by Sky Winters
He laughed heartily.
“I like a woman who takes care of herself,” he said, and I put my arms around him, toying with his soft hair. He looked down into my eyes and my breath caught in my throat. I knew I was ready for him now.
I tilted my chin up, this time not in indignance but to kiss him. He met my mouth greedily, and I sighed in pleasure as his hot tongue brought me an unexpected taste of rapture. I kissed back passionately and rested my hand on the bulge of his kilt, stroking it curiously. I could tell he was surprised by my boldness.
“Are you sure this is what you want? We are not yet wed,” he whispered, pulling me on top of himself and pressing my middle against the hard, urgent testament to his longing.
I felt a rush between my legs and nodded. I could feel his every movement beneath the fabric of his kilt as he began to strip me of my dress, revealing my pale breasts and lean stomach. Soon, the only thing separating us was a thin barrier of cloth. I moaned as he easily bypassed it, pressing his hot flesh against me, halting at a bunched area of damp fabric between my own legs. He slid himself against it without moving the fabric. I closed my eyes, gasping as tendrils of pleasure wound their way around me.
He sat up, his rippling muscles flexed and glimmering in the soft glow of the fire light. His strong hands found their way to my waist and lifted me, moving the bunched fabric out of his way and using his large fingers to knead soft bursts of bliss from me. He pulled them away and examined the way they shimmered in the fire light before giving me a wolfish grin.
It seemed greedy to want more than that, so I was surprised when my gratification only deepened. He closed his vibrant eyes and pushed his rod gently against my opening, until he was partially inside. The foreign feeling of a man's phallus against me was jarring at first, but he began expertly pleasuring me as he slid further and further inside. He went with excruciating slowness, awakening my appetite until even the whole of him didn't feel like enough.
The pleading in my eyes elicited a smile from him, and he gently lifted me from himself and laid me down on the tartan cloth I had been cloaked in. He fussed over me until I was comfortable, and then, with an expression of pure revelry, pushed his engorged manhood deeply inside of me. I cried out in surprise and in gratification. Never had I felt better than in that moment. He thrust again and again, indulging every wave of my satisfaction.
I could see the enjoyment on his face, and I felt a shudder inside of me as his eyes roamed my naked body.
“You're perfect,” he said with a low growl, and unleashed an animalistic fervor within me. We moaned together until suddenly it felt as if I were being lifted straight out of my body by a burst of ecstasy. My hips buckled against his and I cried out fervently. He uttered a low moan as I squeezed him, until suddenly I was flooded with a hot rush of liquid that elevated my climax. He gripped my legs tightly, grimacing in pleasure up at the moon until the gushing of his seed subsided.
He lay next to me, entwining my hand in his and examining our hands together in the moonlight. I curled my body into him and we lay like that for as long as I could stand before I was shivering with the cold. I dressed slowly as he watched, lounging immodestly on the tartan, his expelled member resting against his leg and glistening in the firelight.
“Are you ready then?” he asked me, his eyes intent.
“Ready for what?” I asked, thinking with some surprise that he already wanted to have another go with me on the tartan.
“To marry me?” he asked, his warm lips curled into a grin.
I opened my mouth and closed it again, unable to find the right words. Instead, I made my way over to him and knelt with my hands around his broad shoulders.
“Yes,” I whispered into his ear. We hugged, and he held me tightly. I was ready to embrace my new home and a completely different way of life.
Epilogue
It had been six months since I first arrived with the highlanders. Lord Lachlan and I were bound in union for a month. We'd had a very Gaelic wedding ceremony in the mountains, with the fresh air blowing our hair out toward the wind. I could feel Kain there, blessing us with his spirit. Lord Lachlan had a great hand in convincing me that he had never left me at all, not the way I thought he had. It brought me a great sense of peace, and knowing that my twin and his little pup were attending my wedding was the best gift I could ever have received.
