The Lass Defied the Laird (Explosive Highlanders Book 1)

by Lisa Torquay

  They ended up in the same cart, to take it to where they would be seeded. Both would need to unload the cart there. They could not avoid going together, for people would take notice.

  Dress and apron covered in oat stems, sweaty skin, satisfied with the day’s work, even if exhausted, her hopes ran high.

  At her side, sat a stern-looking giant, dishevelled sable hair, tartan only around his trim waist. Rolled shirt sleeves revealed tan skin and bunched muscles, smelling earthen man and a full day’s toil. Her heart skipped a beat with his proximity on the box. She decided a cool head must be in order, so she tamped down the effect he vented on her.

  The irregular terrain made the cart jostle as the sheaves swished behind them. The early October presented them with a cool wind and low sun over colourful vegetation of autumn. An elixir for the eyes. The scent of cut stems surrounded them in bucolic atmosphere.

  “Taran.” She started. His head swivelled to her at his name on her lips for the first time. “I want to go home.”

  His attention turned back to the road in equal speed. “No.”

  Who on this world would have hoped for a different answer? She, by the looks of it.

  “I understand your reasons.” An attempt to compromise would show him she was willing to find a middle ground.

  “That is why I am going through with my plan.” Diamond-hard tone demonstrated his single-minded intentions.

  No compromise for the unyielding giant. “You should do this the right way.” Would insistence help? “Send Sam to The McKendrick with an offer.”

  His moss eyes focused on her again provoking a shiver to run through her. “You tell me if your father would consider it.”

  No, her father would not. Least of all because Sam was little more than a boy. A sigh stifled, she continued. “Then sit with him and sign a peace agreement.”

  “Your grandfather and mine tried it already.” Yes, she learned that. “The result being both clans waged war after your grand-uncle broke the truce.”

  “Because he reclaimed the cattle your grandfather stole?”

  “Exactly.” His eyes trained on his hands on the reins. “Only marriage will stop this.”

  Her temper threatened to show up anew. “Abduction and forced marriage will accomplish nothing!”

  The barn which housed the harvested oat came in sight, a line of wagons dotted the country lane ahead.

  Those long, tanned fingers gripped the reins tighter even if he did not rotate to her. “Marriage contract and fait-accompli will.”

  “Not possible to dialogue with you, is it?” No need to hide her frustration.

  “Not in this, no.” His strong hands stopped the cart.

  Well, nobody could accuse her of not trying. Their working side by side did not help her to forget all about him, but busying herself provided at least a distraction from the incessant awareness he inflicted on her.

  ~.~.~

  He almost faltered there on the cart today, Taran recollected as he prepared for sleep late at night. A glance at her pleading luminous eyes in the sun and he became weak with desire and a pull to agree, make her happy, see her smile. At him, for once. He held back in the last moment, avoiding looking at her, pearlescent skin, hair shining in the autumn light, the colour of the season. The idea of her departing scraped at him to the point of chafing.

  In a flash, he remembered what she said before destroying the bluidy document. She would never ‘leave a child of hers, contract or no contract’. This entered him like a kind of balsam, an ointment for long damaged feelings he did not acknowledge to himself, let alone another. The certainty she spoke from deep inside fuelled him to keep her here because she would not hurt a child, any child. His throat clogged with unknown moisture and he swallowed the grit of it.

  A typhoon had rocked him since he brought the fire-spitting witch here. The emotional strain took its toll as he felt specially exhausted tonight. Hand raking sable hair, he undressed, bathed and fell in bed, sleep overcoming him in the fire-warmed chamber.

  ~.~.~

  These chambers appeared bigger than hers, Aileen observed while she tiptoed inside them in the small hours. Ancient furniture gave it a cosy touch while the massive bed lined with a fluffy mattress and warm covers gave her the chills.

  The fire burned low in the wide fireplace which shed an inviting light in the room. It lit the masculine form lying under the covers.

