by Caroline Lee
Tired, but happy, Lara bent over the table with a wet rag and began cleaning up the flour in front of her, along with the rest of the mess in the kitchen from the earlier meal preparations.
She was just finishing when she heard one of the other women suck in a sharp breath and exclaim, “Milord!”
Lara glanced up curiously, but when she saw who it was, she slowly straightened, the rag hanging forgotten in her hand.
Alistair was coming down the stairs. And he didn’t look pleased.
When he snapped, “Where have ye been? I’ve been looking for ye!” no one could doubt he was speaking to Lara.
She glanced around to see the other women had gone back to their chores, but were listening, for certes. So she lifted her chin and faced Alistair. “I’ve had work to do.”
“Ye have no’ been in the kitchen all afternoon; I checked. And ye missed the meal again as well.”
He was almost to her by now, and she couldn’t deny it felt as if he were stalking toward her. There was anger in the way he held himself.
“A—aye.” She studied him, wondering why he was acting this way. “I carried washing to the village and back today, then cleaned my and Mam’s room, then I helped— What is wrong, Alistair?”
Behind her, someone muffled their gasp, which reminded her they had an audience, and she’d just called the laird’s son by his given name, a show of familiarity.
He stopped before her, and she had to tilt her head back to look up at him. He was so tall, so strong, so big all over. But despite the flash of anger she saw now in his blue eyes, she wasn’t afraid of him, could never be afraid of him.
“What is it, Alistair?” she whispered again.
To her surprise, he lifted a hand, and before she could wonder his intentions, he cupped her cheek with it. The sensation of his palm pressing against her skin caused her to suck in a breath. There was so much emotion—so much passion—in his eyes! Anger, aye, but others as well. And the heat! Blessed Virgin, the heat between them, pooling between her legs…
“Are ye a virgin?”
The words were so unexpected, Lara actually jerked backward, away from his touch. But then she surged toward him once more, unwilling to allow their bond to be severed. Still, that didn’t stop her from hissing, “What!”
The anger was still there in his gaze, but there was more. The need she saw there grew, until it seemed to overwhelm the ire almost entirely.
But his voice was steady, only slightly above a whisper, when he clarified, “Have ye been intimate with a man, Lara?”
This was not the conversation she’d expected to be having with him, but whatever the topic, she was happy to spend any time with him she could.
However…
Her eyes flicked to the back of the other women’s heads. “This is no’ the place, Alistair.”
He blew out a breath. “Ye’re right. Where can we go?”
So he wanted to continue this conversation? She was more than happy to oblige.
“My room is nearby. Come with me.” When she stepped away, his hand dropped, but only as far as it took for her to grab it. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it, and simply followed her.
The room she shared with her mother was comparatively large. Not as big as the chambers above the great hall, but quite roomy for a housekeeper and her children, nonetheless. Lara’s father had been the seneschal at Oliphant Castle, so she supposed the chambers were a fitting size for him, his housekeeper wife, and their offspring. Now, Moira shared the room with only Lara since her husband had passed and Brohn had moved to the barracks.
As Alistair closed the door behind him, Lara tried to see the chambers through his eyes. There was a big bed, much bigger than the cot in the solar he’d slept on for the last few years. Mam made sure the pillows were always comfortable, and Lara herself had cleaned the bedclothes today. There were a few trunks and hooks with their gowns hanging, as well as knickknacks and gifts Moira had collected over the years.
Lara frowned thoughtfully at the treasured glass bottle of scent which stood on a platter atop one of the trunks. Where had Mam gotten such nice gifts over the years? Had they been trinkets from the laird?
“I remember this room,” Alistair said in a soft voice, stepping closer to the bed. “Once, when I tried to climb the curtain wall and fell, Moira brought me here to clean my cuts.”
There was little to say except, “Aye,” then she cleared her throat. “My mother and I share this chamber now. Ye and I can talk; we willnae be disturbed.”
“Except by yer mother?”
