Bought By The Highlander (Scottish Highlander Romance)

by Kaley McCormick

  As much as he wanted to drive himself back into her tight warm body, he also wanted to show her that she could enjoy their union too. He had to brace himself and exert every bit of his self-control to take his time.

  His fingers teased and tickled her most private parts until she was gasping and writhing.

  “Dylan… what are you doing?”

  Victoria was baffled by the feelings that overwhelmed her senses. During the entire journey to Scotland, her mother and Abigail had tried to instruct and warn her about marital relations, but neither of them had ever mentioned that it would feel like this.

  “I’m taking care of you,” he smiled down at her confused and flushed face.

  “Of me? I thought, I thought it was supposed to be a, um, wifely duty to be with her husband.”

  He chuckled softly, “It is, so to speak, but there’s no reason it can’t be enjoyable for you as well.”

  “Ohhh…” she breathed softly.

  His fingers kept circling and rubbing, and the tingles got stronger. Her fingers clenched the sheet underneath them. The heat in her body had collected into her lower stomach and she thought it was going to burn her. Suddenly it all popped inside her, like the logs in a fireplace and she looked at Dylan with a mixture of surprise and pleasure on her face. Her back arched and he felt her muscles kiss his fingers as she gasped his name.

  He could not wait any longer and in one motion, he climbed on top of her and entered her slowly but firmly. She moaned softly and wrapped her hands around his neck. He looked down at her delicate face, illuminated by the fire in the fireplace and by a light from inside, and he kissed his bride. Her full pink lips parted for his tongue just as her body welcomed his cock.

  She felt so warm and slippery and tight around him that once again, he could not last and within a few strokes found himself releasing inside her with a low deep grunt. After he collapsed on top of her, she held him close to her body and tried to catch her breath.

  “Dylan, I could get used to this,” she murmured quietly into his ear.

  Her warm breath tickled and tempted his hips to keep moving, but he willed them to be still. He slid to one side and cupped her body into his, pulling the blanket back over them.

  “What would you like to do with the rest of your day?” he grinned down at her.

  She reached up and delicately brushed a stray curl from his forehead.

  “You tell me, my husband.”

  He rested his head next to hers on the pillow, and exhaled slowly.

  “Nothing but this.”

  Chapter Eight

  Over the next few weeks, winter crept up on the house, and the clansmen saw very little of Dylan or Victoria. They laughed at their own raunchy jokes about the newlyweds, but did not begrudge Dylan one moment of happiness or pleasure. The tiny blonde woman, when she did join them for meals or evening chats, had turned out to be quite the lively addition to the family, and had been accepted genuinely.

  One evening, the family was gathered by the large fireplace in the dining hall after dinner when Dylan and Victoria strolled into the room.

  “Aye, taking a break, are we?”

  Dylan smirked in the speaker’s direction, “You should be so lucky as to find a bride as enthusiastic.”

  Victoria laughed along with the crowd, growing more accustomed to their off-color jokes, and learning to like their easy banter and welcoming warmth.

  “My husband made me hungry, that’s all,” she taunted back.

  The house servant in the corner of the room scurried off to make two plates for the estate owner and his wife. She returned quickly with bowls of potato soup and plates of smoked ham and sliced cheese.

  The men chuckled as Victoria inhaled the food, “This girl will eat us into the poorhouse, my good fellow.”

  “I like a girl with an appetite, as long as the appetite always includes me.”

  Dylan pulled Victoria on top his lap and roughly kissed her lips, eliciting a moan only he could hear. And despite their lovemaking from just an hour ago, he felt that stirring in his groin that she seemed to relish. Under the cover of her skirts, she wriggled her hips a little against him and he nipped her lower lip between his teeth.

  She knew exactly what they would be doing back in their bedroom shortly, but first she wanted to enjoy the company of her new family. Two of the men nudged each other, and one dashed off only to return with a platter full of tiny cups brimming with amber liquid.

  “Time to show her what being a Scot is really about,” they grinned at the group conspiratorially.

  She eyed the platter suspiciously but looked to her husband, who was chuckling along with the group.

  Each person received their own tiny cup and as Victoria sniffed hers, she sneezed. The group laughed and Dylan patted her knee as she stayed on his lap. The men gulped the liquid down all in one swallow, but Dylan urged her to just sip it.