  If anyone asked her if she knew what she was doing, the answer would be a resounding no. Her heart beat so fast it could vibrate the place, skin clammy with cold sweat under her nightgown told this idea may very well go wrong. No other possibility available, in her point of view. Either she did this, or the troglodyte would cave her in and give her no choice. To her and Sam.

  Her slippers trod the floor silently when she approached the big bed with reluctant eagerness. The small hours enticed the most feverish images of her and him in it. Images which shook her to the core. Though she never learned the details of what happened between a man and a woman in their intimacy, she heard countless women in the fields refer to it in coquettish ways. So, she acquired a notion, and it did not help cool her fantasies.

  With feather-light movements, she lifted the coverlet and slipped beside him, the farthest the space allowed her. The bed revealed to be warm with the heat of him. Earthen scent emanating from the large frame. Were he to awake, everything would go to waste. Tension dominated her, making it impossible to sleep. She did not want it anyway, lest she woke over him, like in the woods the night he recaptured her. She lay flat, thrashing heart, irregular breathing, counting the minutes to dawn.

  A lucky thing Sam proved to be a smart boy. He would not make a mistake in their plans, surely

  A deafening banging on the door yanked Taran out of his restorative sleep. Unwilling to drop his rest, he sat on the bed, a hand rubbing slumber away from his face.

  At that second the door shoved open, three faces filing its width. Sam, Seamus and Gracie, his wife.

  “What the hell is going on?” Usually, he awoke in good mood, today being an exception.

  “We heard of very inappropriate behaviour taking place in this manor.” Seamus boomed.

  Only then did he notice another form filling the coverlet. Diminutive, familiar.

  The defiant woman chose this moment to rise, holding the coverlet to her chest as if she was—damn her!—naked.

  “Oh, Sam!” The affectation of surprise did not fool him for one breath.

  Her head gyrated to him and he became almost blinded by the dishevelled chestnut hair falling all around her, enormous eyes feigning distress, sinful mouth agape. His body erupted in violent arousal nearly overpowering his capacity for clear thinking.

  “Taran!” The astute buidseach exclaimed with exaggeration. “Explain to them.”

  “This is not what it appears.” Oh, great! Was it not what everyone said when caught ‘in the act’? A declaration of guilt it was.

  “Sleeping with yer own son’s intended is one indecency too many, McDougal!” Seamus, the kin who saw him in diapers, toddling around the gardens, displayed a disappointed look about him, mirrored by his wife’s.

  Taran did not miss Aileen and Sam exchange an accomplice glance. They set him up, the idea being hers, without a shadow of doubt.

  Infernal witch!

  “Sam deserves better than this.” Gracie completed.

  “Yes, he does.” Taran agreed, effectively calling off the arrangement, just as the impudent shrew wanted. What else could he do?

  The termagant had it coming for her, he promised himself fuming.

  She wanted to play this game? Fine, let us play it!

  “Now that you have discovered the truth” A smug smile covered his mouth. “Could you, please, give us our due privacy.” His index finger rolled around a silky strand of her shiny hair. “We have… unfinished business here.” The deliberate tone came raspy, intimate. “Do we not, love?” He eyed her with excessive coveting glint.

>   The worst of all being he did not pretend. They did have ‘unfinished business’, as of the study, for instance. One he found himself only too eager to ‘finish’.

  A choleric glare hurled on him told him he succeeded in turning the tables on her.

  “Come, Sam.” Gracie said. “No child should go through this infamous shame.”

  Sam cast a rather worried gaze at Aileen. She must have made a sign, for he shrugged and followed Seamus and Gracie out of the room before they closed the door firmly.

  Aileen left the bed and walked to the door. It had gone better than anticipated, she concluded relieved. Sam undertook the task of bringing the middle-aged couple as witnesses to bust the intractable man’s plans. She would leave here free to go on with her life at last. He tried to embarrass her with his insinuations, but it constituted a small price to pay for her autonomy.

  It had been a little awkward to meet Seamus again in this… circumstances. After all, she had placed a knife on his throat and a pistol on his head the day the intractable troglodyte abducted her. It had been a fair fight and she would not apologise for it.

