Claimed by the Clan Chief

by Lily Harlem

  She did as he’d asked, the slight splash of the water loud in the quiet room.

  “Close your eyes.”

  She allowed darkness to fill her vision and sighed as the warmed water from the pail over the fire was tipped gently over her head.

  It was then the real heaven started. He soaped up her hair then began to massage her scalp.

  “I adore your hair,” he said quietly. “So soft and smooth.”

  She didn’t answer, just tipped further into his touch.

  “Not something I’d ever thought about before I met you,” he went on, “women’s hair. But yours… I like it in my hands, touching my body, the way the sun shines on it making it so black it’s almost blue.”

  “Blue?”

  “Aye…” He chuckled. “I’m foolish.”

  “Not if that’s what you see.”

  “It is.”

  He continued to wash then rinse her hair in silence.

  With that task complete he set to work on her knees, which had come all but clean in the water. “Did he hurt you?”

  “Who?”

  “Rabbie Finlay.”

  “Not too much.” She glanced at her upper arms; a few fingerprint bruises were growing.

  “Damn it. I should have taken his other arm off.”

  She shook her head. “He’s paid a heavy price.”

  “If any more harm had come to you he’d have paid with his life.” He paused and shook his head. “I might still go and finish the job, I’ll sleep better at night.”

  “No.” She touched his cheek, water dripping from her hand. “You have served your justice.”

  “You mean my revenge.”

  “If that’s what you wish to call it.”

  “Aye, it is.”

  “So now leave it be. Rabbie Finlay is no danger to me. And I’m sure we’ll soon be moving on from Fifths Castle.”

  “Aye, ‘tis still necessary for me to travel to Edinburgh. The duke may, if luck is on my side, have extended his stay. Tomorrow we will go together.”

  “I’m sorry you had to change your plans for me.”

  “Sorry I came to save your life?” He frowned. “Where the else on this earth should I have been at that moment, lass?”

  She smiled. “Okay, I ken what you’re saying.”

  “Good.” He tipped forward and kissed her. A long lingering kiss that made the horrors of the previous night fade away.

  He pulled back. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better. Rested, fed, clean.” She smoothed her hair from her face. “Safe.”

  “You’re always safe with me.” He stood and held out a towel. “Let’s get you dry, we have another matter to attend to.”

  “We do?”

  “Aye.”

  “I don’t ken what that is?” Though she hoped it would mean him also getting naked. Some time in the big four-poster bed with her husband would be just the sort of medicine she needed.

  She stepped from the water, which cascaded down her body. Glad to be dirt free, she allowed him to wrap the towel tight around her body and hold it there with his arms.

  He set his mouth by her ear. “Remember when we were in the glen?”

  “I’ll never forget it.”

  “Me neither.” He paused. “Do you remember what I said to ye?”

  “Which part?”

  “I told you to keep your secrets close because that was the only way for you to stay safe from witch hunters.”

  She didn’t speak. Instead she remembered the feel of the string around her fingers as she created the ill wish.

  “You made it, didn’t you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The ill wish the villagers spoke of.”

  She swallowed, knowing she’d displeased him by creating it. Knowing even at the time what a risk it had been.

  “I need you to tell me the truth, my love. This is much more than a pocketed handkerchief.”

  She pulled in a deep breath. “Aye, I made it.”

  “And you cursed it?”

  “I… well, you see…”

  “So you did.”

  She didn’t reply.

  “You made an ill wish, cursed it, and allowed a tittle-tattle wench to use it on her drunken brute of a husband.” He paused. “And by doing that you put yourself in extreme danger.”

  A small tremble attacked her belly. His voice held the same low dangerous tone she’d heard at the village earlier that day. “I made it before we were married.”

  “That’s an excuse?”

  “But I—”

  “You could have confessed to its whereabouts and I could have safely disposed of it.”

  “Haps you could have… sorry, sir.”

  “Are there any more I should ken of?”

  “No, I promise, only my healing potions, there’s naught else.”

  “That’s one good thing at least.”

  She went to turn in his arms but he held her secure and facing forward, her back against his chest.

  “So what is the matter we have to attend to?” she asked.

  “It is the matter of your disobedience, wife.”

  “My disobedience?”

  “Aye, you put yourself in grave danger, I almost lost you. If it wasn’t for the swiftness of my horse you’d be ash by now.”

  She stared at the fire dancing in the grate. It was usually a comforting sight but right now it wasn’t.

  “How could I live without you?” he whispered into the shell of her ear. “You are the other half of my soul, my love, my very heartbeat.”

  “And you are mine.”

  Suddenly he stepped back.

  She turned and watched as he removed his tunic baring his naked chest, then drew up a chair. He sat, knees almost together, his kilt covering them, and tapped his thigh. “Over you go.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Over you go?

  Isla replayed the words in her mind. Had she heard her husband right?

  “What are you waiting for?” He tipped his head and studied her. “Every moment of delay will earn you extra spanks.”

  “McTavish, sir, I…”

  “Aye, I am sir to you, and husband and master, and as such I command that you place your delicate wee rump over my lap so I can discipline you for your reckless, dangerous behaviour.”