At least, that's what I thought until I noticed with some concern that I hadn't bled since a frisky romp my husband and I had a few months ago, near the spring where we had first shared a kiss. I came to him with the news and his entire face lit up.
“You do realize what this means, don't you, Bethia?” he asked me, picking me up and spinning me around his tent.
“I don't...” I said, my eyebrows furrowed. Although I was a woman, my own body's workings were still quite mysterious to me. Nobody in the lowlands thought it was proper to teach a woman how she worked. I was impressed and surprised by the frankness the highland women shared with their young, bare-footed children about the way nature worked. In my native home it was shameful, but here it was a natural and accepted aspect of life.
“You're with child, love! It is a day to celebrate!” he exclaimed. “You're having my children!”
“Your...you mean we're starting a family? Already?” I asked, laughing in disbelief as he continued to dance with me. I let him spin me round in his strong arms.
“Yes! Our legacy shall continue.”
I held him still for a moment, tears in my eyes.
“I think it's twins,” I whispered.
He knew the significance to me and held me close.
“They'll be the most well-loved pups in all the world,” he said softly.
We held each other, both lost in thought. Our future was in my belly right that moment, and we couldn't have been happier.
The End.
Book 4: Clan of The Cave Wolf
Chapter 1
A group of men thundered by on horses as Lady Catriona emerged from her tent. The animals’ hooves tore up the ground, tossing clumps of mud and grass across the encampment. In the lead was Lord Hector - Catriona’s husband. They rode into camp, throwing up whoops and hollers, having captured a single Highland rebel. Hector turned his horse ‘round and kicked it towards his wife.
“What do you think of our game, my love?” He asked loudly, to put on a show.
Catriona suppressed a curl of her lip and raised her chin. “It is very grand, my Lord.”
The Lord barked in amusement. “This mangy cur?” He spat on the ground, “first time he’s ever been called grand, I’m sure.”
The other men joined in with their own thick laughter. Jeering at the man they held captive - though the prisoner’s face remained still, distant. Catriona bowed her head, quitting the conversation without further comment. Her husband spurred his horse and returned to his task. Looking up, Catriona took a brief glance at the stranger. Mangy cur was not the phrase she would choose to describe him. The man held his head high, and his shoulders straight - despite the harsh pull of the rope around his wrists. His body was well toned, muscles taught - there was an animal-like quality about him to be sure. But not one of weakness or frenzy. He was strong and lean - and his presence couldn’t help but remind Catriona of what her life might have been, had Hector not chosen her as a bride.
The captive turned his head, meeting Catriona’s gaze before he was dragged from her sight. His eyes were piercing even from a distance - and they made Catriona shiver. Before she could blink, he was already gone - spirited away to another part of camp, to be bound and ridiculed. Her husband out of sight, Catriona did little to hide the disgust on her face. Life had turned out so much differently than she had once expected as a young girl. Marriage to Lord Hector seemed the only practical choice at the time - he would provide security and wealth in a time when the Scottish lands were in uncertain upheaval. The Highlanders were fighting back against the Englishmen who continuously stole their land and enforced
their rule. In truth, Catriona had been lucky to catch Hector’s eye. Instead of leaving her to be taken by the men of his camp, he instead took her aside to woo for himself. With this, Catriona ensured the safety of her own family - if not those of her former village.
The first year or so was easy - she was still in Hector’s good favor. He doted upon her and showed her off as frequently as possible. But soon the question of a child became an issue. Hector hadn’t the gall to force himself upon her, but the few times Catriona did allow him into her bed, it was cold and unpleasant. His sweet words quickly turned into admonishments and strings of hateful whispers into her ear. She had never suspected Hector a kind man, but the strength of his cruelty was sharp. While he still played the part around his men, or men and women of the court, Catriona dreaded being left alone by his side. Over the course of a few years, Catriona had become attuned to her husband’s moods, his movements. She knew when a strike would come, when he was merely yelling, or when he would destroy the room to intimidate her. To confront Lord Hector directly…Catriona couldn’t be truly sure of the outcome. That is why she decided to make a fool of him behind his back. To make him small in the eyes of his men. She would free the Highland rebel that night.
