Highland Hellion

by Mary Wine

  Rolfe had followed her for a change, placing himself between her and the fire. He offered her a plate with part of a roasted rabbit on it.

  “Ye’re to be commended, Kat,” he said after she’d taken it. “I do nae think I’ve ever heard of a woman keeping pace with Highlanders. Yet ye have nae asked for a single break along the road.”

  “You know full well that I am trained.” She offered her comment in a soft tone, realizing the time was at hand to broach the topic of leaving him. Her appetite died as she looked at him and searched for words that were not too sharp.

  “I do,” he answered before he leaned down and stopped her from setting the plate aside.

  She realized he hadn’t touched her in days. She felt it keenly, as if they completed each other in some strange, magical way.

  He felt it too. She watched passion flicker in his eyes. “Just as ye know that no one makes ye feel like I do.”

  He released her, letting her experience the parting of their flesh. It was acute, sending a little ripple of lament through her.

  “I’ve had words with Marcus,” Rolfe informed her softly, but that didn’t keep her from catching the warning in his tone. “Ye will be coming home with me, Kat.”

  “No.” She stood up, the plate tumbling out of her lap. “I will not.”

  Rolfe stayed exactly where he was. That meant she was only a step from him once she straightened. He took instant advantage of it, hooking his arm around her body and binding her against him.

  “Yes.” He captured her nape with his other hand and held her still as his breath hit her lips. “Ye will, Wife.”

  She both hated and loved the sound of the word wife. He meant it as more than a legal term. Oh yes, there was a flare of possession in his eyes, right before he pressed his mouth down onto hers.

  It had been too long since he’d touched her.

  That realization burst on her as he kissed her hard. It was a mark of possession, a declaration of intention, and a warning to her that he wasn’t planning on being defied.

  She tried to push him away in response. Oh, it wasn’t that she really thought about it. No, this was impulse, the need to prove her strength to him just as much as he needed to claim her.

  His kiss was hard, yet not brutal. She twisted and he followed her, pressing her lips apart as sweet sensation went surging through her, awakening a hundred points on her body that longed for his touch. Yearnings rose up from inside her, demanding satisfaction now that she knew he could wring pleasure from her flesh. Her doubts about their compatibility dissolved as he held her still and kissed her until she ripped her mouth from his to draw in ragged breaths.

  She was pressed to him from knees to chest, so aware of his hardness, wanting it inside her.

  It frightened her.

  She recoiled from him, struggling against him. He let out a snort before releasing her, only to have to grab her by the upper arm when she stepped on the hem of the dress and would have landed on her backside if he hadn’t caught her.

  She shook off his hold the moment she had her balance. “I cannot be the wife you desire.”

  “And yet desire is drawing us to each other,” he countered.

  “We can find it with others, too.” She didn’t care for how hollow that made her feel, as if she were shredding her own heart.

  “Ye are mine, Katherine,” he warned her. “Ye wed me of yer own will, and I will nae allow ye to take that back. Ye gave me yer promise, yer solemn vow.”

  “Because I thought you accepted me as I was.” She felt as though she was floundering in a pool of water, just trying to stay afloat.

  “Ye knew very well me reasons for taking ye back to McTavish land,” he said. “Ye take risks that are selfish, woman, and I will teach ye that lesson. Never will ye place yerself between me and danger.”

  “So you would have had me stand idle while Morton held you?”

  He nodded firmly.

  “You are arrogant beyond compare,” she hissed. “I recall the vows we took as well. Among them was ‘I plight thee my troth.’”

  Rolfe made a low sound of warning under his breath. He was fighting to keep his hands off her. She recognized the flash in his eyes and the way his nostrils flared.

  “We’ll be talking more…once we make it to a chamber with a solid door.”

  “And why is that?” She really should have left well enough alone, but Rolfe always had unleashed a daring inside her.

  Now it was flaring up, gaining strength as her heart started to pound and she caught the scent of his skin. Passion was heating her; the chill of the night was perfect coupled with the heat warming her. Their clothing was suddenly so unnecessary.

  And she truly wanted to rip his open.

  She wasn’t alone in the grip of that need. It flashed through his eyes a moment before he was leaning over. He put his shoulder right against her belly and pushed toward her, taking her off her feet with a little whoosh of air.

  He carried her as though she weighed nothing, taking her farther into the forest until the sounds from the camp were faint.

  “Now, we are going to come to an agreement.” He let her down, but didn’t allow her to step away from him.

  “You think a tumble is all that is needed to sway my mind about the rest of my life?”

  He cupped the sides of her face. “I think it’s a fine place to start.”

  Her body agreed with him, feeling as if it were glowing when he sealed her mouth beneath his again. It was a hungry kiss this time, drawing her to him with just how much he craved her. She couldn’t seem to deny it, not when he needed her.

  Her thoughts became muddled as his tongue swept across her lower lip. She let out a little sound more breathless and feminine than she’d thought she might ever produce. He answered it with a male sound of approval.

  “I like that,” he whispered against her ear, his fingers threaded through her hair as he kissed the side of her neck. “Knowing that I make ye cry out with passion. I enjoy it, lass…”

  He turned her around, putting his chest to her back. “I intended to wait…until we were home…to save yer blushing to know every man behind us knows what we’ve gone off to do.”