  Victoria took a small sip and coughed loudly as the liquid burned her throat.

  “You Scots are trying to kill me!” she wheezed.

  The group fell about themselves laughing and slapping Dylan’s shoulders.

  “That’s some good Scotch,” Dylan laughed. “You’ll get used to it. Try exhaling before you sip.”

  She tried once more, convinced her husband was in on the murder plot, but she exhaled as she sipped and it was a much different experience. This time, the heat warmed her throat and filled her belly and she beamed proudly at the group.

  “That’sa girl,” Dylan grinned, sliding his arm around her slim waist.

  After about a third of her glass was gone, she looked up to find the room spinning and the fire seemed to be expanding out of the hearth.

  “I think I’ve had enough,” she whispered loudly into Dylan’s ear.

  “That’s my cue, boys,” he crowed and scooped his wife up in his arms. “See you in the morning!”

  As he strode up the staircase with his tipsy wife in his arms, he bent down and kissed her firmly. She sighed softly and leaned into his embrace.

  “Dylan? Can we again?”

  He kissed her harder in response and quickened his steps to their bedroom.

  Their clothing came off in a flurry of cotton and they both snuggled under the quilt quickly. Dylan’s hands roamed freely over her skin and she arched towards his body. The heat from the Scotch already made her body warm from the inside, and his rough hands only enflamed her desire.

  In her tipsiness, she offered a confession to Dylan. “I was scared to come marry you, you know.”

  His teeth nipped her neck as his fingers teased her tight rosebud nipples.

  “Scared of little ol’ me?” he chuckled as he raked his nails lightly down her tummy.

  “You aren’t little at all, you’re enormoush!” she proclaimed, slurring slightly.

  “What every man has always longed to hear,” he basked in her unintended compliment.

  In one smooth motion, Dylan lay down on his back and pulled his beautiful naked wife on top of him. She braced her palms against his broad chest and sat up to look down at him.

  “We can do it like this?” Her voice was husky as she winked at him.

  “I’ll show you...”

  He reached up to cover her full breasts with his palms, and slid his hands down over her waist to rest on her hips. He carefully guided her up into the air slightly, and then with a shift of his hips, he brought her back down on top of him.

  As her body slid down to envelop his hard cock, she gasped and moaned, letting her head fall back and her eyes drift closed. He held her down against himself and drove his hips up. Her body fit him like a velvet glove and he slid himself back out only to hurry back in. Over and over, his arm muscles twitched as he guided her petite frame up and down his cock until she let out a long low wail and shuddered on top of him. He grunted deep in his chest and released into her. She could feel each twitch and spurt and her own body seemed to absorb each motion and every drop.

  She finally collapse
d on top of him, panting for breath and grinning in the dark.

  “The rest of my life? Right here?”

  “If you can handle it…” he smiled into her unruly blonde curls.

  He cradled her next to his warm body as they drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  As it always does, eventually the spring sunshine chased away the winter’s snow and cold and gloom. Victoria reveled in the Scottish countryside as it started to turn green and the little blossoms popped out on the trees and bushes.

  Abigail was more and more attentive, and Victoria was becoming annoyed. She was starting to feel like the petulant little girl that she had finally left behind. Have you written your parents? It was the same conversation every time. Not yet, there will be time, and I will see them beforehand.

  Dylan spent his evenings parading around the dining hall, virtually patting himself on the back. Victoria would simply roll her eyes and reach for another piece of bread. She knew that eventually her father would make his way to Dylan’s castle to discuss the spring and summer trade, and she hoped her mother would join him on the trip.

  By mid-April, the vegetable garden was well underway and the fields seemed thick with tiny baby lambs. Victoria loved to put on her oldest house dress and chase them through the meadows until Abigail hollered for her to stop.

  One morning, Victoria was getting ready in her room and Dylan stopped by after checking something with the horses.

  She sat at her vanity, her dressing gown clinging to her damp body and her blonde hair hanging in a wet curtain down her back.

  “Excuse us,” he muttered gruffly to Abigail.

  She rolled her eyes and left the room in a huff.

  “Better and better each time I see you,” he murmured against her neck.

  Victoria giggled, “When do we have to stop?”

  “Never!” he crowed.

  She took his large hands and rested them on her swollen belly.

  “We’ll have to stop sometime. You’ll dent his head with the way you take me.”