Chapter 2
The camp was subdued, as the moon’s wavering light drifted through the clouds. Catriona had feigned illness to her husband - claiming the constant travel was doing her no good.
Hector had scoffed, “and I thought you Scottish women were supposed to be hardy. Should have chosen a girl with better constitution.” But he let her be, more inclined to join the men in their drinking and rabble-rousing than interrogate his wife.
When the sounds of their revels died down, Catriona crept carefully and silently from the back of her tent. Her long black hair was held back in a tight bun as she snuck through the darkness - she didn’t want it hindering her in any way. In her boot was a small knife - it once belonged to her father, mainly used to gut fish. But tonight, she would use it to cut the stranger’s restraints…and perhaps bequeath it to him. Catriona realized the man would have been stripped of his own weapons, and if she were going to give him half a chance, this was the best she could do. She comforted herself in the loss of such a dear item with the thought that her father would have done the same. Across the camp sat a small tent, separated from the others and guarded by a single man. Judging by his absent stare and poorly stifled yawns, he would be easy enough to creep by. As long as the captive inside let up no alarm as she entered.
Crouching, balancing on the balls of her feet and her fingertips, Catriona couldn’t help but smirk. Crawling about in the mud. This certainly wasn’t the image Lord Hector had in mind for his bride, she was sure. Taking a long arc around to the back of the prisoner’s tent, Catriona sliced herself an entrance with the small knife. It was duller than she expected and took a few moments to truly cut a hole big enough for her. She hoped the rebel captive would remain quiet until she was finished.
Poking her head in at last, she came face to face with the man. He was sitting, hands tied to the wooden pole behind his back. He wore a ragged shirt, with no sign of buttons or string, and a heavy kilt tied about his waist. His boots were leather, battered by unknown years of mud and travel. The man’s head was tilted, his amber eyes sparkling with bewildered amusement.
“Hello,” he whispered, “is this meant to be a rescue - or are you simply redecorating?”
Catriona blinked, taken aback by the unexpected quip. Her cheeks flushed, a slight indignation brewing beneath her skin.
“I beg your pardon?” She uttered as quietly as possible, while still maintaining an air of offended dignity.
The man chuckled under his breath. “Forgive me. I was trying to think of something clever to say all that while, and that was the best I could muster - under the circumstances.”
He shrugged, tugging lightly at his restraints. Catriona hesitated only a moment more, bemused by the stranger’s odd nature. She shuffled into the tent and knelt on the other side of the pole.
“Well, you’ll have more time to think of something better,” she slipped the knife between the man’s hands and began to saw at the rope. “I still need to cut through these.”
“Saints preserve us, let’s pray you finish before sun up.” His voice was light, joking more than disparaging.
Catriona shook her head silently. She had envisioned their first encounter many times before nightfall - expecting the man to be stoic, noble, and certainly more grateful than this. But here he was teasing her, jesting. It was odd, however…somehow this did not feel out of place. It was as if the two of them had known each other long before this moment. As if two good friends were finally reuniting.
“What’s your name?” The man broke into her thoughts. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder to get a glimpse of his savior.
“Lady Catriona,” she replied quickly. “And you?”
“My name is Conall,” he began - then a thought seemed to strike him, “wait a moment…Lady?”
He attempted to twist himself around even more, but Catriona kept her focus on the ropes and the movement of her knife.
“Lady?” Conall repeated, keeping his voice low despite the curiosity in him.
“Yes.” Catriona said simply.
“As in the Lady married to our lovely Lord Hector?”