Lara glanced at the empty wall beside the hearth. From here it appeared normal, but she knew it hid an entrance to the secret passages throughout the castle. “Nay,” she said slowly. “My mother will no’ be back this evening. She’s found another bed.”
‘Twas not an uncommon occurrence, and it had never bothered Lara before. But now, she was curious about the truth of Alistair’s theory—Nessa’s too—about the laird being Mam’s lover.
At the news they were alone, Alistair blew out a breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I shouldnae have asked ye such an intimate question in front of others. I should’ve waited until we were alone.”
“But we wouldnae be alone if ye hadnae asked me such an intimate question,” she pointed out.
A grin flashed across his lips, though it was there and gone in an instant. “True.”
Lara wasn’t the kind of person to avoid the issue at hand. “Why does my virginity matter to ye, Alistair?”
His hands curled into fists by his sides, and he stood statue-still, staring at her. She could see his brain whirling behind his eyes, trying to come up with an acceptable answer.
“Dinnae feel ye need to lie to me,” she commanded softly.
At her words, she saw the slightest softening of the muscles along his jaw and neck.
“What ye did, Lara, in my solar…”
“Ye dinnae like it?”
He relaxed further at the challenge in her voice. “Ye ken I did. And I ken ye knew exactly what ye were doing. I dinnae care that ye’re no’ a virgin, Lara. I care that ye’ve given yer heart to a man who’s taken what ye offered, but hasnae married ye yet.”
Her pulse had sped up when he’d admitted he’d liked what they’d shared, and it continued to pound in her temples as he spoke. He believed she was experienced, so did that mean he’d be willing to continue her experience?
But then the last part caught up with her brain. He believed she’d had sex with another man—the man she’d confessed she loved!
The irony, of course, wasn’t lost on her. She’d never been with a man, but she knew exactly what she liked. And as for the one who held her heart…?
Well, he was currently standing in her room, beside her bed, watching her hungrily.
This was her chance. Her chance to grab the pleasure she’d always known she wanted.
Trying for a seductive expression—and hoping it didn’t make her look as if her bowels were obstructed—Lara reached nonchalantly for her kirtle’s ties. “Ye care, Alistair? Ye’d care if I was hurt by some man’s actions?”
His gaze had dropped to her hands, but now snapped up to meet her eyes. “Of course I’d care!” As if ‘twas against his will, his eyes wandered down to where she’d loosened her overdress to pull it down over her shoulders. “I cannae stand the thought of ye being treated like that. Ye being”—his tongue flashed over his lips as she shrugged out of the gown—“hurt.”
Lara hummed speculatively as she stepped out of her dress. “ ’Tis nice to hear my virginity is no’ what actually matters to ye.”
As she crossed to hang the gown on one of the hooks, she felt his eyes on her. Then she kicked out of her slippers, placed one foot on a stool and began to pull up her chemise to untie her stockings. When she glanced at him, he was staring at her leg.
“Nay,” he croaked, and she smiled.
“Good.” Deftly, she pulled down both stockings, loving that
he was watching her perform such an intimate task, then smiled seductively at him. “Because there’s nae reason a woman cannae ken her own body, and ken what she likes,” she declared, as she straightened and began to move toward him.
He was still stiff, in more ways than one. Her grin turned pleased when she glanced at the front of his kilt and saw he was as aroused as she was.
When she reached him, she tilted her head back and reached for the ties at the neckline of her chemise.
“What are ye doing?” he rasped.
She blinked, pretending innocence. “Why, showing ye what I like of course.”
His gaze had dropped to the skin she was revealing, and when she finished with the ties, her chemise gaped open. She felt the cool air on her nipples and didn’t bother to hide her shiver. Nay, instead she stepped closer to him.
“What do ye like, Lara?” he managed to whisper, his gaze still on her skin.
“Ye,” she said simply, reaching to pull the chemise’s gaping neckline further. “I want ye to touch me. Here.”
