Highlander's Stolen Love: A Medieval Scottish Historical Highland Romance Book

by Alisa Adams

  “Are ye ready, lassie?” asked Doogle. His lips brushed against hers when he spoke.

  She nodded. “Oui, Doogle. I want you to have me.”

  “I will be gentle.”

  “Argh.”

  She whimpered when she felt him gradually slide inside of her. He was slow and gentle. The initial pain was brief and almost forgotten the moment it had started. Louise had never felt womanlier before. Her body was like a dock and his like a missing piece in a puzzle. They belonged together – this man’s love had always been her destiny.

  Steadily, Doogle started moving. His attentions forced little cries out of her mouth as the pleasurable sensations she had only just discovered came back with lascivious retaliation. Her mouth was agape, letting the moans run freely from deep inside of her.

  He lowered himself and covered her mouth with his. Within moments, he parted her lips with his tongue and licked the insides of her mouth.

  Louise gasped into the contact. A delightful strangeness descended over her. Instinctively, she placed her hands on his broad shoulders and pulled him closer. A little whimper rippled up her throat when she touched his tongue with hers. This, in concert with their lovemaking, forced her to become more urgent with her caresses. She pressed the front of her body against him. It felt like she was rubbing against a stone wall, so hard was his physique.

  “You really have no idea just how beautiful ye are.” Doogle had stopped moving. He cupped her cheeks with both of his hands as he looked into her eyes.

  His intimate touch made her shudder with pleasure. All she could think about was kissing and touching him again. Her dreams of the clansman assaulted her brain like a summer’s storm. She could feel, smell, and taste him. His entire being stuck to her skin and imprinted itself onto her soul. This was the man she had always wanted, and they were to be married.

  “I want nothing more than for ye to be my wife, Louise. Not because of a promise, but because ye are the woman of my dreams.”

  “I am already your woman.”

  Possessed by another being, Louise lurched forward and pressed her lips against his. No longer caring about womanly grace, she threw away all of her restraint in an instant. All she cared about was possessing this man and making him her own. Reveling in the brief and sweet pain of her lips pressing against his teeth, she plundered his mouth as if she had done it a thousand times before.

  Doogle growled into her mouth and began to lick her tongue as if another force claimed him. His hands became more urgent as he ran them over her taut body that shuddered with his very touch. Their breaths intermingled and became as one when the frenzy of dammed up love was finally released.

  Louise whimpered when he lifted her slightly by the buttocks. Her flesh shook and quivered under the empathetic and demanding skill of his hands.

  As if he was in a trance, he ran his hands over her body, cupping each breast tenderly. Doogle moved his hands up to the tips of each pointy nipple. They hardened some more the moment his fingers brushed over them. Again, he pressed his mouth on hers.

  Louise gasped with pleasure as her skin felt like the waves on the sea. His caresses became more urgent with his every flick of his tongue. One hand tweaked her nipple while the other roamed over her backside, kneading and massaging.

  “I love you, Doogle.” The words scudded out of her mouth, disintegrating into little puffs of air.

  He leaned back. “I love ye too, Louise.” Not once did he remove his hands from her breast and backside.

  She planted a kiss on his lips when he groaned. She loved the way his hips flexed with every stroke of her body. She moved back. She needed to see this demigod of a man as she pleasured him. She watched the color of his irises flare up when she became more demanding with her movements. They seemed to adopt the hue of the sky before a storm.

  “Stop!”

  She giggled, caught up by the heady pleasure. “Getting too much for you?” she asked.

  Doogle bellowed his mirth. “Aye – ye are making me lose control.”

  “Then lose it.” She pressed against him to make her point.

  He began to move again, faster and faster until they were both lost in the physical contact once again.

  “Argh, Doogle.” Louise was overcome by the sweet spasms rippling through her. They seemed to lift her up into the air. The feel of his flesh moving about inside of her induced an agreeable mixture of pleasure and pain.

  “Argh… God,” she cried again.

  “Am I hurting you?” he asked, pulling back.

  “Don’t stop – keep moving.” She hissed.

  As much as she loved the sound of it, his voice was, at this moment, a vile intruder on her bliss. She placed her hands on his hard buttocks and pulled him closer until his entire length and girth filled her.

  “Oh, yes… like that.” She managed a smile when she heard him panting above her. That and the sensation of them being as one drove her wild with passion. She countered his every thrust with a downward motion of her pelvis. Every time he slapped against her, Louise let off a series of whimpers that made him more assertive.

  She swam up to the surface of consciousness before diving down again. Her eyelids fluttered. Responsiveness entered her body, a flex of her abdomen in rhythm with his every movement, her head threw back to offer up her throat, making the clansman drive into her deeper still.

  Doogle watched Louise writhe underneath him. He held her waist as he drove into her. She moved under him as a sleeping woman might when visited by a nightmare.

  “Doogle.” His name was hurled at him in a deep reverberation that became a seemingly infinite moan, ending with a screamed ‘gle’. Every nook and cranny of her mind was filled with radiant flashes and intoxicating images of the love she felt for this man.