  “Where do you think you are going?” The grave growl stopped her in her tracks.

  She pirouetted a winning grin to him. “Home.” And started to the door again.

  “No, you are not.” An order that demanded no contestation.

  His feet abandoned the bed to go to the floor. The coverlet fell from his torso as his back faced her. A broad back. A naked back. The expanse of tanned skin, bunched muscles and sinew propelled her heart sky high.

  Until this minute, she gave no thought to the way he slept. Because if she did, she did not imagine how she would have behaved during the night. Not properly, for sure, despite her nervousness.

  Then, he stood up from it. Blast me! Perfect buttocks and powerful hair-peppered long legs assaulted her senses in the morning light coming from the window in front of him.

  She broke a sweat.

  He fished his red and black tartan from a chair nearby and wrapped it around his waist. Only. When he pivoted to her, her mouth dried. Thick neck, taut chest sprinkled with dark hair funnelling down his muscled abdomen to hide under the tartan together with other certainly… interesting parts of him.

  She was speechless.

  In vain attempt to clear her head, she shook it, as her gaze snapped to his. To clash with a knowing expression. He realised exactly what she was doing. Drooling over him like a ninny.

  “Your plan failed in case you have not noticed.” She challenged, chin lifting.

  “What?” His square stubble jaw jerked to her nightgown. Thin nightgown. “You mean to go away ruined?” His intense green beams did not spare her as she had not him. They sauntered over her in minutiae appreciation. Hot flush tinted her skin.

  She felt naked.

  “I am not ruined!” She countered. Nothing happened.

  “No?” He crossed his strong arms over the expanse of masculine chest. “Tongues will not go wagging from here to Edinburgh, then.”

  “Of course, not.” Her brows pleated with the absurd idea. “This is the middle of nowhere.” Despite her love for the Highlands, the truth could not be denied.

  “A McKendrick ruined by a McDougal will go unnoticed, naturally.” He began prowling in her direction.

  Her attention travelled to his feet. Long, elegant, with blunt toes walking to her like a hungry wolf’s.

  Stance forced up to him. “The two biggest clans in the highlands.” She made a vague gesture. “So, what?”

  “Precisely.” He stanched right in front of her. “Everyone will talk about it.”

  His argument unleashed apprehension in her. What did he try to prove?

  “You are saying…” She prompted, a doom-like feeling invading her.

  “There is no going back from this.” He stated matter-of-factly.

  “The McKendricks will not declare war, I assure you.” The heat of him reached her with dramatic consequences.

  Which was funny in fact. After a century and a half of blood feud, she deemed it rather strange her brothers ignored the McDougals.

  Legs braced, he stared down at her. “No, because we are getting married.”

  Shots of fire and ice cut through her with utter nervousness. Her stare snapped up to meet his. She tamped down her nervous reaction and obliged herself to laugh. Loud.

  It produced his desired vexed response. “I would not marry you if you were the last man on Earth.”

  A sardonic stretch of his sensuous lips designed on his rugged face. “I cannot say you are my dream wife, either.”

  “Finally, we agree on something.” She breathed with a modicum of reprieve.

  “But you are ruined and I am the villain in the story.” He emphasised.

  She breathed a derogatory chortle. “You are the villain, full stop.”

  “And you are Snow White, no doubt.” He jabbed.

  She succeeded in maintaining her lips motionless despite his humorous interjection.

  “At any rate, you need not play the chivalrous saviour.” She reinstated. “If there is talk, it will die a quick death.”

  Those rugged featured drafted a scowl. “What makes you so sure?”

  Her brows lifted as if in easy argument. “I have a dozen offers already on the table.”

  Said scowl deepened. “Poor suitors. They do not have the slightest idea what they are signing in for, the scallywags.”

  Mahogany eyes squinted with this provocation. “I will be married sooner or later.”

  “I do not believe it.” He loomed too close suddenly. “Such offers vanish at the mere waft of scandal.”

