My Highland Laird: Sci-Regency Book 5

by J. L. Langley

  Slipping off the bed, Red knelt in front of him on the rushes. He lifted his hands but hesitated as if he didn’t know where to put them.

  Ciaran gripped his cock and aimed it toward Red’s lips.

  As Red’s tongue snaked out to lick the head, his hands settled on Ciaran’s thighs. Licking around the tip several times, Red leaned back and looked. For several seconds he stared at the saliva-slicked flesh, and then he opened his lips and took just the head into his mouth.

  It was like his body consumed a sweetmeat. Euphoria swam through his veins, making his blood tingle until little by little Red took more of him in. Red set up a nice steady rhythm, but never went too far down the shaft, only to Ciaran’s hand.

  Ciaran didn’t mind. It felt lovely as it was. And the sight—watching Red suck his tadger was the biggest aphrodisiac of all. It ramped his excitement up until he used his other hand to grip the back of Red’s head and wove his fingers through his hair. “Och, aye. Ye mouth is like heaven.” He fucked Red’s mouth for several moments until the sight and feel of his glistening cock and the sounds of wetness threatened to make him spill. Pulling back, he gazed down into that beloved face. “I want tae bugger ye, Red.” Holding his breath, he waited for a response.

  Before last night, Red had never fucked before, but he’d done his best to make up for the lack of experience. They’d just rubbed each other off before falling to sleep cuddled together.

  Just as eager as he had been in the wee hours of the morning, Red ripped his shirt over his head and tugged his trousers and what he called smallclothes off in seconds flat.

  Once he was completely naked, Ciaran looked his fill. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of the sight. Red was shorter than him and not nearly as wide of chest, but he was well put together. He had more muscle than one would expect from an artist. There was a wee bit of hair on his chest, and a lovely line of it below his navel leading to his tadger. And what a nice one it was too. He was bonnie.

  Capturing his lips, Ciaran felt the tiny sticks of unseen whiskers against his cheek, but soon forgot the prickle when Red’s tongue snaked out and lapped.

  Ciaran groaned and returned Red’s gesture in kind. He gripped each side of Red’s face, holding them together. It was not like Red intended to go anywhere, but there was a desperation inside Ciaran that begged him to hold on. They licked at each other, forcing moans into each other’s mouths, until Ciaran’s lips tingled in delight. He pulled back and stared into those beautiful eyes. The words I love you rose to his lips, but he called them back. Instead he whispered, “Bend over and spread ye cheeks, mo ghràdh?”

  A blush flashed up Red’s chest to his face almost as fast as a lightning strike over Loch Sterling. The ruddy color should not have been appealing, but it was. Everything about Red suited Ciaran. Lying on his chest across the bed, Red grabbed his arse and spread it wide. His hard cock pressed down against the side of the bed in an exquisite view. His cock was flushed and straining against the mattress, trying to find its way back to his belly.

  “Och, but ye are a sight.” Retrieving the bottle of oil from the table by the bed where they’d left it last night, Ciaran uncorked it and drizzled a stream of it down Red’s crack and then over the head of Ciaran’s tadger. After rubbing the tip of him over Red’s crease several times, he finally pushed in, taking his time. The heat practically strangled his cock.

  Ciaran’s head lolled backward as his bawbag got tighter. Once the head was all the way in, he looked down again to see himself seated inside Red’s arse. ’Twas one of the most erotic things Ciaran had ever seen, but his thighs tensed trying to hold still. When the tension in Red’s shoulders finally released and Red let out a noisy sigh, Ciaran allowed himself to give in to the urge riding his body hard and fast. He pushed forward, gripping Red’s hips. Red’s tight arsehole pulled Ciaran in a little at a time.

  Red grunted, but he didn’t say to stop—they’d discussed that last night, agreeing to tell each other when they needed a break—so Ciaran pushed farther in until his pelvis rested against Red’s arse. Resting there, he bent and kissed the freckled shoulder, then Red’s neck. He got a chuckle in return and smiled against Red’s warm skin. He opened his mouth and bit down on the spot between neck and shoulder.

