Ensnared by the Laird (Four Horsemen of the Highlands, Book 1)

by Emma Prince

  “I never took you for a liar.” She took another step toward him, refusing to be cowed by his threatening glower. “I may be inexperienced in these matters, but I know something grows between us. And I know you feel it too.”

  He opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him the chance to form his denial. She needed to prove her point, not with words, which could be twisted and discarded too easily, but with irrefutable action.

  So she rose on her toes and pressed her lips against his.

  Chapter Nineteen

  At the first brush of her lips, it felt as though the tether holding Domnall back snapped.

  He crushed his mouth against hers, taking control. At his immediate, almost brutal response, a surprised noise rose from her throat.

  Good. Let him shock her into silence and submission. He couldn’t bear any more of her cutting accusations or penetrating looks.

  Some reckless, mad part of him wanted to punish her for all that she’d said, and how easily she’d seen through his defenses. Curse her for igniting this storm of churning emotions within him. Emotions he didn’t want to feel. Uncertainty. Agitation.

  Desire.

  The rabid hunger for revenge that had fueled him for so long was simpler. Easier. But nay, she couldn’t leave it alone. She had to poke at the chinks in his armor, question the bitter clarity of vengeance that had carried him this far.

  Nor did he want to be reminded of his responsibility to his people, and the sense of duty his father had taught him. He’d once been proud to think of himself as an honorable man. Now he hunted a man and dreamed of killing him in cold blood, slowly, to make his suffering last. Could he claim to be a man of honor anymore?

  He hated that she’d forced him to contemplate such questions. What the hell did she understand of him anyway? Too much. How, after knowing him for less than a fortnight, had she burrowed her way so deep into his frozen heart?

  She saw the truth he still fought to deny—that he wanted to send her away, needed to, because the more time he spent with her, the greater the danger of losing sight of his goal. Of throwing away everything he’d worked for since the moment he’d escaped Balliol’s noose.

  Bloody hell, he’d already let Murray escape once. If he hadn’t been concerned with her wellbeing, mayhap Murray wouldn’t have slipped through his hands.

  He couldn’t think straight with her near. She drove him to recklessness with need. All he wanted to do every damn moment was touch her, kiss her, sink into her sweet innocence and lose himself.

  And she knew it. She was forcing his hand, demanding that he admit the truth. It was too much. With her lips against his, he couldn’t fight it any longer.

  He thrust his tongue into her mouth to tangle with hers. She surrendered under his invasion, her lips parting and softening. Though he’d wanted her submission, it only fanned the flames burning him up inside.

  Of their own volition, his hands clamped around her, dragging her against his chest. She melted like honey against him, so warm and yielding.

  His hands roamed freely, one sliding down to cup the curve of her bottom and the other to cradle the back of her head. His fingers tangled in her silken hair. He squeezed, drawing a breath from her.

  Satisfaction surged in him, even as he hungered for so much more. He wanted her panting with pleasure, moaning his name, crying out in sweet release, all because of him. Only him.

  Abruptly, he took two big strides forward, forcing the backs of her legs against the edge of the bed. With an extra nudge, he sent them both tumbling onto the mattress.

  He caught himself on his elbows to avoid crushing her, but he let some of his weight press her down, making her feel the strength and need trapped within his body.

  She stared up at him with wide, dark eyes. Her lips were damp and swollen from his punishing kiss. Air rushed over them in short bursts as she fought to breathe. Each staccato inhalation pushed her breasts into him, sending his desire spiraling beyond his control.

  But before the last threads of his sanity snapped, a warning echoed through his head. He was proving her point for her—that he cared about more than just this damn quest for vengeance. Yet he feared he was too far gone to turn back. With Ailsa. With Murray. And mayhap, like she’d said, with his very soul.

  “Stop me,” he rasped.

  She deliberately wrapped her arms around his neck. “Nay.”

  “Damn it, lass. Ye must, for I cannae.”

  In answer, she lifted her head from the mattress and kissed him.