  She trembled, her nakedness beneath the towel making her feel even more vulnerable.

  “You’ve just earned yourself an extra ten swats of my palm.”

  “But I—”

  “Isla, I won’t say it again. Present me with your bottom so I can teach you a lesson.”

  She stepped closer, trepidation wending through her veins.

  “Drop the towel and bend over.” His jaw tightened as though his patience was running out. “This is for your own good, not mine.”

  “But you—”

  “Are you arguing with me?”

  “No, sir.”

  “So do it.” There was steel in his voice. She knew she had no choice but to obey. She was going over his lap for her first punishment as a Highlander’s wife.

  As she released the towel, it breezed to the floor and pooled at her feet.

  His gaze raked down her naked body, to her toes then back up to her face, pausing only briefly on her breasts and peaked nipples. He tapped his thigh, his lips tightened and his eyes narrowed. “I won’t issue my instruction again.”

  Isla’s belly trembled and her face flushed as she stepped up to his side and stared at his wide lap. She could see a hint of his leg through the gap in his kilt. He didn’t wear his sporran.

  Her gaze went to his arms, thick and bulging with muscles, tendons, and veins. She prayed he knew his own strength.

  “Only what you can take,” he said as if reading her thoughts. “Though right now I’m inclined to give you more as you’re taking so long to show me your rear.”

  “I’m sorry.” With a gulp she leaned forward, her breasts pressing onto his kilt a
nd in turn his lap. Her wet hair hung forward, sliding past her neck and shoulders to touch her cheeks. She bent her knees a little.

  “Higher, how can I spank you like that?” He lifted her body, and repositioned her with her head hanging so low her hair trailed on the floor.

  “Oh!” Her belly was tight over his hard thigh and her ass now the highest point of her body. Only her toes could touch the floor. She gripped his leg and the chair leg for support.

  “That’s more suitable.” He rubbed his hand over first her left buttock and then her right. “Much better.”

  Blood rushed to her face, flaming her cheeks and making her scalp tingle. It was humiliating to be over his knee like this, as though she were a petulant child who’d been caught stealing apples from a neighbour. “Please, I really think—”

  “Be quiet, you will take this, and you will learn from it.” He slapped down, hard, his flat palm landing squarely on her rump.

  “Ouch!” She jerked forward and kicked her legs upward, her heels banging the backs of her thighs.

  “Keep still, Isla, this will take us some time.”

  “Oh, but…”

  Another slap, on her right buttock. Sharp and mean, the pain shot over her skin like a whip.

  But the pain was nothing compared to the humiliation. What the hell did she look like, her bare ass pinking right there for him to see? Under his very nose.

  “That’s better, keep still.” Another swat, one that matched the others, fast and nipping.

  She clenched her internal muscles as the pain seemed to settle between her legs. Fire was blazing over her skin, her ears were buzzing and her heart pounding.

  He rubbed her behind, as though tracing the blushing skin there. “You’re turning as red as an apple.”

  “That’s enough now.”

  “I will decide that.”

  Slap. Slap.

  She bit on her bottom lip to hold in a cry.

  “You don’t get to decide when this is over.”

  Slap. Slap.

  Arguing was futile, she could see that now.

  Another series of spanks rained down.

  Tears welled in her eyelids. She kicked up her heels, catching his hand several times.

  “I told you to be still. I am nowhere near done with you.”

  “Oh, but McTavish.”

  “You put yourself in grave danger, that must never happen again and this will teach you.”

  The spanking continued. He slapped hard enough to sting like a thousand wasps but not enough to shake her bones. She guessed that was why her rear was his choice for punishment—the perfect recipient for his heated palm.

  She squirmed as much as she dared as he continued her chastisement. Each slap seemed to blur with the last. They layered up, stacking over each other. Every strike a flame searing her skin and lodging between her legs, filling her cunny and making her clit tingle.

  * * *

  McTavish admired the glowing rump over his lap. Isla was strong yet delicate, her skin pale but so easily marked. Everything about his wife was perfect.

  Except for the fact she’d risked her life. Nearly left him forever over a few damn twigs, leaves, and feathers.

  Had he ever been so scared as he’d been on that ride back from the road to Edinburgh? As soon as he’d received word from the laird’s stable hand he’d raced like the wind, his faithful steed not letting him down. Witches had little sympathy or the grace of time once accused and fear had twisted his guts every galloped step of the way.

  And then when he’d seen her, tied to a stake over a pyre, murder had flooded his veins. He’d had a mind to slaughter every damn villager for giving his wife a moment of fright. She was beautiful, complex, and delicate and should only ever be treated as such.

  As for Rabbie Finlay, he’d gotten off lightly. Losing an arm for touching Trevor McTavish’s woman with undue care was as good as a free pass.

  He continued Isla’s spanking in a steady rhythm. His arm was aching a little and his palm stung, but still he kept up. She needed to ken how angry he was about the ill wish. He didn’t want to shout, and certainly wasn’t a man to use his fists. But like his father he believed a wife should be disciplined with the administration of a red bottom should she step out of line.