  With a body-wracking shudder, Red gasped. It was a lovely sound. One that sent Ciaran’s heart aflutter. Red’s anus fluttered and clenched around him, and Ciaran could wait no more. “Are ye ready fer me?” He didn’t even recognize his own voice, it was so strangled.

  “Yes.”

  That was all Ciaran needed. He drove forward. They both panted. Soon it was as though he were running on instinct, chasing pleasure as his bawbag threatened to empty. Pounding into Red over and over, he watched the small hole taking him in and Red’s white knuckles as he continued to hold his arsecheeks apart. A fine sheen of sweat covered his body as Red grunted beneath him. That already tight hole tightened more, and Red stiffened. Heat splashed onto Ciaran’s left calf and foot. It took him a moment to realize that Red had come, but when he did, his body decided it liked the idea. He tried to lean back enough to see Red’s tadger, but he couldn’t. Still, the sight of the skin on Red’s back rippling, and knowing what the source of wetness was on his foot, was enough to send fire right through him. His whole body began to tighten as his bawbag emptied itself into Red.

  Collapsing, Ciaran kissed Red’s shoulder. “I was going tae stroke ye.”

  Red’s chuckle vibrated through Ciaran’s chest. “No need. Timothy decided he liked that position.”

  Grinning from ear to ear, Ciaran kissed Red again. Och, but he loved Timothy too, and that probably made him as big a bampot as Red. “I have several other positions tae show Timothy.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Blowjobs are the best invention…. Ever! Whoever thought of them is my hero.”

  —Timothy on intimate relations.

  May 31, 4831: Lochwood Castle

  Still glowing from the night before, Bannon walked downstairs feeling relaxed and in a good mood. Then he stepped out of the stairwell and into absolute chaos.

  At least half the clan was in the great hall, and unfortunately it didn’t look like Ciaran was among them. They were all talking at once, and four of the council members were standing on the dais containing the laird’s table. They were addressing the crowd, but they weren’t having much luck. No one seemed to be listening. The room was one big deafening cacophony. Someone really needed to explain to them the benefits of taking turns and perhaps give the council a gavel. Then again, it would only add to the noise, and as high-spirited as the MacKays were, they were liable to start clobbering one another with it.

  Not necessarily a bad thing. They’d be quiet if they got clobbered.

  Glancing up the stairs, he wondered if he should go back or make a run for the door.

  “Bannon!”

  Too late! We’ve been caught.

  Louie, Fiona, and Ian came rushing toward him. It had been Louie who’d spoken, but the other two appeared as though they were looking for him as well. When they got to him, they did a fair imitation of the rest of the clan by talking at the same time.

  Bannon held up a hand. “Stop.” He glanced back at the clan in the hall, then motioned for Louie, Fiona, and Ian to follow him outside. Zooks, he couldn’t even hear Timothy in there.

  Stepping out into the warm spring day, Bannon took a deep breath. Funny how at home he’d just as soon be inside, but here on Skye, he much preferred the outside, even with the constant cloud cover. Or maybe because of that. Today smelled fresh, with morning dew still on the grass in the courtyard. The sounds of the clan in the morning rang in the air—the bang of the blacksmith’s hammer, the neighing of horses, and the clatter of wagon wheels—but it was blessedly quiet of raised voices.

  Unfortunately that didn’t last long. Once they were free of the door, the trio started talking at once again. Bannon caught the words council, Ciaran, Ram, dungeon, and chieftain before ho
lding up a hand again.

  Dust, but where was Ciaran? “One at a time.” He pointed at Fiona because she was the loudest and the most excitable. She kept bouncing up and down on her toes like a small child with a secret. As usual she wore a kilt, but today her hair was down instead of in braids.

  After taking a deep breath, she started rapid-firing words at him. “Ciaran threw Stuart in the dungeon, and in response the council has voted him out as chieftain and put Ram in his place until Ian is old enough.”

  Ian took up where she left off at a much slower pace. “Ram told them tae go tae the devil, though, and said that Ciaran is his chieftain.” The grin he gave said he approved of his cousin’s actions.

  With a knot settling in his chest right about where his heart was, Bannon blinked several times. Had he actually heard them right? He glanced at Louie for confirmation.

  Louie was suspiciously quiet, but she did nod in agreement.