  Damn him to hell and back. He was naught but a man, and he could only take so much.

  With a growl, he grabbed a fistful of her skirts and yanked up. She made a startled noise as his hand locked under her bare thigh. He pulled her wide beneath him, settling into the cradle of her open legs. Innocent or nay, she could not mistake the hard length he pressed against her, nor what would come next.

  “Is this what ye want?” he demanded, desperation tightening his voice.

  Her hands trembled on his shoulders, but she fixed him with an unwavering gaze.

  “Aye.”

  That stunned him into stillness for a moment. He had made her no promises. For all intents and purposes, he was her enemy. And yet she still wanted him—wanted to give him all of herself.

  The thought of making her his own—if only for tonight—stirred something deep within him. If he did this, could he ever let her go again? And in claiming her, was he relinquishing his right to vengeance? If he had to choose…

  She moved restlessly beneath him then, and all reason and thought scattered like leaves in the wind. There was no tomorrow, no Murray, only this moment.

  He captured her mouth in a searing kiss. With a slow rotation of his hips, he ground into her. To his surprise and pleasure, she pushed back against him exploratorily.

  The sudden need to give her every pleasure he could coax from her body consumed him like a flame put to dry kindling. After all the vile, cruel things her brother had said to her, she deserved to be worshiped, not just to be told but to feel how treasured she was, how magnificent and beyond compare.

  He slid his hand up her thigh, leaving a wake of gooseflesh over her skin. She was all velvet and cream beneath his touch. He needed to see all of her, to behold every inch of pale, smooth skin beneath him.

  He set to work on the laces running down her back, and she arched to accommodate him. When the ties were loosened, he peeled back her crimson gown, now stained with grass and mud and a bit tattered at the edges.

  If this were another time and place, he would lavish her with silks and furs and velvets, only letting the softest, finest materials touch her perfect skin. Or better yet, he would keep her naked in his bed at the MacAyre keep, locking out all the world except for the occasional delivery of wine and fruit and cheese to keep her full and energized between ravishings.

  Once he’d gotten her dilapidated gown past her legs, he tossed it aside and set to work on her thin chemise. He longed to rip the wisp of linen down the front and feast his eyes on her, but he forced his shaking hands to go slowly, to let them both savor the sweet torture of anticipation.

  His fingers brushed along her collarbone as he slipped her shoulders free of the garment. The little shimmy she gave to help his progress was nearly his undoing.

  When he’d uncovered her breasts, he paused, letting his eyes drink deeply of the lush swells. Each one was tipped in pale pink that drew to a pearl under his blazing stare.

  The sound of a few stitches popping rent the air, and belatedly he realized he’d closed the chemise in his clenched fist hard enough to tear it. Easing his grip, he brushed the chemise down her waist and over her hips until it met her gown on the floor beside the bed.

  Every elegant curve and soft plane of her was laid bare beneath him now. She looked as though she’d been cast in pure gold, gilded as she was by the dim firelight. When he found her eyes, they were soft and vulnerable. She did not try to hide her nakedness, but he knew from the trembling
of her lips that she was nervous.

  He had to chase those qualms away. Show her what it meant to be worshiped as she deserved.

  With a reverent moan, he lowered his mouth to her neck. Her pulse jumped wildly beneath his lips as he trailed to the hollow at the base of her throat. She stiffened when he moved lower, dragging his lips up the slope of one breast. When his tongue flicked her beaded nipple, she jerked and gulped a ragged breath.

  She was so sensitive. That sent a spike of heat through his already-scalding blood. He lavished attention on first one breast and then the other, pulling gasps and moans from her with each graze and swirl of his tongue.

  By the time he slid lower, she was panting and twitching beneath him. He didn’t let her catch her breath, though. Instead, he settled between her trembling thighs and lowered his mouth to her very core.

  She stilled for a single heartbeat, but when he laved her with the same slow devotion as he’d shown her breasts, she sank deep into the mattress with a strangled whimper of pleasure.

