Highland Warlord (The King's Outlaws Book 1)

by Amy Jarecki

  “I want to see you bare,” she whispered, both shocked and bolstered by her brazenness.

  James chuckled, and stood, removing his belt, jerkin, aketon, shoes, stockings, and chausses, until all that was left was his linen braies, secured at the waist with a length of string.

  Ailish gripped her hands over her heart and gasped, unable to shift her eyes away from the dark triangle of hair beneath the linen cloth that strained against the outline of his sex. Large. Hard. Aroused.

  “Now you,” he growled, pulling her to her feet.

  The motion was enough to make her already loosened garments swoosh to the floor.

  He opened his mouth, then closed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld.”

  Heat rose in her face as Ailish crossed her arms over her breasts.

  “Nay.” James grasped her fingers and pulled them away. “You must never cover yourself in front of me.”

  She liked having his eyes on her, adored the admiration in his tone, however, his own beauty is what gave her pause. “You are bonnier than I,” she said, her gaze trailing to his chest, to the rippling sinew beneath the flesh on his belly, the line of back hair leading below his braies.

  “I am but an ogre compared to you.”

  “Never say that,” she said, untying the cord holding up his braies. And as she revealed him, he rendered her utterly speechless.

  They stared at each other while the air around them grew charged as if their passion were on the precipice of erupting into a rolling boil.

  She eased to the mattress, her hair sprawling every which way. “Show me.”

  James slid beside her, his wicked hands caressing everywhere. “Are you certain?”

  She nodded, her gaze drifting to his manhood. “More certain than I’ve been about anything in ages.”

  “I’ve wanted you ever since I saw you standing beside Coira at the coronation.” He traced his finger around her erect nipple. “It can be painful the first time. I do not want to hurt you.”

  “A wee bit of pain will be worthwhile if it binds me to you.” She kissed him, her lithe fingers reaching down and brushing the tip of his cock.

  James sucked in a ragged breath.

  Pulling her hand away, her eyes grew wide. “Did I hurt you?”

  “Nay,” he croaked, coaxing her hand back down. “Feel me. Feel my length. Know how much I desire you.”

  “Do you like it when I touch you…ah…there.”

  Rather than answer, he slid his finger inside her, letting Ailish know exactly how much he liked to have her hands on him. “Aye, it drives me to the brink of madness.”

  “Madness?” she asked all the same, gripping him, milking him.

  “An insatiable madness.” With a feral growl, he moved atop her, and knelt between her legs. “Let me show you pleasure.”

  “Please.”

  Parting her curls, he brushed the pad of his thumb over her.

  Gasping, Ailish arched her back. “My stars, how can you make me so wanton with a mere touch?”

  He grinned, swirling his thumb in a languid rhythm. “Close your eyes and feel.”

  She did as he asked and as her hips worked in concert with his thumb, he slid his finger inside her again. “Think of my cock entering you.”

  “Mm,” she moaned. Cock. What a deliciously naughty word.

  He added another finger. “But I am bigger. I will stretch you further than you think possible.”

  The rocking of her hips sped. “Yes, I want your cock. I want all of you.”

  James balanced over her and slid his member up her parting. Back and forth he tempted her, making Ailish’s thighs shudder while her moisture spilled over him.

  Needing more, she forced herself to open her eyes. Watching him, she arched up and caught the tip of his cock at her entrance. “Take me,” she whispered.

  “Jesu,” he growled. “You are so tempting, I will not last long.”

  Ailish nodded, her hips swirling until gradually, he pushed inside. She sucked in a gasp as he filled her, stretched her, shocked her. But most of all, he ignited a ravening she never knew she possessed.

  James froze. “Am I hurting you?” He pulled out. “If you want to stop…”

  “Nay! She clamped her fingers on his buttocks. “I want more.” With a firm tug, she urged him deeper while she bore the pain and focused on the deep love growing in her heart.

  When at last he was fully inside, James released a long sigh. “This is the nearest I’ve ever been to heaven,” he whispered.

