The Highlander's Claim (Highland Romance)

by Jessica Knight

  “What is it?” she asks.

  “I’ve seen that look you’ve got on your face before.”

  She gives me a wavering smile and sways in her seat. I can see her doing her best to maintain control of herself but it’s a battle she’s currently losing. Catherine opens her mouth to say something but snaps it shut again, the expression on her face one of confusion, as if she’s forgotten what she was about to say. She takes a minute, and her face grows even more flushed.

  “It − it is very warm in here,” she announces.

  “Okay love,” I say. “Time to get you up.”

  I get to my feet and come around to her side of the table, helping her to stand. She leans heavily on me as I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her close. Having her so near me, feeling her soft, rounded body pressed against mine is more intoxicating than the whiskey, and I feel myself flush.

  Clearing my throat, I guide her outside and into the cool night air. She laughs softly, as if she’s amused by some private joke. I’ve been around enough drunks to not bother asking what she’s laughing about since she probably won’t be able to explain it anyway. I get her over to the wall and sit her down, keeping my hand on the small of her back to help keep her upright.

  The night is dark − thick clouds that have moved in obscuring the moonlight. I’m nowhere close to being drunk, but the cool air feels good on my skin. I guess the hearth really did make the house warmer than usual. Or maybe it’s just having Catherine so close to me.

  She has her face turned up to the sky and is breathing the cool, night air deeply. Some of the color in her cheeks fades, leaving her feeling closer to her normal − and a more sober − complexion. Just looking at her makes my heart beat harder in my chest and fills me with a yearning, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask.

  “Wonderful,” she replies dreamily.

  I laugh softly. “I’m sure you do, lass.”

  “It makes all the terrible things in my life just − fade away.”

  I look around at the darkened landscape all around us, listening to the song of the night birds and the sound of the creatures scampering through the bushes and trees. She leans against me and rests her head on my shoulder. Her body is warm, the weight of her against my body exciting, and it fills me with a desire I’ve never known.

  “I enjoy this,” she goes on. “I enjoy feeling this way. I feel light and − happy.”

  “Aye,” I whisper. “I enjoy it as well.”

  She presses herself harder into me, and my pulse quickens. Catherine looks up at me, her eyes filled with the same desire that burns in my chest. I lean down and press my mouth to hers, pushing my tongue past her lips. I swallow her gasp and kiss her more deeply, our tongues writhing around one another.

  I pull back, our gazes locked together. Catherine’s lips are parted, and her breath is soft, and her eyes are wide. I see fear, but I also see longing − the same longing that stirs my loins. I have wanted to feel her, touch her, and taste her ever since that day in the market. Despite knowing how improper it is, being with her is a thought that has never been far from my mind in all these years. And if I had to guess, the light I see in her eyes tells me it’s never been far from hers either.

  Our mouths come together once more, our kiss filled with fire and passion. As our tongues swirl together in her mouth, I slide my hands up her back and take hold of her hair. Catherine lets out a groan as I pull her head backward roughly, kissing and nipping at her neck. She claws at my back, pulling at my tunic and my hair, the heat between us growing and spreading like a wildfire.

  Catherine pulls back and looks at me. “I do not have − I mean to say, I fear that…”

  Her voice trails off, but she doesn’t need to finish it for me to know what she was about to say − she lacks experience and has never been with a man before. As the daughter of a noble, it would be expected that she remain pure. Untouched. So although I’ve known a few daughters of nobility who were anything but pure, it isn’t all that surprising to me that Catherine has remained so.

  I kiss her again, more forcefully this time, and her moan is lost in my mouth. I pick her up and sit her down on my lap, so she’s straddling me. I hear her gasp when she finds herself pressed against my rigid staff. Catherine grinds herself against me, her soft whimpers making me even harder.