  Her physique responded in kind as wave after wave of exhilarating pleasure sourced through her like a rampant river after heavy rainfall. Her insides seemed to collapse into folds of burning flesh. She dissolved into the plaid when the tidal wave of climax hit her with the full force of a herd of bulls running on a savannah.

  She screamed, “Doogle, Doogle…”

  Moving on top of her like a berserker, he pushed harder. He watched her whining with pleasure underneath him. The sight of her beautiful body and the consternated expression on her face that exuded both pleasure and amazement was visibly too much for him.

  Doogle shouted out along with Louise. Their cries became as one until they collapsed into a sweating heap with his body rolling off her to the side.

  Breathing heavily, Louise starred up at the wooden roof in the barn. She was amazed at the way her body felt. Even though fading, the heat still gushed inside of her, burnishing her skin into an attractive pink hue.

  “That was incredible, Doogle. I never imagined it to be like that… I have no words to describe it.”

  She shifted her head to look at him. She saw that Doogle was just as much in shock at what had happened as she was.

  “You are magnificent.” He didn’t look at her or say anymore.

  Neither of them had any clue for how long they remained like that, in silence, but they were close to one another, and that was all that mattered. Doogle shifted his weight, turning to face her. He flashed her smile when she looked back at him. They just stared at the one another for a while.

  “It was magical – what we just did,” she said at last.

  Doogle chuckled. “Aye, it was. So, ye liked it then?”

  Louise chuckled throatily. “Oh, very much so… I did say as much before. Is someone looking for some more praise by any chance?”

  Doogle smiled. “Yer body gave me enough of that, lassie. There is nothing more truthful than a lass in the throes of passion.”

  “Really?” She frowned at him. “Is it the same with all women?” Louise was suddenly reminded of the fact that he had most probably lain with other women.

  “Nah – that’s more like an itch that needs to be scratched. With ye, it is magical, like it has to
be. Ye ken. When flowers spread their pollen in the spring, making love to ye is what was always meant to be. Like God made ye for me and me for ye and put us on this Earth to find and love one another.”

  Louise moved forward and kissed him. The brief birthing of jealousy had vanished before it could settle. “I loved it, Doogle – you are quite the linguist when ye want to be.”

  “Aye, that’s what Murtagh’s been telling me as of late. The big lout is a pestering me about it.”

  “Well, don’t let him convince you otherwise. I love it when you say such things.” She fell back onto her back, letting her mind work a little more. “Doogle?”

  “Aye.”

  She forced her eyebrows closer. “I never heard of it…” She lowered her eyes. “Of it done down there with the mouth.”

  He arched his eyebrows. “Did ye like it?”

  “I think my little squeals told you as much. It was astonishing,” she said, stroking his cheek. “What happens now, my love?”

  Doogle frowned. “What do ye mean? Ye want me to do that again?”

  She laughed. “What do almost married people do now?”

  A mischievous smile played on his lips. “They do this, love.” He pulled her on top of him.

  Feeling his arousal, Louise tried to resist. “Doogle, we can’t, your wound is only a few days old. Once is more than enough. I already feel bad about putting you through that, but you—” She screamed when he started tickling her. “Oh, Doogle.”

  Her cries of protest changed in moments. It was too late. The heat of old took over her body. At that moment, Louise knew that she was addicted to this man.

  20

  20

  A Fateful Reunion

  * * *

  Bordeaux, Aquitaine, December 1356

  * * *

  It was one day before Christmas Eve. The days had passed by quickly for Louise since the blissful night with Doogle. Ever since, they had taken every opportunity to make love. Not even the cold could stop them when they had camped for the night halfway to Bordeaux from Iteuil. Instead, it had given them more incentive because it kept them warm.

  Louise was in the chamber she shared with Doogle at the archbishop’s palace in Bordeaux. She and the other clansmen were the Black Prince’s guests over the festive season.

  Brice had wanted to sail home sooner, but the Prince of Wales had convinced him that the storms in the Bay of Biscay and close to the English Channel would be too dangerous to navigate. He recommended they sail closer to spring.

  Louise did not mind though. Apart from Poitiers, she had never been in a large city before. The markets and the many people intrigued her. She just loved to roam the narrow streets and haggle with the tradesmen.

  Of course, she and her mother always had an escort of at least four burly clansmen to look after them. They took their responsibility so seriously that they never let the two French women out of their sight. There had also almost been an altercation with one of the tradesmen at the market because one of the Highlanders felt that he was fleecing Louise and her mother of their money.

  Their loyalty to Brice and his brother was limitless. Ever since Brice had arranged their freedom from the prince’s dungeon, they had offered their services to the clan and made the oath of fealty to the Laird Alastair Macleod – they were now members of the clan Macleod.

  Other than that small interlude at the market, the few days she had been in the town had been pleasant. In the evenings, they dined with the prince and the King of France. Louise had never seen such opulence before. Jean Philippe’s château had been impressive, but it did not hold a candle to the prince’s court.

  All of the courtiers were dressed in the finest garments made of silks, linens, and velvet. The women were festooned with gold, silver, and jewels. Louise had also never seen so much food in her life – boar, poultry, fish on Fridays, and beef always bedecked the prince’s endlessly long dining table.