  She was like Highland whisky to him—heady and intoxicating. He had to sink his fingers into the soft flesh of her hips to keep from surging up and plunging deep into her. The only thing that kept his raging lust at bay was the drive to let her take her pleasure from him first.

  He brought a hand up to where his mouth teased and caressed her. With one trembling finger, he circled her opening, willing himself to wait.

  Even before he could delve inside, she shattered, crying out. He redoubled his attentions as she rode the wave of ecstasy, shaking and twisting under his mouth until she sagged down into the bed, boneless.

  He rose above her then, half-wild with the need to be inside her. He tore at his tunic, yanking it over his head. Just as quickly, he kicked aside his trews, groaning when his cock sprang free of its confinement.

  As she looked her fill of him, he remained motionless. Her dark gaze was like a soft caress as it slid over his chest and down his torso to his jutting manhood. Though he didn’t want to frighten her, manly pride rippled through him when her eyes rounded and her mouth formed a silent “oh” as she took in the size of him.

  To distract her from maidenly worries, he eased down over her, one hand finding her breast while the other stroked the damp folds of her sex. A shiver of rekindled pleasure coursed over her skin. Shyly, slowly, she opened her legs wider to accommodate his hips.

  He sucked in a breath when his manhood nudged against her wet entrance. Bloody hell, he felt like a green lad, ready to spill his seed at the first glancing touch. He longed for satiation like a starving man, yet now that he’d unlocked her pleasure once, he was desperate to give her more.

  Which meant not rutting like a beast, despite every fiber of his being aching to drive deep and pump hard within her. Instead, he circled that nub of pleasure at the top of her sex until she tilted her hips in wordless invitation.

  Gritting his teeth, he pushed in one hair’s breadth at a time. Whenever she tensed at the new invasion, he stilled, waiting for her to adjust and relax.

  But when she moaned in frustration and locked her ankles behind his back, the last of his self-control shattered. He thrust the rest of the way in with a groan of surrender. She gasped and stiffened. He smoothed her pinched brow with one hand, muttering reassurances that the pain would soon be gone and the pleasure would return through clenched teeth.

  At last, her body uncoiled and softened once more. And thank God, for Domnall could barely breathe for risk of coming undone. He slid out and eased back in once, twice, and was rewarded with a hitched sigh.

  He caught her next moan with his lips, their tongues twining in an erotic imitation of their joined bodies. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he rocked into her again and again, pushing harder and faster with each of her rising cries.

  When he felt her tighten with an impending release, he unleashed all his pent need. He drove into her with abandon, losing his rhythm, losing everything except her, his anchor through the breaking storm.

  They both careened over the edge and into ecstasy together, riding the wave until they drifted back into their bodies, breathless and shaking.

  He dropped onto the mattress beside her, drawing her onto his chest. She was as supple as melted wax, draping over him in languid repose. Soon, he felt her breaths lengthen and deepen with sleep.

  As he stared at the ceiling, the enormity of what they’d done hit him. She’d given him her innocence, a gift reserved for her husband.

  An image of her seated beside him in the MacAyre keep’s great hall flashed before him. She would make a fine Lady of the clan—kind-hearted, fair, and unwaveringly strong of spirit.

  And their bairns… Any daughters would be as strong as their mother, and any sons as just and good. They would go on to lead the MacAyre clan, raise their own bairns, and carry the clan into the future. They would be his legacy.

  That life could be his. She could be his—forever.

  The vision shattered when cold reality invaded the fantasy. He meant to kill her brother. No matter how despicable Murray was, could she ever forgive the man who murdered her own blood, the last of her family?

  The need for revenge howled within him like a rabid wolf. But if he did this, was he willing to cast aside the delicate bond that grew between them? Or the happy future he longed for, that lay just beyond his fingertips?

  Would he lose himself in the black pit of vengeance, as she’d claimed?

  Or was he already gone?

