Highlander's Dark Seduction

by Fiona Faris

  “They’re here,” Onesmus burst into the den without knocking. Alexander looked up from watching his baby sleep. He narrowed his eyes at Chris’ lieutenant.

  “Where exactly?”

  “Outside the gates.”

  “How many?”

  “Just Toby and his three lieutenants.”

  Alexander slowly got to his feet. “And they are here to…?”

  “I think they’re scouting.”

  “And we’re just going to let them?”

  “For now. Unless you have other orders.”

  “We capture and kill them,” Alexander said.

  Onesmus nodded. “I see why you would think that was a solid strategy, but you do not know this man as we do. He enjoys setting traps and walking up to the gate so bold, is probably a trap. We must go canny.”

  “And wait for him to attack us?”

  “Wait for him to come to us.”

  “Do ye not want to kill them because they were yer friends?”

  Onesmus looked away. “Chris has a plan that might save them, yes. But this is more than just that. We need to find out what he’s been up to, what his plan has been. Your servant brought news of some villagers conspiring with him. Why would they do that? Does he have somebody behind him?”

  “Somebody like whom?”

  Onesmus shrugged. “We all have pasts, and some of those pasts still haunt us. Perhaps Toby reached out to them. He is exceedingly bold in what he is doing. Those are not the actions of a man with three men behind him.”

  “So ye think he has involved other gangs.”

  “I would wager my life on it.”

  Alexander sighed. “Then we must find out when they mean to attack. My man Alistair is an accomplished spy.”

  “Toby knows all your men.”

  Alexander nodded regretfully. “That he does. So we canna take the direct approach. No, he will have to sneak aboot and see what he can find out. We canna risk fighting in the dark.”

  Onesmus nodded. “Exactly, sir. Sebastian can accompany him – if Toby truly has help from…people from our past, Sebastian will know them on sight.”

  Alexander inclined his head in agreement. “Would ye be so kind as to fetch me both men?”

  Onesmus bowed. “Right away sir.”

  Sebastian was on patrol duty again, walking the perimeter of the compound. He scanned the area, letting his eyes sweep from place to place, not really paying attention to any one thing. His eye caught on Ronald perched on top of a tree branch, peering around, clearly spying. There were no leaves to provide any substantial cover, but his black clothes easily hid him from view thanks to the dark of the night. He wished that Julius was here with him; he would have greatly appreciated his company.

  He sat back and watched and just when his boredom rose to a nearly intolerable rate, an idea came to his mind. It was one of those ideas that would have had Chris angry at him if he ever learned of it, but Sebastian wasn't concerned with that right now. He jumped down from the tree, landing silently on the ground. He quickly made his way toward the village from the direction of the trees. If no one else wanted to take care of this rebel problem, then maybe he should take the initiative.

  Sebastian tried his best to keep himself hidden in the shadows, not wanting to get caught. He kept his senses on high alert for any stray guards. Despite the fact that it was his decision to enter enemy territory, he was slightly worried about someone finding him before he was ready to fight them. He knew that the chances were slim; if Toby and the others were looking to kill them, they would have done something by now. But being cautious was never a bad thing.

  The sound of rushing water attracted his attention, and Sebastian went forward. The river was a great place to begin – it would serve as a landmark and help disguise his footsteps if anyone was out there listening. He scooped up some water in his hands, not realizing until then, how thirsty he was.

  His ears perked up as he heard footsteps approach him. Hastily ducking behind a bush, he tried to keep as hidden as possible. He assumed he’d succeeded, as the interloper that emerged from the dark did not notice him at all. It was Ronald. he seemed unsettled as he squatted by the river, his back facing Sebastian.

  His earlier anxiety melted away into determination as Sebastian stepped toward him slowly. He kept still for a moment once he was close enough for an attack, bracing himself. Then he pounced, unsheathing a knife as he did so. Ronald let out a strangled gasp as he was suddenly shoved to the ground with nails biting into his neck.

  He struggled on the ground briefly before pushing Sebastian off. He could have easily tightened his grip on Ronald’s throat, but he let the other man have his small victory for now. Choking him to death would be too boring, and he wanted to enjoy this. He had a fierce glare on his face as his eyes met Sebastian's, unsheathing a knife of his own.

  Sebastian gripped his own weapon tighter, making the first move by striking Ronald in the arm that held the knife. He moved so swiftly that his opponent was unprepared for the assault. The pain was strong enough to make him drop his weapon and he clutched his arm. Blood was leaking through the sleeve and he stepped back, hesitating. He seemed to contemplate which was the smarter option – to fight or run away and Sebastian took the chance to kick him to the ground before he could make a grab for the knife.

  He kept his heel pressed firmly into the rebel’s stomach to prevent him from standing. Blood splattered onto Sebastian’s tunic as he dug his knife into Ronald's leg. He allowed himself a tiny grimace when his enemy screamed at the pain. After all, he and Ronald had fought together for years. They hadn’t necessarily got along that well, or had much to say to each other but…they had still been comrades.