  And could his bride have stepped any further from the line?

  He thought not.

  With a frown he added a few stripes to the top of her thighs, holding her tighter to his body as he did so for he knew that would create a new line of heat and likely a wriggle.

  “Ow! Oh, that hurts.” She bucked against him.

  “As it should.” He eased up as he pinked her upper thighs, then went back to her rump and renewed the intensity.

  Again she writhed but he held her secure. It was no real effort to keep her where he wanted her. She was but a waif of a thing. He’d see to it she put some meat on her bones in the future so she’d not get sickly in colder weather.

  “Please, sir.”

  “Do you understand the strength of my feelings on this matter?”

  “I do, I really do.”

  He gave her five more swats then rested his hand over her ass. She was breathing fast, her ribs expanding and contracting quickly. He, too, was a little breathless. His cock was hard, pushing at his kilt. He wondered if she could feel it against her side.

  She moved her hand as though to sit.

  “Have I said this is over?” He pressed her down.

  “No.” She sniffed and he wondered if she was crying. If so then perhaps it had come to an end. He’d heated her flesh enough if tears were falling.

  He studied her rump. Aye, it was glowing indeed. He was sure it would be visible even in a darkened room.

  “You’re taking your first spanking well,” he said, sliding his fingers down the crease of her buttocks.

  “Thank you.” Her legs relaxed, her toes resting back on the floor whereas they had been hovering several inches from it.

  “I can see your bottom is red and sore, but what other effects has it had on you?”

  “I’ve learned my lesson. No more ill wishes.”

  “Good, but not quite what I meant, sweet wife of mine.”

  “So what did you… oh!”

  He’d delved lower, slipping two fingers to her warm pussy. She was wet and his skin glided against hers.

  He smiled down at her. Wee minx had squealed and kicked but heating her ass had also created heat in her cunny.

  Pushing inside her, he found the delicious dampness of her arousal and was rewarded by a small moan rumbling from her throat. That was a sound of pleasure, not of pain or humiliation and it pleased him.

  He tilted his fingers and rubbed her deep inside, loving how she gripped him with her internal muscles and yet another moan rolled from her mouth.

  Oh, yes. She was as aroused as he was hard. Which just proved what a good match they were.

  He reached for her hair with his free hand and gathered it into a rough ponytail.

  She raised her head when he tugged, her back arching.

  He admired the delicate shape of her neck, shoulders, and spine. Tipped over his lap like this, she was indeed a rare beauty.

  He continued to work her pussy, the soft sounds of her pleasure filling the room and speeding his heart. Soon he’d take her, but not yet, he had other plans.

  He withdrew and slid his touch upward a fraction, to the small pucker of her anus. Pressing at the very centre he gained a tiny bit of entry.

  “Oh! What are you…” She tried to squirm away but he held her secure.

  “Sh, my love. You are mine, are you not?”

  “Aye, you ken I am.” Her breaths were coming quick.

  “And as such I own you, every inch of you.” He studied the way the tip of his finger had disappeared into her tight hole. “Including this.”

  She didn’t reply though a quiver went down her back and shook her entire body including her rosy buttocks.

  He smiled and enter
ed her deeper, the slick moisture that coated his fingers from her cunny easing his way.

  Her hole parted for him, the delicate ring of muscle opening.

  A small groan caught in his chest and his cock surged. Soon he’d be inside her fully, right here. He’d be gentle, there’d be no wild thrusting, he had every intention of making sure she enjoyed him being there.

  “See, it’s not so bad, is it?” he said.

  “No, sir.”

  “You may even come to love it.”

  “I don’t ken about that.” Her voice was a little strained as though she were concentrating fully on what he was doing.

  He smiled. That was exactly how it should be. Nothing else existed but him.

  After being inside her, knuckle deep, for a full minute he withdrew.

  She blew out a long, low breath.

  Twisting, but keeping her secure, he sought a special purchase he’d made in Paris. It was a smooth metal dildo, designed for ladies’ rears. With a bar to prevent it being lost internally it was nearly the width of his cock at its widest, though the head was tapered to allow for gentle insertion.

  Next to it he’d put a small bottle of oil within reach.

  “Keep still for a moment,” he said, releasing her hair.

  She didn’t reply and remained submissively positioned over his lap.

  “This might feel a wee bit cold and a wee bit strange,” he said as he coated the plug, “but I can assure you, my love, you’ll come to enjoy it very much.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Isla stared at the swirling red pattern on the rug only inches from her face. Her pulse was loud in her ears, her bottom was smarting—just the breeze of air over the skin there making her tremble—and her pussy was hot and needy.

  And her hole, her most intimate place… it had also become his. Her husband’s. She’d never expected for him to touch her there. Not that she’d hated it; there was something very special about giving herself so entirely to him.

  “This might feel a wee bit cold and a wee bit strange,” he said, “but I can assure you, my love, you’ll come to enjoy it very much.”

  “Enjoy what?” She twisted to look but could spy nothing from her upturned angle.

  “Just relax.”