Catriona could feel her cheeks growing hot again. She had also envisioned leaving her husband unmentioned that night - but so accustomed to Hector’s own flaunting of the title, she let Lady slip. Her eyes flitted up for a moment to look at Conall’s face. Instead of the resentful scowl she had expected, his face sat in a playful grin.
“I fail to see the humor of the situation,” Catriona muttered. The ropes were finally beginning to fray. A few minutes more and the man would be free.
Conall laughed out loud involuntarily - but quickly caught himself, turning the laugh into an awkward cough before trailing off. The two of them sat frozen for a moment, listening for the sounds of the guard outside - he appeared to be unperturbed by the noise. Catriona cut with more ferocity.
“It’s brilliant though, isn’t it? The man’s own wife freeing a Highland rebel? I only wish I were his wife, so I could pull off something so dastardly.”
Catriona choked, only just managing to hide her own laughter. “Excuse me?” She asked through stifled giggles.
“Well, I mean,” Conall shrugged, “not literally of course…”
Finally, the last of the rope gave way and Conall’s wrists were free. He stretched his arms, bringing them around and massaging the life back into his hands. Catriona sat back on her heels, watching him - his hands were rough, broad. And yet she imagined they were much warmer than her husband’s.
“Shall we be off?” Once again, Conall interrupted her thoughts.
Catriona looked up, startled. “We?”
Conall nodded. “I can’t imagine you entered this tent and freed me because you like your husband.”
Catriona didn’t reply right away. Despite the hatred she held for her husband, despite the risk she had decided to take, despite everything, she hadn’t, in fact, imagined herself leaving. In Catriona’s mind, it wasn’t even possible - how could it be? When he had held her with such a deadly grip all these years. But now, on this quiet night, suddenly freedom was before her - staring at her with earnest, amber eyes.
“I’m afraid the longer we delay -.”
“Yes.” Catriona answered abruptly, causing Conall’s face to break into another grin.
He took her hand. “Then off we go, my Lady. And I promise, since you have done me the honor of saving my own life, I will do everything in my power to protect yours.”
Now this was the sort of noble behavior Catriona had hoped for. And she was right, the man’s hands were incredibly warm, and softer than they looked. Another moment and the tent was empty, save for the tattered ropes - and Catriona’s knife. She had not noticed it slip from her hands before they disappeared.
Chapter 3
Morning was grasping its way up the horizon as Catriona and Conall rode toward his home. When they had snuck their way out of Hector’s camp, Conall suggested they would have better luck on horseback. In truth, Catriona didn’t believe they would be able to get away without raising suspicion and alarm - but as she watched from the shadows, Conall treaded the ground so lightly, that she began to wonder if he were more specter than man. As the two of them rode together, however, Catriona felt the weight of Conall’s arms around her, holding the reigns. Perhaps it was the cold wind, or the dawning realization that soon Hector may be nothing more than a bitter memory - but Catriona’s heart hammered in her chest like a war drum, dizzying her senses. In the distance, the mountains loomed and grew taller as they approached.
Conall gestured. “We should be there within another hour or so, my people reside within the mountains - to keep out of sight.”
He added this last comment, as if he already sensed the question on Catriona’s lips. Catriona only nodded. Within the mountains… Conall and his people must have once lived in a village of their own, on land of their own. Her expression hardened - it was men like Hector who were driving these people out, bending them to English rule or otherwise erasing them from the countryside. A sharp ire grew in the back of her throat. She had traded her countrymen for her own safety, sitting idle for years as Hector lead her from encampment to encampment to drive out the Highland rebels. She shook her head - but this was the last of it. The sun was rising on a new day for Catriona and she refused to turn back now.
Conall pulled up on the reigns gently and guided the horse to a slow trot. They had reached the base of the mountains. Here, Conall slid from the saddle.
“I’ll lead us towards the caves - it will be easier to lead the horse on foot.”
“Then I’ll join you, there’s no reason I should ride up here like some sort of noblewoman anymore,” Catriona offered, already moving to jump down.