  Ronald was cursing him, clawing on his leg desperately with his good arm, trying to do anything to get Sebastian off him, but Sebastian wouldn't budge. His cries of anger were satisfying at first, but the noise might attract the others. So Sebastian silenced him, reaching down to swipe his knife across Ronald’s throat.

  He brought his attention back to the leg, watching the blood to gush from the knife wound. He stabbed the knife at his leg again, skewering it in deep. He tore apart tendons and the muscles with the sharp blade. Ronald gurgled, blood dribbling from his chin. Sebastian doubted he would last long; he cut the throat well enough that Ronald couldn't breathe anymore. His screams were muffled by his own blood as he tried in vain to express his agony. He could tell Ronald was weakening as the scratches on his leg became less insistent.

  As the last of the tendons snapped, the leg was finally ripped from the body. Ronald had a foggy look in his eyes from the blood loss, but he still looked down in horror at his lost limb. He quickly lost consciousness afterward, and Sebastian predicted that he would die from blood loss soon if someone didn't help him fast enough. He wasn't going to stick around long enough to find out if someone would come by.

  Blood was still oozing out of the leg from where it was removed. Sebastian thought for a moment. If the others found Ronald like this, they might be provoked to attack. Sebastian didn’t know if he wanted that. There were women and children in the manor house after all. He decided to dig a hole in the forest floor and bury his former mate. Toby and the rest could wonder all they wanted at his absence.

  When he was done, Sebastian left for the manor. He was told that Onesmus was searching for him as he entered his appointed chambers and found Julius awaiting him.

  At the sight of his bloody tunic, Julius remarked, "It must have been an eventful night, Sebastian."

  "The night certainly was eventful, Julius." Sebastian agreed. He described how he killed Ronald, not mentioning which side of the border he fought him at.

  “Will you tell Onesmus?”

  Sebastian thought about it. “I suppose. He is in charge until Chris gets back. Just don’t want him to steal my glory.”

  Julius shrugged. “He isn’t Toby. He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Well then,” Sebastian said taking his tunic off and
wiping himself down before wearing a clean shirt, “I suppose I shall make my report.”

  Rebecca sat beside the pig pen, watching the pig roll around the mud in ecstasy. She had secretly named her Dolly and only called her that when no one was around. Dolly was always so pleased with herself. All her needs were met; she had food, she had a safe place to rest and all the mud she could want to wallow in. Rebecca was a little envious of her. Dolly’s life was so simple, why couldn’t Rebecca’s life be that simple? She missed her husband and she was afraid that her husband’s connections were putting her new niece and her sister in law in danger. Not to mention everyone else at Dun Alba, including her brother who was injured and deserved a respite from strife. She was not sure Chris was coming back, there was no word from him, not a sign of him anywhere. For all she knew, he was dead. The people he had gone to for help were dangerous.

  She sighed miserably, swallowing back tears. A wave of nausea hit her, as it was wont to do now and then recently. She did not know if she was sick or just very scared but she was tired of feeling like this.

  “Please come back,” she whispered to herself as a single tear rolled down her eyes. She closed her eyes, thinking about the last time she and Chris were together. The way he had kissed her like he loved her, so hungry, so passionate, so focused. He had made her feel things she had not known existed, played her body like it was a violin. She felt her nipples peak just thinking about it.

  She closed her eyes, mouthing his name as the pig grunted happily. With her eyes closed, she could picture Chris clearly, and the world around her dropped away. Gone was the pig pen where she sat, lurking in the shadows. Gone was the grunting of the pig as it burrowed in the mud. Gone was everything, save for her and Chris.

  She swayed where she sat. Dizziness made her head swim as visions of Chris coursed through her mind. She could feel his fingers – rough and knowing as they caressed the lines of her face, her hair, the soft skin along her thighs.

  Her lips parted in a soft moan, and she gave herself over to the fantasy. Beneath her lids, she felt her husband's hands on her body. They were firm yet gentle as they cupped her breasts and squeezed. She moaned again and then bit her lip, opening her eyes to ensure she was still alone. Her back arched as she pictured it, feeling the soft lap of his teeth, his lips, his tongue laving her nipples into hardness. Her center spurted with wetness and warmth and she ached for more than just the ghostlike memory of Chris's touch. She licked her own lips, imagining that they were his, pushing him down so his tongue could lave on her breasts, suckling like a newborn babe.

  "Chris," she groaned, breath rough and panting, her voice low enough not to carry across to the manor, nor to be heard above the pig’s happy grunting. She leaned her back against the coarse wood of the pigpen. Her breath hitched and caught in her throat as she wriggled the fingers of one hand past the voluminous folds of her gown.

  She licked the index finger of her other hand and reached it up under her bodice, past the whalebone of her farthingale. She circled the nipple of her right breast with her wet finger, simulating Chris's tongue drawing an invisible ring around it. Pinching her nipple, she imagined it was her husband's teeth teasing her plump, pert breasts.