  “Where is Ciaran?”

  None of them said a word. Instead all three seemed to take a sudden interest in the ground.

  That knot in Bannon’s chest bloomed into a boulder. Something told him he wasn’t going to like this. With a sigh, he asked, “Where, then, is Ram?”

  “With Ciaran, Angus, Patrick, and Marcus,” Ian said. He scuffed his foot against a clump of grass and finally looked up at Bannon. “We’re worried about him tae, and were hoping that ye’d talk some sense intae him.”

  “I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding. I’m not sure I’d have thrown Stuart in the dungeon…. Wait. Does Lochwood even have a dungeon?” Bannon had never seen it.

  Ian shrugged. “It’s nae really a dungeon. That is just what we call it. We mostly use it fer storage now.”

  “Where is this dungeon?”

  We have got to go take a look. Timothy practically rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  Bannon ignored him. “Never mind. The point is, I doubt the council will enforce their ruling. How can they? Ciaran’s warriors will support his claim as chieftain.” He hoped. Last he’d heard, they’d wanted their missing men back. There was no telling what they’d do when they found out those men were dead. Would they blame Ciaran? Honestly, Bannon suspected the dead men were at the root of all this, not Ciaran throwing Stuart in the dungeon.

  So much for his postorgasmic glow. He should have realized something was going on when he woke up and Ciaran was already out of bed. “Where are Ciaran, Angus, Ram, Marcus, and Patrick?” Obviously if he was going to figure out what was going on, he would have to go to the source.

  Fiona and Ian looked at Louie.

  The hairs on the backs of Bannon’s arms rose up, but he made himself lift a brow and ask, “What?”

  They all pointed out the gate of the castle.

  “At Agatha’s cottage,” Louie answered.

  “That doesn’t sound so bad, so why the hesitancy?”

  Wincing, Louie gave him a pitying look. “They are planning the raid on the base for tonight.”

  That boulder rolled around in Bannon’s chest, beating him to death from the inside out. He shook his head. That couldn’t be right. Ciaran had promised to wait and give Captain Kindros a chance to arrive before raiding the base. The base was supposed to be a last resort. He’d given Bannon at least a week, and Bannon and Marcus had already set up a beacon on the west tower for when she arrived. They could see the horizon clearly from there and would know the instant a shuttle entered the atmosphere.

  Shaking his head, Bannon strode off toward Agatha’s cottage. He heard Louie tell the other two to stay, but he didn’t wait for her company. Anger niggled inside him right along with the shock. He wouldn’t believe it until he heard Ciaran say it himself.

  Louie would never lie to us.

  That anger carried him all the way to the far wall of the castle, where he ran into a group of warriors. There were at least thirty of them, standing around talking and waiting right outside the fence to Agatha’s cottage. Some were sitting with their backs against the wall, others were standing, and still others were actually sparring.

  Bannon ducked through the mass and opened the gate to Agatha’s cottage.

  Louie called his name, but Bannon didn’t stop. He marched right up to the door and knocked.

  The door opened, and Agatha peered out. “Hello, Bannon.”

  “Hi, Agatha.” He knew he should make nice, but the need to see for himself what was going on was just too strong. Agatha seemed to understand. She stepped out of the way and swung the door farther open. “He’s inside, lad.”

  It was small and homey. Once his eyes adjusted, he found Ciaran standing at a table, surrounded by Ram, Angus, Patrick, Marcus, and another man Bannon had seen before but couldn’t remember his name. They all looked up at him as he entered.

  “Is it true?”

  Marcus grimaced, giving Bannon all the answer he needed.

  He glanced at the table to find pieces of wood and acorns strategically placed. It resembled a very crude map.

  Ciaran smiled at him as if nothing were amiss. As if he didn’t have a care in the universe. “Guid morning.” In that gaze was the memory of last night—the good stuff, not the bad—and that hurt even more.

  It was as if a vise were closing in on Bannon’s lungs. “You didn’t answer my question. Is it true?”

  Finally, Ciaran sobered, seeming to get a clue that Bannon was not happy. He looked at the men gathered around the table and said, “I’ll be right back.” He came forward and stopped beside Bannon, then leaned down and said, “Let’s go outside fer a minute.”