  “Heaven,” she repeated, rocking her hips now that the pain had ebbed.

  He worked slowly at first, building the tempo as if he felt the mounting passion inside her. And when she could take no more, her eyes flew open, a cry catching in her throat. In an explosion of pure passion, frenzy claimed her mind. And as she shattered around him, he thrust deep, bellowing as he withdrew.

  His head dropped forward as he panted as if fighting to catch his breath. “Lord have mercy,” he growled. “You have bewitched me mind, body, and soul.”

  And after they shared a bonding kiss, she moved aside. “You spilled into the bedclothes.”

  “Regardless of what you told the guard, I will not have you with child. Not until you take your wedding vows.”

  With you? She wanted to ask but knew neither one of them was at liberty to make such promises.

  His lips moved to her neck. “Was it as good as you expected, mo leannan?”

  “Better.” She arched into him as his mouth claimed her breast. “Never in all my days did I imagine such pleasure.”

  “You are precious to me, m’lady.” His eyes grew moist as he ran a finger over her lips. “I do adore you.”

  “And I you.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Come morning, James allowed Ailish to break her fast below stairs. Thank heavens. No matter how much she wanted to remain in his arms for the rest of her days, she must never lose sight of her quest to find her brother and the oath she’d sworn to protect him.

  She took a bite of porridge and watched James across the table, not feeling a whit of remorse for what she’d done. He’d been rather quiet since she’d come awake when he’d tapped on her door. No, he hadn’t slept beside her as she’d wished. She guessed he’d slept in the corridor to keep up appearances. Either that or he harbored regrets, which was possible since he hadn’t kissed her this morn.

  And now he shoveled porridge in his mouth as if she weren’t there. But there was no time to fret about what he was thinking.

  Beside him, Davy pushed his bowl away. “The sooner we leave this place, the better.”

  “Why is that?” James asked, his voice low. “Too many Englishmen?”

  “Too many scoundrels if you ask me. Every city is the same on market day. Plenty of swindlers out to rob you of your coin and Lord kens what else.”

  Torquil and Caelan pushed through the alehouse doors. James stood as Ailish clasped her hands over her heart, praying they had news of Harris.

  Torquil took the lead, sauntering toward them in his cocksure manner.

  “What news?” asked James. “Tell me they have him.”

  “The only child incarcerated in the tollbooth is a lass of six, caught for stealing bread.”

  “How awful.” Ailish imagined a poor gel only wanting to help feed her family. “Did you pay her fine?”

  Torquil snorted. “Are ye daft, woman?”

  James grabbed the man’s arm. “She’s a lady, mind you, and your better. I’ll not tolerate a coarse word toward her.”

  “Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.” Yanking his arm away, Torquil looked anything but sorry. “The clerk did offer up a tidbit of information.”

  Ailish leaned in. “About Harris?”

  “Not exactly about the lad, but he said a retinue rode in two days past. Looked as if they may have had prisoners of the crown—nobles and the like.”

  “Was there a child among them?�
� asked Davy.

  “He wasn’t certain. But he did say any prisoners of noble blood were kept in the castle—the tollbooth didn’t have proper accommodations for the aristocracy.”

  Ailish nodded. It was common practice to imprison those of noble blood in chambers with latrines and the like. Though from what she knew, there were few comforts. High-ranking prisoners in the Tower of London were treated the same. Rather than being thrown in an overcrowded pit or worse, they enjoyed a locked chamber with a cot, plenty of rats, and perhaps a barred window looking out over the Thames.

  “Not much to go on,” said James.

  “But at least it is something.” Ailish pushed to her feet. “I saw some washerwomen heading for the castle when we arrived. I’ll wager if I venture down to the river, one of them may know more.”

  “Washerwomen?” asked Torquil. “They might be able to tell ye what the Lord Warden ate for breakfast.”

  “Aye,” Caelan agreed. “Because they’re the ones who clean his linens.”