  She was grateful for the lengthening shadows, which ensured that the pigpen was deserted at this time. Rebecca slid her fingers past the brunette fuzz that framed her entrance – Chris enjoyed touching and petting her there. He was downright fascinated with it.

  Her body longed to be touched by the rough callousness of her husband’s fingers – his capable fingers tenderly massaging her hot inner flesh, rubbing her nub; pumping into her while his thumb stroked her nub when he worked his way into her vagina. Her back arched, hips bucking into the touch of fingers which were not quite thick enough as she played with herself.

  Freeing her breasts from their prison of linen and wool, she used her own inadequate fingers to squeeze and cup them, the touch far too small, smooth and cool. She overlaid an image of Chris's hands – big, work-roughed and warm – over her own paltry one, and whimpered in pleasure.

  Rebecca could all but feel Chris's tongue – warm, wet and wide – licking and tasting her – tonguing her hot neediness, and laving over her nub before digging deeper into her. The rough feel of the muscle, so ill-used by Chris in conversation, but so eloquent in bed, was her undoing and she called upon that image, that sensation – moist and articulate – as she fingered herself.

  "Chris," she breathed, curling her toes as a jolt of feeling shot through her body.

  Her breathing, erratic, ended on a long, drawn-out moan of pleasure comingled with desire, and she held her breath. She wanted, no needed, Chris to bring her to completion.

  Her body quivered, back rasping against the unfinished wood of the pigpen. Her fingers worked faster, became harder and more desperate. In frustration, she gritted her teeth, picturing Chris's the lust sparking in Chris’ hazel eyes as her fingers, covered in her own sticky, slick fluids, shifted between rubbing and palpitating her sensitive nub and the hot flesh around it. The tips of her left-hand fingers pressed into the soft smooth skin around her hard nipple, uncaring about leaving a mark.

  Rebecca's stomach tensed and her head banged against the wall of the warehouse as she continued her now frantic ministrations. The grunts of the pig were once more drowned out by her cries of passion as her teeth bore down on her bottom lip and she bit back an orgasm.

  Her center throbbed in time with the pounding in her chest. Her inner walls clenching and unclenching convulsively, trying to clamp around a cock that wasn't there.

  "Chris," Rebecca whimpered.

  She sagged against the pigpen, pleasantly sore and sated, breathing in uneven gasps. She struggled to push away the image of Chris – flushed and satisfied, half-lidded eyes struggling not to close in slumber. He would lie beside her, leaning his head against her as he traced the length of her collarbone with a lazy index finger.

  She tucked her breast back into its whale boned cage, still hardened nipples squeezing against the unyielding material. She withdrew her fingers from her skirts, wiping them on the outside of her gown and then with a shaky breath, pushed off of the wall of the pigpen and got to her feet as she brushed a stray strand out of her eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  They attacked the next day, before the crack of dawn. Onesmus climbed up to the watchtower to count their numbers and saw that Toby had accumulated quite a few followers. He had to assume that the sudden attack was due to Ronald’s death. Either they had found the body or guessed what happened.

  Onesmus was inclined to think of it as an advantage. If they were attacking before they were ready, there was a chance that the manor could hold them off or even defeat them. Their numbers were limited of course, but they were all soldiers here aside from the MacTavish’s wife. Even his sister was good in a fight. The goal was to limit fatalities. He did not know if Toby truly meant to kill them all; he was ashamed to admit that he had no idea what the boy was capable of in the throes of his anger.

  What he did know was that he would not let Toby kill the occupants of the house.

  Over his dead body.

  Toby knew Alexander would have look-outs posted regardless of the perceived emptiness of the courtyard. He knew that especially after Ronald’s disappearance that they had resorted to sneak attacks. Ronald would not run and in any case, even if he did, there was nowhere for him to go where he would not be found. Not with the men he had behind them. When Killian’s son had approached him months ago, about killing Chris, he had hesitated. But now that Chris had betrayed them and gone over to the other side…

  A herald would have been on hand to warn them when the horses were first sighted. Whether that meant he would be at the gates to repel them was another matter. Alexander, as far as Toby knew, was still injured and so would deputize this battle perhaps to his own men, perhaps to Chris’. His spies had not reported Chris’ return from wherever he went. Toby did not know if his former superi
or had run away – it did not seem like something he would do but one never knew – or where he had gone. He had no information on that. He had thought to wait until Chris was back, but the manor had attacked first.

  Of course, it was not beyond all possibility that Dun Alba would surrender at first sight of the rebels, though Toby thought that unlikely given the reputation of its commander and his men. Connell was both competent and loyal to Alexander and Onesmus was the same toward Chris. Wherever Chris had gone, the manor had clearly not thrown out his men. It wasn’t as if they had had no warning. More likely than surrender, then, would be a quick outcome to battle.

  Onesmus walked into the dining room where the majority of the household were at breakfast.

  “They’re here,” was all he said and they all stood up. Aaron walked toward the storage room where they were keeping the weapons sharpened and ready.