  Once they were free of the door, Ciaran turned to him and smiled again. “I’m sorry I dinna wake ye, but ye looked tired.”

  “Are you planning a raid on the base?”

  The smile devolved. “Aye.” He held up a hand to stall Bannon. “And before ye say it, I ken I said we’d give ye Captain Kindros a chance tae come first, but after last night—”

  Bannon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “After last night it should be obvious that we are dealing with very dangerous men, and you want to attack them on their grounds?”

  Ciaran’s face hardened, his jaw tightening. “They are our grounds. This is our land.”

  “Not anymore!” Galaxy, couldn’t he see the IN had the advantage? Bannon grabbed his arms, wanting to shake him, but instead made himself calm and speak rationally. “They will see you coming. And they have a stronghold now. Just wait till Captain Kindros comes, and we can send for help.”

  “It can nae longer wait, Red. I’m sorry. They killed our men. They are taking our land.”

  “How many more men have to die?”

  “As many as need be,” Ciaran gritted out.

  Letting go of Ciaran’s arms, Bannon gasped, not believing what he was hearing. “Is your need for revenge stronger than your good sense and logic?”

  That was the wrong thing to say. Ciaran’s hands balled into fists. But Bannon refused to take it back. He realized he was doing exactly what he hated people doing to him, but he could not help it. He was tired of the unnecessary death. Didn’t Ciaran realize that he could easily die? They all could.

  Ciaran’s jaw clenched tight, and when he spoke, his voice was very measured and very soft. “Ye dinna have tae come with us, then.”

  “I won’t!”

  Ciaran ran a hand through his hair. He turned away, then immediately turned toward Bannon again. “Is that all?” His voice was gruff and exasperated.

  It was a tone Bannon knew too well; he’d heard it his whole life. It was that tone that said, “You are a bother and don’t know what you are talking about.” It was the tone that meant the speaker thought he knew best. And it was a tone Bannon was no longer going to stomach.

  Shaking his head, Ciaran turned without waiting for an answer and headed back into the cottage.

  He doesn’t trust us or respect our opinion, Timothy whispered.

  All the doubts he’d been having surfaced at once, bombarding him, sett
ling into his stomach like an ache.

  Suddenly, Louie was there. She wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder.

  He leaned into her embrace and watched Ciaran leave him. That had not gone anything like he’d expected it to go. “He just treated me exactly like my family does. Like I haven’t a brain in my head and have no clue what’s important.”

  “But he’s not family,” Louie said softly and kissed his cheek.

  No, he’s not, and that makes it even worse.

  § § § §

  Meteor dust, but this was a bad idea. Marcus had assumed it would come down to this from the moment he laid eyes on that starforsaken base, but he’d really hoped Bannon was correct about his captain friend. He’d even been willing to wait a week or so to see—they all had—and he’d tried to point that out all day today, but no one wanted to listen to him. Galaxy save him from men and their tempers. And yes, he knew he was one to talk.

  Lying on the ridge overlooking the base was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do, even though he’d just shot his fair share of enemies. A lesser man would be shaking in his boots. Truth be told, Marcus probably would be too, if he were standing rather than lying on his stomach, looking through a rifle scope. All these years watching Patrick ride off to battle had been hard, but this…? Lying here, watching his loved ones—Patrick, Ciaran, and Ram—fighting their way inside was pure hell.

  Below, Patrick shot the last MacLean, and everything quieted. The zip of lasers and the yelling stopped, and the night seemed to hold its breath, as if waiting for more men to come barreling out of the building. Ciaran and Angus hurried toward Patrick, who stood several feet from the door and off to the right side.

  Marcus looked around for Ramsey. There were about a dozen MacKays lying on the ground, lifeless. There were more MacLeans, though, and even a handful of IN.

  No doubt more IN soldiers were inside the base, and that worried Marcus. He was no stranger to battle tactics. Before he’d married Patrick, he was supposed to have been King-Consort of Regelence, whose job was to oversee the military, so he was all too aware of the fact that the real danger lay inside the base. There were probably several places for a fatal funnel. He wanted to be down there helping, yet he knew he’d be a distraction to Patrick, who’d worry about his leg.