  James held up his palms. “Wheesht.” Then he turned to Ailish. “’Tis too dangerous for you to venture to the river alone.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll go.”

  “Where? To speak to the washerwomen?”

  “The smithy shack. There’s no better place to have a wee conversation with a soldier than when he’s waiting for a repair.” James shook his finger under her nose. “Wait above stairs and bolt the door. I have no intention of chasing after two Maxwells.”

  Ailish would have argued but decided not to waste her breath. She’d come to read James better than he realized and, right now, he thought he knew better than anyone. Just as he had said the day prior, he was the general and everyone else must mindlessly follow even if he made the most egregious decision imaginable.

  Some things he said made no sense whatsoever. If only he would recognize her worth, her ability to think on her own. But no, he expected her to hide in a chamber while they were no closer to finding her brother.

  Poor Harris must be beside himself with worry, terrified he might never see his sisters again. She clapped a hand over her mouth while images plagued her mind of how he might be suffering or even tortured.

  Well, I will not sit idle and do nothing!

  ***

  Wearing the nun’s habit and an apron borrowed from the innkeeper’s wife so she looked less like a nun and more like a servant, Ailish slipped out of the alehouse and hastened toward the river. She wore the simple linen veil, definitely common looking enough to play the part of a washerwoman. Under one arm she carried her only shift and in another hand a bit of lye soap. It felt awkward walking over the cobbled streets without her undergarments, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Besides, no one had any idea she was indecently clad.

  Just as she suspected, a group of women were kneeling among the rocks at the shore of the river, bent over, scrubbing linens. First, Ailish walked down the line, picking out tidbits of conversation—some complaints, some chatter about a male servant or two, and nothing about any prisoners.

  At the end of a line, an older woman worked, separated from the others by a good yard. She batted a shirt with a mallet.

  “Stubborn stain, is it?” Ailish asked as she kneeled beside the woman.

  “One would think His Lordship wiped his mouth with his sleeve.”

  Smiling to herself, Ailish dipped her shift in the water. How fortuitous to happen upon a wench who tends the Lord Warden’s laundry. “Do not most men?”

  The woman scoured the cloth with a bar of soap “Hmph.”

  “Have you been in service long?”

  “A dozen years, I’d reckon.”

  “My, that is a long time.” Ailish took her time lathering her shift. “I’ll wager you have many stories to tell.”

  “You’d be astounded by the trickeries that abound beyond the castle walls.” The woman rocked back and held up the shirt. “And that’s below stairs.”

  “Look there, the stain is gone.” Ailish pointed. “You must have a magical knack.”

  “There’s nothing magical about hard work.” The woman tossed the shirt into the half-barrel and smiled, albeit a sad smile. “’Tis why I’m head laundress. His Lordship allows only me to wash his shirts.”

  “Is he a kind man?”

  “I would not venture that far, but I’m paid a fair wage.”

  “I suppose that’s all you can ask for.” Ailish rocked back and sniffled, wiping her eye.

  The woman leaned in. “Are you bereft, lass?”

  “Alas, I am.”

  “Whatever is the matter?”

  “I’ve lost my brother.”

  “Your brother? Oh, my heavens, that is horrible news. Have you any idea where he may have gone?”

  “Honestly…” Lowering her voice, Ailish looked to ensure none of the others were eavesdropping, and then pulled her mother’s ruby pendant from beneath her robe. “I am Lady Ailish Maxwell. My wee brother was abducted not but a fortnight ago and I have reason to believe he may be imprisoned in the castle.”

  “Maxwell?” the woman asked as if trying to place the name.

  “My family holds lands in England as well as in Scotland. I mean you no harm. I simply wish to find the lad and take him home.”

  “Well, I cannot help you. I’m not privy to the comings and goings of His Lordship’s guests.”

  “I understand, but surely you must have some inkling of where they might be holding him—if he is indeed here. Please. I am sick with worry. And he’s such a good boy—only nine years of age, he is.”

  The woman grabbed a shirt and doused it in the river.

  “Have you children?” Ailish asked.