His eyes flicked back up to catch hers. “Ye’re certain?”
“Make love to me, Alistair,” she commanded.
The command was what he’d needed apparently. With a noise which might’ve been a groan of surrender, Alistair’s hands came up—no longer curled into fists, but reaching—and closed around her naked breasts.
They both sucked in a breath then, and she tossed her head back with a moan.
His hands were on her skin. He was touching her in the most intimate way, and—
“Lara,” he rasped, “I cannae.”
To hell with that! Her eyes snapped open. “Ye can.”
“This isnae what ye want. Yer heart belongs to another. Dinnae use me to cover the pain of his rejection.”
Oh the dear, sweet fool!
His hands were still cupping her tits, but his expression was intent as he searched her eyes. “I cannae take advantage of ye like this, Lara.”
She smiled at his honor, even as she was reaching for him. She wrapped her fingers in the hair above his ears and tugged.
“Alistair,” she murmured, her lips inches from his, “ye’re no’ taking advantage of me. I’m taking advantage of ye.”
And then she dragged his lips down to hers.
This kiss wasn’t the sweet brush they’d shared in the marketplace. This was no gentle promise. This was need and anger and passion and exaltation.
‘Twas glorious.
He stiffened, but for only a moment. Then, with another groan, he melted against her. His tongue dragged against the seam of her lips, and she gladly parted them, inviting him in. As he taught her how to nip and lick and titillate, his hands skimmed down her side and across her back, pulling her against him so she could feel all of his hardness.
She lost her breath. At least, she thought she did. All she knew was he was the one keeping her alive at that moment, sharing his life and his very soul with her. And aye, mayhap his breath as well.
When he moved his lips away from hers to focus on her jaw, then her neck, she gasped, “Ye dinnae mind, do ye?”
His mouth was pressed against the sensitive skin below her ear, and when he murmured, “Mind what?” the vibrations sent shivers down her spine.
“Mind me taking advantage of ye,” she gasped out.
He kissed her again. “Nay, lass. Ye can take advantage of me anytime ye want.”
“I want ye, Alistair.”
Make love to me.
The command hung between them for only a moment, then he lifted her, tugging her aching core flush against his hard manhood, and with a cry of joy, Lara snaked her arms around his neck to hold on.
He placed her on the bed, and she made short work of shrugging out of the top of her chemise. He was in the process of straightening when he saw her, and froze, his eyes darting across her breasts and shoulders, down her arms, and back to her breasts.
A wicked thought came to her then, and she cupped her own tits, lifting them together. She knew they were larger than he’d expected—she was likely curvier than he’d expected too—but he didn’t seem to mind.
He was already reaching for his belt, and when she pinched her own nipples, he muttered, “St. Elzear, bless me!” and fumbled with the leather.
She was grinning when his kilt fell around his ankles, and he bent to make short work of his boots. Hungrily, she watched him yank his shirt over his head, and then he stood, naked and magnificent, before her.
She’d seen him naked before, aye, when she’d spied on him in his room. But this…? This was better. Much better.
And Blessed Virgin, but his cock! The thing stood so proud and gleaming, and Lara shifted, trying to ease the ache in her core, knowing she was already wet for him. She was ready. She’d been ready for years.
Dropping her breasts, she reached for him. “Make love to me, Alistair.”
“Aye.” With a growl, he stepped forward, catching her in his arms. “I’ll make ye forget the arsehole who denied ye.”
She was grinning when he captured her lips again, and then they were lying atop the coverlets, and she’d kicked her way out of the remainder of her chemise to wrap one leg around his. The hot length of his manhood pressed against her belly, and she scrambled with her nails at his back, trying to get closer.
He was whispering things against her skin, as his lips caressed her neck, her shoulders, and finally—finally!—her nipples. She arched against him, straining, torn between touching him, and touching herself.
And then, she didn’t have to worry, because his hand had dropped to her wetness, a finger gently probing. She whimpered in need as the pad of his thumb brushed against her sensitive pearl. She didn’t want to beg, but she would, by God.