  Between courses, an army of entertainers kept the dining party amused. Louise just loved it when the troubadours told stories of brave knights in shining armor as they rescued damsels in distress from villainous scoundrels. She had cried on occasion when the tale had a tragic ending. But the sweet sound of music that invariably followed these performances always lightened her spirits.

  Her father took in the luxuriousness of his surroundings with his customary aplomb. His favorite part of the day was supper. Louise had never seen him eat so much before. He had to be careful not to show too much enthusiasm for the food lest he incensed his wife – she needed to believe that her cooking was better than anything else.

  To Louise’s surprise, her mother was very content to leave France behind her. At first, she had expected her to be depressed. On the contrary, she took her new situation very seriously. Each day, Brice had to spend time teaching her Gaelic and Lisette was an avid learner. Already, she could have limited conversations with both Mungo and Murtagh who did not waste any time in teaching her the racier words and expressions.

  Louise stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was in the middle of preparing herself for dinner. A frown pleated her brow. She felt as if her breasts had grown in size since becoming Doogle’s wife in all but in name. She asked herself whether this was normal. However, her instincts told her that something was happening to her body. She could only guess that she was with child. She promised herself that she would ask her mother later that evening.

  She put the thought to the back of her mind. She glanced to the left. On the table next to her lay an elaborate gown – it was truly magnificent and worthy of a queen.

  The garment consisted of two interwoven ghitas made of brocaded silk long-cloth. One of the corset-like dresses was of a dark color that was nearly black and the other burgundy. The maroon garment was embroidered in gold in a design which included rose arbors among which appeared both wild animals and wild men. The darker of the two garments had a repeating pattern of circles, each enclosing a recumbent lion lying on golden leaves. Small ornaments cut or stamped out of thin gold and silver covered the clothing.

  The Black Prince had placed so many beautiful things at her disposal. There was everything from dresses to jewelry. At first, Louise had tried to dissuade the prince from this extravagance, but she had only gotten the response that she should never deny a prince his pleasure.

  Doogle was having fun seeing his betrothed looking like royalty. And Murtagh and Mungo constantly teased that she resembled a Sassenach lady. They tried to explain to her what the lady of the clan wore on special occasions. To be honest, Louise was not looking forward to the women’s clothing found in the Highlands. She imagined that nothing could come close to the beauty of the clothes in Bordeaux. To her, clan wear sounded archaic and bland.

  She took a moment to brush her wavy dark hair. She loved the way in which it had gained in volume. The changes were not only taking place in her breasts. She felt like a woman reborn.

  Alianor came to mind. She would miss the old woman who had always been her friend and the only person who understood the world she lived in. She had convinced Brice and Doogle that she needed to say her farewells the day after the feast. Brice had wanted to leave for Bordeaux immediately – he was eager to see his wife and children again after being parted from them for so much time.

  There were no tears, just advice and well-wishing from the witch. She reminded Louise that she was the one who told her that she would one day find love in the most unexpected of places – she had been right. Instead of marrying a simple peasant farmer, she would spend the rest of her life with the son of a Scottish laird. It was unbelievable.

  But something else the witch had said worried Louise. She had warned her that an evil presence in her life still lingered. It was a potent force, which Alianor had not been able to see clearly. The bad energy clung to Louise, and if she did not destroy it, her life was in jeopardy.

  “What evil still threatens me?” she asked herself in barely a whisper.

  This questio
n plagued her every day. It was at that very moment, she heard a shuffling sound behind her.

  She turned, but before she could scream, a calloused hand covered her mouth.

  “I have news,” said the prince seriously, as he strolled into the room.

  Brice looked up from the document he was reading. He sat in the main hall of the palace with Doogle.

  “What news?” he asked.

  “The Baron of Le Blanc has escaped.”

  “What!” shouted Doogle, getting to his feet.

  Brice calmed him with his hand. “When did this happen?”

  “I just received the missive from the head of my jails,” responded the prince.

  “I must go to Louise at once,” said Doogle, feeling a shiver of trepidation curl its way down his spine.

  “This palace is too heavily guarded. He would never attempt to come here. His presence would be considered an act of aggression against me. It would mean his immediate execution,” said the prince.

  “It was Gaston – he helped him,” said Brice with a deep frown creasing his brow.

  “That man is as slippery as an eel. It astounds me how he always manages to wiggle his way out of the noose. I am not waiting here. I need to see if Louise is all right,” said Doogle, storming in the direction of the double doors.

  “Do ye want me to come with ye, Brother?” asked Brice.

  Doogle waved his hand. “No, I am probably overreacting.”

  Brice sighed, but he did not make any attempt to follow his brother.

  The first thought that came to Doogle’s mind was what Louise had told him about Alianor’s premonition. At the time, he had laughed it off as silly hocus-pocus, but now, the witch’s forewarning came back to haunt him with a vengeance. He could not help but think that the woman he loved was in peril.

  It took him far longer than he wanted to make his way to their chamber. The halls in the palace were deserted. Sconces lining the walls provided light. However, the ambiance spoke of deep foreboding – something was not right.