  Chapter Twenty

  Ailsa stirred sometime later. Her eyes fluttered open slowly. The banked fire cast a low red light and deep shadows over the tidy inn room. The cracks around the shutters were still dark, telling her morning had not yet arrived.

  Her head was still nestled against Domnall’s broad chest, which rose and fell steadily beneath her. She must have hooked one leg over his in sleep, for she found her intimate parts wedged against his hip.

  A twinge of awareness there sent the memories rushing back. He’d given her pleasure like she’d never known was possible. But she’d laid more than just her body bare before him. She’d trusted him with her innocence. And her heart wasn’t far behind.

  “Ye are awake.”

  His voice rumbled through her, sending warmth over her skin. Reluctantly, she lifted her head. His gaze was smoky in the low light as his eyes met hers.

  “So are you.”

  An uncertain silence settled between them. Domnall’s russet brows lowered as he watched her.

  “Last night was…what we did…”

  Her chest pinched as she waited for him to finish. Oh God, was he going to say it was a mistake again? Or that it was pleasant enough but he’d had better?

  At last, he put her out of her misery with a heavy exhale. “It was incredible, lass.” Yet his brows knitted deeper and his gaze wandered to the coverlet draped over them. “But I dinnae understand.”

  “What?”

  He forced himself to look at her. A gentle hand rose to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. She shivered as his fingers slowly traced the sensitive skin there.

  “Why did ye give yerself to me? Why did ye honor me with such a gift?”

  She felt her insides go soft even as a thrill went through her at the humble awe in his voice. He was a Laird, a man of experience, and a warrior built like a pagan god, all strength and prowess—and he was honored by her?

  “Now that my father has passed, I am not in his keeping anymore,” she began. “And I refuse to accept my brother’s guardianship over me.”

  He tensed at the mention of Andrew, but she continued.

  “Therefore, I belong only to myself, which means I have every right to grant myself to whoever I see fit.” Though the urge to duck her head was nigh overpowering, she willed herself to meet his gaze. “And I choose you.”

  His gaze traced her features reverently for a long moment, but then a shadow crossed behind his eyes. His jaw tightened.

  “Mayhap ye shouldnae.”

/>   She sat up, pulling the blanket over her chest as she did. “Why?”

  He raked a hand through his hair, which glowed like polished copper in the firelight. “Because of what ye said earlier.” He huffed a frustrated breath. “Mayhap ye’re right. Mayhap I’ve lost myself in my hunger for vengeance. What sort of man have ye entrusted with yer innocence? With yer…esteem?”

  Ailsa thanked the heavens that he hadn’t said with her heart, for unlike her brother, she was no skilled liar. She feared he would read the truth as clear as day on her face and know that she’d already fallen too far to catch herself now.

  She leaned into his hand, and he laced his fingers through her hair. Even such a simple touch sent her stomach fluttering.

  “The sort of man who is honorable and brave. Who protects the vulnerable and fights for what is right.”

  Domnall shook his head, his hand slipping from her hair. “I still want to kill him,” he murmured. “I still want to make him pay. What does that make me? He is yer brother, despite everything.”

  He pushed himself to sitting beside her, fixing her with piercing eyes.

  “What would ye have me do?” he said, his hard voice edged with desperation. “Forgive the bastard? Just…let him go?”

  She pressed her lips together for a long moment. “I…I don’t know.”

  Some part of her wanted to tell him to abandon his thirst for retribution all together. Choose me! a desperate, insecure voice cried in the back of her mind. Forget Andrew and revenge and everything that came before, and choose me instead.

  Love me enough to let go of the rest.

  She swallowed against the rising emotion in her throat. Nay, that was selfish and small of her.

  Though at the moment she wished it weren’t so, there was a wider world outside of these four walls, a reality beyond the passion they’d kindled within this room. Andrew had done real harm, not just to Domnall, but to all of Scotland. He could not be allowed to hurt even more people with his carelessness and greed.

  Still, she could not help feeling that whatever Andrew deserved, Domnall would be endangering his soul if he kept on the path of revenge.