  She shuddered. It wasn’t shock. No, it was anticipation. Blunt. Hard. And it hit her like a solid blow. Her passage had never felt so empty, so much in need of being filled. Rolfe was tugging on the lace that held her bodice closed, freeing her breasts. Her chemise was a thin barrier, yet one that irritated her because she wanted to be bare.

  Like some pagan rite.

  He found the thin tie that held the neckline closed and gave it a tug. The knot popped, allowing him to reach in and cup her breast.

  “But seeing the moonlight on these… Well, now I do nae much care if ye spend all of tomorrow with rosy cheeks.” He was whispering in her ear as he teased her breast, cupping it, stroking it, and teasing the nipple until it rose into a hard point beneath his touch.

  “Perhaps I should confess that I will enjoy knowing yer blushing confirms to every man here that ye belong to me.”

  “I do not.” She stepped forward but only heard him chuckle behind her.

  Rolfe made good use of the moment, unbuckling his kilt and flinging it across the ground while she turned to face him for her argument.

  “Ye do.” He scooped her off her feet and lowered her onto the wool. It was still warm from his body, and he was hotter still as he came down with her, reaching back into her open bodice to lift her breast into the open. “And I am going to enjoy proving it to ye.”

  She ended up flat on her back. Rolfe controlled her expertly, coming down beside her, one of his thighs trapping her legs as he leaned over her and captured her nipple between his lips.

  “Oh…”

  She meant to say something, but Rolfe sucked on her nipple and the thought refused to form int
o anything solid. Instead, she was arching back, astonished by how good it felt to have his lips wrapped around her flesh. Never once had she realized how sensitive it might be.

  She needed to be closer to him. Reaching for his shoulders, she pulled him toward her. He seemed just as impatient to be in contact with her flesh. There was the cooling touch of the night air against her legs as he tugged her skirt up and she knew the joy of feeling him stroking her upper thigh.

  Gooseflesh rippled across her skin in response as he stroked her again, this time moving closer to her mons.

  “What have ye done?”

  He’d lifted his head as he teased the recently bared folds of her sex. It was still as smooth as a newborn’s.

  “French maids,” she rasped out. “Morton sent a couple of them to…ah…help me prepare for my wedding night.”

  “Ye were already wed to me.”

  He’d meant it as a warning, but he was still teasing her cleft, clearly distracted by the lack of curls to guard it. Rolfe was twisting and shifting until he was hovering over her sex and pressing her thighs wide.

  “You turn me into a wanton…” The words crossed her lips in a husky tone that earned her an arrogant look from Rolfe. He was teasing her slit with his thumb, his eyes narrowing as he caught the first drops of welcome from her passage.

  “And I will gladly feed yer cravings, lass, for it is the only way to satisfy me own.”

  His words held as much impact as the first touch of his mouth against her sex. She writhed, unable to remain still. The pleasure was white-hot, feeling like it was twisting up into her belly as he licked her slit from top to bottom, along both sides, and then he spread her folds, baring her clitoris so that he could treat it to the same attention.

  She cried out, her eyes shutting as he sucked on that point. There was no way to control anything. No, at that moment, there was only reaction, impulsive response to the need he was building beneath his tongue. He had slid his hands under her skirt to hold her hips, sending a strange feeling of intensity through her, as though she enjoyed knowing he was holding her in place for his pleasure.

  He kept her on the edge, easing off when she thought she was going to peak. Over and over again, until she was certain her sanity was about to burst instead.

  “Rolfe…”

  He lifted his head, satisfaction on his face as he looked up her spread body. “Do ye want me?”

  “Yes.”

  He rose, pushing back onto his haunches. He reached down and gripped the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. The moonlight cast him in silver and shadow as his member stuck up, hard and promising.

  “Ye want yer husband?”

  She realized he was going to extract his punishment from her. He’d left the hunger blazing inside her as retribution for rejecting him. But he needed her as much as she did him. She curled up, surprising him as she kept going until she had her thighs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his shoulders.

  His member was between them. Trapped against her wet folds. She squeezed her thighs tightly and gently rocked her hips so she was stroking his length with her slit.

  “Christ…” he ground out, locking his hands around her hips.

  “Do you want me to be your wife?” she whispered back to him. It was an agony of sorts, moving against his member. It felt delicious and yet increased her craving to have him inside her. She gripped his hair, pulling his head away from where it was buried against her shoulder so their eyes might meet. “As I am?”

  “Katherine…”

  His tone was strained as he fought the same battle against the tide of need for each other. It pulled them into its grip, refusing to allow either of them to maintain their personal identities. They both resisted, needing each other, craving it, and still too stubborn to submit.

  He lifted her, his member straightening so he could plunge her down onto it. Their cries mixed together as they became one. It wasn’t gentle; they strained against each other, riding hard, forcing each other up to a crest that, when it peaked, ripped them both in two. Pleasure cracked through her like a whip, and she felt it tear a cry from his lips as his seed began to flood her. At the last moment, he clamped her down onto him, so he was as deep as he might go, and pumped his offering inside her.