  I slide my hand up her legs, pushing her dress up along her shapely thighs, relishing the feel of her soft, creamy skin beneath my touch. She looks at me, scared but excited at the same time. I run my hands all over her body as we kiss, relishing the feel of her soft curves and the heat of her core as she grinds herself against me. My cock is straining against my breeches, impossibly hard and begging for release.

  Holding onto her, I stand and set Catherine on her feet. Nipping at her neck, I push the dress down over her shoulders, dotting her collarbone with a line of kisses. I push the dress down lower, and when it falls to the ground, pooling around her feet, Catherine’s breath catches in her throat as she tenses up.

  I look deeply into her eyes, the question hanging in the air between us unspoken. I have never desired a woman as badly as I do Catherine. I have never craved anybody as badly as I do her. My longing for her fills me with an intensely bright light that runs from the top of my head to the soles of my feet and sets fire to every place in between.

  The clouds above us part, and the world around us is suddenly bathed in a silvery luminescence that makes Catherine’s skin glow with an ethereal sheen. I look her up and down, drinking in the sight of her body. This time she makes no move to cover herself. I can see the uncertainty, but she lets me admire her.

  The silence between us goes on so long though; I think she’s about to pull away, recalling her status as a Lady and mine as a commoner − a Scottish commoner at that.

  But she surprises me when she leans forward and kisses me, this time forcing her tongue into my mouth. Her kiss is passionate, stoked by ten years’ worth of longing. I raise my arms as she slides my tunic upward and pulls it off me. She drops it to the ground as my hunger for her overwhelms me. I push her back against the wall, my mouth finding hers as I slide a hand between her thighs.

  Catherine’s eyes grow wide, and she lets out a strangled gasp as I slip my fingers into her wetness. I drive two fingers deep into her as I massage her swollen bud with my thumb, making her body shake. Catherine latches onto my shoulders, digging her nails into my flesh and crying out as I pump my fingers into her. Picking her up, I set her on the edge of the wall and fall to my knees before her.

  Leaning forward, I slide my tongue past her swollen lips, savoring the taste of her. I lap at her wetness eagerly, relishing her musky aroma. Catherine cries out and grips my hair tightly, grinding herself against my mouth. She writhes beneath me as I lick and suck on her, nipping at her bud. The scent and taste of her is driving me wild, and I grip her thighs, my fingers pressed hard into her flesh.

  Catherine’s body tenses, and her moans echo through the darkness. She grips my head with her thighs, squeezing me tight. I plunge my tongue into her one final time, savoring her juices when she throws her head back, and her scream splits the air around us.

  My cock is harder than stone as I get to my feet. Catherine is looking at me with wide eyes, her body trembling, still caught in the grip of her orgasm. She looks scared, as if she doesn’t understand what she’s feeling, let alone what to do next.

  Stepping forward, I lean down and grab her by the hair, pull her head back and kiss her. Her moan is lost in my mouth as our tongues swirl around one another, and as if she weighs nothing at all, I scoop her up and set her down on a slightly higher section of the wall before pushing down my breeches and stepping closer to her. The tip of my staff presses against her warm opening, and I look deeply into her eyes. I see fear but also yearning and desire smoldering within them.

  She spreads her thighs for me wider as I slowly roll my hips, parting her velvety folds, and sink my co
ck deep into her. Catherine draws in a sharp breath and grimaces, a look of pain etched upon her features.

  “Are you okay, love?” I ask. “Do you want to stop.”

  She shakes her head. “No. Please don’t stop. I want this,” she murmurs. “I suppose I have always wanted this.”

  Moving slowly and gently at first, I start to move myself inside of her. Catherine is uncomfortably tight at first, but she is slick with her juices, and that helps ease my passage inside of her. She gasps and grimaces as I thrust my manhood deep and clings to my shoulders, digging her nails into me.

  Our mouths crash together, our tongues swirling around one another wildly as I pierce her core harder. The passion in me rises, and my cock is impossibly hard. My head is swimming as I plunge myself into her with a reckless abandon, and a stuttering wail falls from Catherine’s lips as her body tightens up around me. Her inner walls grip me even tighter, and when her orgasm breaks within her, I sheath myself to the hilt inside of her.

