Kingdom of Scotland has seen a wee birlinn with dragons’ heads at her bow and stern.”

  Ian pounded his fist on the table. “I’ll be a mangled fool-born bastard.”

  “Just who do you say is fool-born?” Lady Anne asked, walking from the stairwell. Perched upon her hip was Ian’s nephew, Malcom, the MacLeod of Raasay heir.

  Ian ground his teeth, but held out his hands and kissed his mother on the cheek. “Good morrow, ma.”