  He was shaking when he eased her off his lap where she crumpled, completely spent. He curled around her, the night cooling her as she struggled to breathe. Somehow, the sight of the moon and the stars fit the moment.

  They were wild.

  And she had no defense left against admitting how much she needed him.

  Wanton…

  Yes…

  And more.

  She was craven. Feeling as though her very soul cried out for his touch.

  Whatever she was, there wasn’t any strength left in her to debate the rightness of her feelings. Sleep tugged her away, and she felt his breath on her head as he smoothed the hair from her face.

  * * *

  “Do nae ask, Katherine.”

  Marcus spoke before she got the chance. He turned to face her, looking older than she recalled.

  “I know what ye seek, and I must tell ye no.”

  She shook her head in shock. “You deny me a place? Now?”

  Marcus drew in a stiff breath. “I trained ye, lass.”

  She nodded. “Something I am grateful for, and it has surely served its purpose.”

  “That might be debated and justly so, for if I had no’ allowed ye into the training yard, ye’d no’ have fallen into Tyree Gordon’s hands to begin with.”

  She wanted to argue, but this was Marcus. Between master and student, there was no room for dishonesty. “That is true. Yet there is no turning back time.”

  “No,” he agreed. “Ye are a woman now, one who is wed by her own choice.”

  “I did not know his father forbade the match.”

  Marcus’s eyebrows rose. “Well, that’s a difficulty, to be sure.”

  “I should think so.”

  “Still…” He took a moment to weigh his words before speaking.

  Her shoulders tightened because she knew the expression on his face. It was the same one that she’d witnessed before he pronounced judgment. This was the MacPherson war chief, about to make a decision.

  There would be no arguing with it once it was cast.

  “I do nae accept cowards in me yard.”

  She stiffened.

  “So, ye will no’ run away from yer new father-in-law. William McTavish is an arrogant goat, one I expect ye to face with yer back straight. Ye have naught to be ashamed of.”

  “He will not change his thinking about English blood.”

  She knew better than to argue, and yet she couldn’t seem to hold the words in. It felt like the ground was crumbling around where she stood, getting closer and closer to her feet. If Marcus denied her a hand to cling to, she’d fall into an unknown abyss.

  “Ye are no’ running away from William.” Marcus sent her a stern look. “I was guilty once of thinking women are more suited to being taken away from their homes. Helen taught me the error of me ways. It is a difficult thing, leaving yer home to wed, yet I expect ye to do so with courage.”

  “Rolfe does not accept me as I am.” She opened her hands. “I wish it were otherwise, but I do not know how to be anything else.”

  Marcus smiled at her, but it was the way a father would look at a child being sent to do a duty expected of her.

  “It’s me fault ye are more fearful of this day than need be,” he said. “For that, I am sorry.”

  “Yet you will leave me with a man who wishes to crush my spirit?”

  Marcus inhaled sharply. “Helen charged me with the same thing more than once.”

  That brought Katherine up short. “You and Helen are so very happy.”

  “Aye.�
�� Marcus nodded. “We had to learn how to be, Katherine. To many, it might seem Helen settled in, but I will tell ye bluntly, it took both of us to make our union what it is. Think on that, lass, for ye can be certain I’d no’ leave ye here if I had not already said as much and more to yer husband.”

  A little tingle of warmth filled her. Marcus was more of a father to her than any other.

  “I am not the one who is digging his heels in,” she groused, feeling the point well and truly lost.

  Marcus slowly smiled, flashing his teeth at her. “Well, now, Helen had to get through to me, through me stubborn pride, and it was no’ a simple matter. There were times she needed things to help her bring me around to sensible thinking.”

  “Such as what things?”

  Marcus chuckled, the sound dark and ominous. “Such as pitchers.”

  He looked past her, and she turned to see Rolfe coming toward them. The expression on his face drew her attention. At first, it seemed to be anger, but at second glance, she realized he was determined. Deeply so. He’d heard the last part and raised an eyebrow.

  “Pitchers?” he asked. “What do ye need a pitcher for, Kat?”

  Marcus snorted, nearly choking on his amusement. He slapped Rolfe on the shoulder. “Pray she does nae ever answer that, lad. It leaves a hell of a ringing in a man’s ears when he gets walloped with one because he is behaving like a fool.”

  * * *

  Laird William McTavish was happy to see his son return. So much so that he made his way onto the steps as the McTavishes flooded out of the hall to greet the returning men. His joy faded when he caught sight of Katherine.

  She tried not to let it bother her, sliding from the back of her mare and keeping her chin level.

  The McTavish laird was not the only one glaring at her. Rolfe reached up and tugged on his bonnet before he turned and gestured her forward.

  I do nae accept cowards in me yard.

  Marcus’s words rose from her memory but she would have moved forward anyway, because there was no way she would be ashamed of who she was.

  “Best we go inside, Father.”

  William McTavish frowned, clearly not caring for his son’s words. His captains sent Katherine looks that made it clear they thought her the cause of trouble. What surprised them was the way Adwin came up beside her, taking a stance a half pace back and off to her right.