  She glanced out of the corner of her eye and worked as if she were possessed by a demon.

  “He is my only care. Our parents are gone and, because he is the heir, there are many evil men who would like to see him dead. Please. If you care anything for a lost child, you’ll tell me.”

  “Generally, captured Scottish noblemen being transported to London are held in the postern tower, from which no one has ever escaped. If your bother is here, then the king must have ordered his capture, and I cannot possibly be of service to you, my lady. Now if you will excuse me, I have washing to tend.”

  Ailish stood and wrung out her shift. “Forgive me. In no way did I intend to make you feel uncomfortable.”

  The woman didn’t reply, nor did she look up. But whether she knew it or not, she had revealed where highborn prisoners were held. Now armed with a solid bit of information to share with James, Ailish started back to the inn.

  When she reached the road, she glanced over her shoulder. Odd, there was no sign of the washerwoman with whom she’d been speaking, though the others still lined the shore.

  Ailish hastened her pace, heading up the path to the city gates.

  A guard stepped into her path. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

  “I—ah…” She glanced down at the laundered shift in her hands. “My lady needs this straight away.”

  “But it is wet.” Curling his lips, the man looked her from head to toe and leaned in as if he were interested in more than her purpose. “Surely she will not need the shift until after it has been hung out to dry.”

  “But you don’t understand. My lady is expecting me to return forthwith.”

  “Not before you pay the toll.”

  “Toll? There was no toll when we arrived yesterday.”

  He pursed his lips, his breath sour like distilled spirit that had gone off. “Come, wench, just give us a kiss and I’ll let you pass.”

  Ailish shrank. The man was vile.

  “I haven’t all day.”

  “Do you promise to let me pass?”

  “After you pay the toll, aye.”

  Wrinkling her nose, she darted in and gave him the briefest of pecks. “There, now I’ll be on my way.”

  He grabbed her shoulders and snarled. “Am I not fair enough for th
e likes of you?”

  “Forgive me, but I am not accustomed to being accosted by guards.” Ailish tried to twist away, but he only gripped her tighter. “And a man who is supposed to be protecting the people, not mistreating them.”

  “Ye disrespectful shrew, I ought to—”

  Not listening to another word, with all her might, Ailish thrust her knee into his loins. Grunting, the guard released his grip and doubled over.

  Ailish ran.

  “Stop that woman!” bellowed a woman from behind. “She’s a spy for the outlaw Bruce!”

  A rush pulsed through her blood as she quickened her pace, racing for the inn. Where was James? Where were the other men?

  Approaching a turn, she glanced over her shoulder.

  No!

  At least a half-dozen soldiers were chasing her.

  She wasn’t going to make it.

  Hide!

  As she turned, she smashed into a wall of a knight, hitting him with such force, her head spun. Staggering, she mumbled an apology and skirted around. But he grabbed her arm.

  “No so fast, spy.”

  “I am not a spy. I’m searching for my brother.”

  The guards surrounded them, flanked by the traitorous washerwoman. “That’s her. Lady Ailish Maxwell. She’s the one asking questions, Lord Warden.”

  At the use of his title, she glared up at the man who was responsible for countless Scottish deaths. Aye, Andrew Harclay earned his position in Carlisle for his ruthless plundering of poor border clans and kin.

  “Maxwell, aye? Any relation to the earl?”

  “That imposter is my uncle,” Ailish spat. “The true earl is my brother, Harris, son of Johann.”

  “Ah, the traitor King Edward hung from the walls of Caerlaverock if my memory serves.”

  Ailish bit the inside of her cheek as the guards tied her wrists behind her back. If she said another word against her uncle or spewed a slight about Edward, she’d be hung without trial or worse, burned. And there was only one thing she truly needed to know. “I demand you tell me what you have done with my brother!”

  “Well, well.” The man’s eyebrows arched mockingly. “You, my lady, are in no position to make any demands whatsoever. Tell me, surely you did not travel all the way to Carlisle alone.”