  A complacent laugh blew from her. “I represent a valuable alliance and a considerable dowry.” She did not have illusions on the subject. “Gossip or no gossip, I can even be picky.”

  Cold and adamantine steel smothered his physiognomy, tall frame frozen. “Refuse them.”

  “Why would I?” She taunted. Had the troglodyte not noticed he could not dominate her?

  His stance transformed in pure anger. “You will marry me.”

  “You cannot force it!” Incredible how he caused a volcano to deflagrate in such mercurial speed.

  Those green eyes bored into hers with granitic determination. “No, but I can convince you.”

  In a blink, he suspended her in his arms and her shoulder collided with solid, bare muscle, while he carried her to the enormous rumpled bed.

  Bunched arms placed her on the fluffy mattress, he came over her, braced on his elbows, a giant wall of heat and sinew. Their eyes clashed, her insides melted and inflamed in one stuck breath.

  “You will not leave here until you say yes.” The low hoarse growl weakened her further.

  No time to retort, his expert mouth descended on hers, plundering tongue, bristle jaw, earthen scent.

  She did not stand a chance.

  A moan emerged in her throat when her arms banded him, her fingers had missed his sable hair, which they raked exhilarated now. Their tongues danced, duelled, fought for supremacy, lost and won. Gave and took.

  Her body had landed on his bed, bunched gown, flexed knees, where she cradled him, throwing shame into a loch somewhere. To the deuce with it.

  They glued inch by meshing inch, her greedy self arching to get even more of him. His massive hardness imprinted her soft middle through the tartan and she only craved what it could do to her.

  Voracious, the kiss morphed in fully open-mouthed pillage, carnal, explicit. Insufficient.

  One of his hands sneaked to toy with her breast over the fabric, gnawing her need to the point of deflagration.

  He lifted his head, hair falling mussed over his brow, eyes charring her. “What do you say, Aileen?” Raspy and low, the sound messed with her already non-functioning brain.

  “No.” She breathed, resistance fading into rags.

  He did not utter a word. Broad, bare torso lowering, his hands caressed her defenceless thighs. Soon it was his st
ubble mouth trailing one of them from her knee, tingling the sensitive skin. It advanced like an army towards that place where she ached. She had no forces to protest.

  A wave of shock hit her as he found her centre unerring. Her frame arched, lips moaning as he cast his spell in the most wicked manner. Her temperature soared to boiling pitch, ravenous for more. She clung to it, climbed it, heedless of the consequences.

  Tongue playing with her hapless button condemned her to a furnace. Her hand bunched his hair in furious need. He martyrized the unsuspecting spot to breaking point.

  His head lifted again, casting her to burning frustration. A curse fought to escape her lips, which she bit not to yell it at him.

  “Say yes, Aileen.” His green attention found her implacable.

  She had this impulse to catapult a mortal object at him for interrupting that delectation.

  “No!” Damn him!

  He grinned sardonic before his mouth rested ever so mild on her thigh, lowering slow, to the brink of agony.

  Like a secret weapon, it returned to her centre as she nearly screamed with contentment. The savant moist piece unfolded, explored, savoured, sending ripples of sensation throughout her. Her skin flushed hot, something about to happen in between gasps.

  Once more, the torturing troglodyte came up to face the woman. Her voice disappeared, too weak to protest, so she thrashed insanely. Head swivelling to both sides, shoulders twisting desperate, fists pounding the guiltless mattress. The whole body in helpless torment.

  “Say yes, Aileen.” He repeated remorseless.

  By then, yes or no meant the same nonsense. Mere words would not appease her.

  “Yes.” To the devil with him!

  He waited no longer. His diabolical lips ravened her flesh, firm, proficient. Inexorable.

  A blasting avalanche bombarded her entire being in waves and more waves of quivering pleasure coupled with a groan she did not recognise as hers. He rode it until there was nothing left of her.

  As he came up, he wrapped her in him, still exhibiting his tantalising state. She wanted to do the same to him. Wanted him to see stars in plain morning as she had just done. Right at that moment, she had no condition for anything, so she waited.