  “Oh my God,” she cries out.

  Her head is thrown back, her deep red hair spilling down behind her in a cascade of flame. Catherine’s face is locked in a rictus of a wavering smile, caught somewhere between pain and the most exquisite ecstasy she’s ever known. I hold myself inside of her, pushing as deep as I can go, feeling every pulse and quiver of her sex.

  When the trembling subsides, she presses her forehead against my chest, her breath warm and moist upon my skin. She looks up with a wicked grin on her face that fans the flames in my manhood, stoking them to a raging inferno.

  I lift her off the wall and turn her around, bending her over it. Catherine turns her head and looks at me over her shoulder, a quiver of uncertainty splashed upon her features. My lust swelling like an overflowing river, I step forward and plunge my staff back into her dripping wet quim. Catherine’s eyes widen, and her mouth falls open, forming a perfect ‘O’ as I fill her from behind. She expels a hard gasp as her cheeks flush, and a slow grin spreads across her lips.

  My fingers pressing into the flesh of her hips, I start to move, impaling her with my staff. Grimaces of pain flash across her face, but they’re quickly followed by moans of pleasure. Catherine pushes back against me, taking me even deeper inside of her, and I feel my climax building quickly.

  Our bodies slap together as I drive myself into her relentlessly, the pleasure filling my body, preventing me from stopping even had I wanted to. Reaching up, I grab hold of her thick red hair and yank it back. She lets out a squeal and then groans as my thick shaft slides along her slippery walls as I move inside of her.

  I feel my cock swelling and the pressure within me building. I lean forward, bracing myself against the wall with one arm on either side of Catherine. I pound into her, barely able to control myself, and she cries out, her screaming startling a flock of birds in a nearby tree. They take wing noisily, a mass of black shadows spilling out into the inky darkness of the night.

  Catherine and I rut like animals, my stiff length slamming into her wetness, filling the air with the sound and aroma of our sex. Still gripping her hair, I pull her head back at the same time I stand up, and with one last thrust, I let out a roar that is more animal than human. My voice shakes the night around us, and as my cock throbs, I erupt, my seed spurting within her. My release is powerful and sends bolts of the most intense pleasure I’ve ever felt firing through me.

  My breathing ragged and my heart pounding I lean forward again, bracing my arms against the wall on either side of Catherine. She turns her head, so I plant a gentle kiss on her cheek. Slowly, I’m able to gather my wits about me, and I stand up. My deflating staff slips out of her, along with a rush of fluid that spills to the ground.

  Catherine stands and turns around, pulling me into a tight embrace. I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight, letting the night air cool our skin. When she finally looks up at me, her eyes are shimmering with tears. She reaches up and presses her hand to my cheek tenderly, an almost reverent expression on her face, and a faraway look in her eyes. It’s almost as if she’s just been given the most profound vision from God himself.

  “Are you alright then?” I ask.

  She nods slowly. “I have never felt anything like that before,” she whispers. “It was − extraordinary.”

  I lean down and gently press my lips to her, giving her a chaste kiss. A tear tracks its way down her cheek, so I reach up and wipe it away with my thumb. She gives me a gentle smile.

  “I - I am sorry,” she says quietly. “I do not mean to − that was just unlike anything I have ever felt before.”

  “Well that’s because you’ve never bedded a Scotsman before,” I grin.

  She laughs. “You are a terrible beast.”

  “That I am, my Lady.”

  At that, a small frown touches her lips. “Please don’t call me that,” she whispers, a note of sadness in her voice. “I just want to be Catherine with you.”

  It seems a strange thing to say, but I let it go − I don’t want her mood to turn sour. I just want to enjoy the rest of the night. I want to enjoy her − maybe a couple more times.