“Alistair!” she sobbed in desperation, gyrating her pelvis, trying to show him what she needed.
He was a quick learner, and by the time he slipped two fingers inside her dripping core, her inner muscles were quivering.
But nay! Nay, she didn’t want it to end this way. She’d fooked her own fingers often enough to know what it felt like, but now, she wanted more. And from the way his hard length pressed against her, he did as well.
Gasping, Lara pushed at his shoulders, wrenching herself away from him. He started, then began to push himself up on one elbow, clearly wondering what was wrong.
Naught was wrong. Everything was wrong. Not like this!
Before he could ask, she got her leverage and pushed at his shoulders, rolling him over to his back. He reached for her, and she threw one leg over his.
“What are ye doing?” he asked, his hands already settled on her hips.
Tossing her braid over one shoulder, she grasped his manhood. Blessed Virgin, but it felt perfect in her hands. He lay still under her, allowing her to touch him, but she didn’t want to take the time to explore him.
Nay, she knew what she needed. And she knew she wasn’t going to wait a minute more to have it.
So she grinned. “I’m teaching ye to give up control.”
She rocked forward on her knees, positioned herself, then sheathed her aching wetness around his cock.
They both moaned.
God in Heaven, but he was so big! When she’d watched him stroke himself, his cock had looked normal in his own hands, but inside her…
Well, suddenly she was thankful for the relatively large size of Treenis.
“Lara,” he gasped, his eyes squeezed closed.
“Let it go, Alistair,” she murmured, used to his size now. When she rocked forward, then back, he groaned. “Aye, that way. Ye remember how good it can feel to give up control, aye? Ye trust me, aye?”
“Always.” His voice was hoarse, but when he opened his eyes, she knew he meant it. His fingers dug into her hips, helping her in her movements, and she had to smile.
She took control, moving the way which brought her closer and closer to the edge. When his hand dropped to her curls, and he slid one finger in to stroke her pearl, she ga
sped and fell forward, planting her hands on his shoulders. Now she could rest her weight on her knees, and when he planted his own feet and thrust upward, she knew it wouldn’t be long now.
As he thrust, she met him, and soon, they were both panting, mewling, clenching. She felt her muscles tightening, and she knew what was coming. “Alistair! Aye! Aye!”
With a growl, he slammed upward, and her pleasure burst over her in a million white-hot sparks behind her eyelids.
Never before. Never before had she orgasmed so hard, with such blinding perfection. And the waves were still crashing over her when he rasped out her name, and she felt the warm flood of his seed flood deep within her.
Aye! Aye.
Limply, she collapsed against him, and was gratified when he wrapped her in his arms. They lay, entwined together, as he softened and shifted, before removing himself from her completely.
There was a moment of loss, but Lara knew, now that she’d finally experienced it, there was no way they wouldn’t make love again.
Taking advantage of him, eh?
Her lips curled into a smile.
“Lara, I—”
“Nay.” She couldn’t bear for him to apologize. Lifting her head long enough to capture his gaze, she commanded, “Dinnae say aught. This was…” Her fingertips glided over his chest. “This was perfect.”
So he said naught. Instead, he blew out the candle and pulled her back into his arms, tugging them both under the coverlet. With a sigh, he rested his head against the pillow where she lay each night, and Lara was happy to curl up against him, her cheek pillowed on his chest.
Dinnae say aught.
He didn’t, and neither did she, not even when he woke her in the middle of the night to make love to her again, slower this time. ‘Twas exquisite torture, and when she climaxed, she whimpered against him.
But neither of them spoke. Instead, he kissed her gently, softly before they fell back into slumber.
Chapter 7
Forty-eight. Forty-nine. Fifty.
With a grunt, Alistair stretched his arms, holding his plank-straight body off the floor of his solar for as long as he could. When his arms began to shake, he blew out a frustrated breath and rolled over onto his back.