  I guess I really am a terrible beast.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Catherine

  I wake up the next morning with aches and pains in places I have never felt aches and pains before. In places I did not know I could ache before. I stretch languidly in the bed, smiling as my thoughts return to everything that happened last night. As I think about everything we did together. As I think about Malcolm.

  But even as I revel in the warm glow of what we did together, a dark thread of worry and regret wraps itself around my heart and squeezes me tight. Even as I revel in the dull aches in my most intimate places, the realization of what I have done settles down over me.

  I gave myself to a man who is not my husband. I have given my most intimate embrace to Malcolm, a man who can never be my husband. I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt, but not nearly as much as I know I should. I know my purity impacts my marriage prospects. The men my father wants to match me with insist on my virginity.

  Personally, I feel a man’s need to be the first to − plant their flag, so to speak − ridiculous. It is all just to assuage their own insecurities and stroke their egos, which, in my opinion, is pathetic. Men are not held to the same standards of purity. Men can go wenching and whoring to their heart’s content, and they are lauded for it.

  But if a woman wants to enjoy her body and know the pleasures of the flesh, she is labeled impure or is considered somehow tainted. She is called a harlot, is looked down upon and treated worse than a leper. She is suddenly no longer fit for marriage. It is a double standard that has never failed to irritate me. But this is the world we women are born into.

  Maybe one day it will change. But with the way the world is today, what I did with Malcolm last night will be considered shameful. If it becomes known, I will be pilloried for it. And although I feel a pang of regret − and perhaps even shame − I try to push it aside. I know that is how I have been trained to think. It is how the men in my life want me to feel. It is how I have been taught to think and feel about myself for my entire life, and it is not as simple as telling myself to stop feeling that way.

  But at the same time, as I war with myself over the things that have been ingrained in me, I am reveling in how I feel. Malcolm made me feel things I have never felt before − things I did not believe I could feel. Even now, as I lay in this bed, my body still is still singing with pleasure. I can still feel him inside of me, feel the way he made me erupt in ecstasy many times over.

  A small smile upon my lips, I sit up in bed. A jolt of fear sweeps through me, pushing out all thoughts and memories of last night when I hear voices. They’re muffled − I can tell they’re outside. Slipping out of the bed, I pad over to the window and peek around the corner. Malcolm is standing in the yard with three men. They’re standing close, talking together, and whatever it is they are discussing, the way they are standing tells me it
is serious.

  I pull one of the dresses Malcolm brought back for me over my head and smooth it down. The blue wool is less coarse than I thought it would be. While it is not nearly as fine as the dresses I have in my wardrobe at home; it was very well-made. After that, I put on my slippers and head outside.

  I see the men tense as I approach, each of them casting furtive looks at one another. I stand beside Malcolm and look up at him, the questions in my eyes. He looks at a man with dark hair shot through with gray and a long, scraggly beard. He is a man who has seen his fair share of summers and has been hardened over time.

  “So this is the girl then?” the older man asks.

  Malcolm shifts on his feet, a look of unease on his face, which makes me nervous. The two younger men refuse to look at me, but they cannot hide the emotion in their faces − it is a combination of anger and disgust. They look at me the way my uncle and brother look at the Scots − like they want to kill me.

  Malcolm clears his throat and stands up straighter. He looks at the older man and gives him a firm nod.

  “You have my orders,” he says. “See to it that it’s done. Today.”

  “Aye,” the older man replies. “It’ll be done.”

  I stand with Malcolm as we watch the three men get on their horses and ride off. When they have disappeared from view, I finally turn to him.

  “Orders?” I ask. “I thought you said you were a farmer?”

  “I am. But I am also the Clan Chief,” he replies. “I took over after my father − died.”

  The way he comments on his father’s death is hesitant. It hints at a deeper story there, but the hardened look on his face tells me it is not one he wishes to discuss, so I let it go for now.

  “And what are your orders?” I ask instead. “What is it that is to be done today?”