  He slid his hands up to her ripe breasts and groaned softly.

  “Sometime, but not today.”

  An hour later, Victoria was still not dressed and now her freshly washed hair was a frightful mess but her cheeks glowed a happy pink.

  “Dylan, I look like a vagabond! My parents will be here by supper!”

  He sat her up in front of him and leaned over to pick up her silver hair brush. Softly and gently, he started combing it down her back until it fell into the soft waves that ticked his bare chest.

  “Now Abigail can fix it up,” he smiled down at her face as she turned to wink at him.

  Abigail returned when Dylan left and was able to braid Victoria’s hair down her back with relative ease.

  While Dylan headed downstairs to meet the arriving caravan, Abigail helped Victoria dress for seeing her parents. As Victoria rested in one of the large chairs with her eyes closed, she heard a loud gasp from the doorway.

  When she opened her eyes and looked, her mother Lydia was rushing towards her as she struggled to stand.

  “Oh m’dear! Look at you! I had no idea!”

  Victoria beamed, “We just kept trying and trying, and it finally worked.”

  Lydia’s cheeks flushed pink and she giggled.

  When Victoria and her mother strolled down the staircase, Andrew looked up with a start at his swollen expectant daughter.

  “Someday, father dear, your estate will all be owned by this proud Scotsman here,” she pronounced proudly as she patted her tummy.

  THE END

  Please enjoy this free collection as a gift for reading!

  Surrendering to the Scots

  A Scottish Romance

  By: Kaley McCormick

  Seized by the Highlander

  Chapter One

  Elizabeth’s crinoline skirts rustled as they swept against the blades of grass that peeked through the cobblestone path. The shops seemed more crowded than normal as she made her way from one to the next. It was her maidservant’s day off but there were still things that the household needed. Her husband, Henry, would not be pleased if his whiskey was not available at the end of the day, and the cook needed a few things for dinner. Elizabeth would not want to be home if Henry were deprived of his food or his beverage. Her cheek still smarted from upsetting him the night before, by not refilling his mug quickly enough.

  She smiled at the shopkeeper as he wrapped up the cheese, pickles and sweet jam. Apparently Henry’s reputation preceded him, and with a small nod, the shopkeeper also added a bottle of whiskey to the brown paper package before tying up the white twine.

  He offered to add the purchases to the family’s shop credit and she agreed. Henry never allowed her to carry any money and the shops all seemed to place good faith on his abilities to pay the bills.

  With the package tucked into the wicker basket she carried in the crook of her elbow, she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and headed back into the streets. The summer was waning and the air carried the autumn chill. She welcomed the relief from the heat of the earlier months, but knew she should start preparing the house for winter.

  She made a mental list of tasks as she made her way back to the estate. The wind tickled at the nape of her neck and tried to steal loose tendrils from her coifed blonde curls. The walk was not short, but she enjoyed the chance to get out of her drafty old stone estate. It seemed to trap the heat in July and the cold in January, and never felt quite comfortable at any time of year. And while the shopping could have been done by the servants, she liked having an excuse to wander about town. She knew better than to spend too much money at any of the stores, but it was a pleasant afternoon to window shop. Henry constantly chided her for not taking the carriage into town, but she almost always took the trip by foot.

  Henry was well-known in the area as the region’s largest landowner so most of the shopkeepers were overly attentive to her needs. They would fetch her a cup of tea, provide her a chair to rest, and even wrap packages extra carefully when she did decide to buy something.

  When she arrived home, the cook whisked the package away from her and set a pot of tea on the stove to heat.

  “Would you like something to eat ma’am?” the cook offered.

  “Yes, Olivia, that would be lovely. I know that dinner is not far off, but I’m not certain I will make it that long.” She smiled gently at the older woman and settled into a chair at the servants’ table in the kitchen. Her blue eyes twinkled since she knew that she would shortly be enjoying some of the sharp cheddar cheese that she had just purchased.

  “Ma’am, I am happy to bring it to your room if you like.”

  “No, I should prefer to sit here in the warm kitchen with your company, if that’s alright.”

  Olivia smiled and nodded. “But of course, Ma’am.”

  She poured the tea into an elegant china mug and cut off pieces of homemade bread and the fresh cheese as a snack. While Elizabeth sipped and nibbled, they discussed the changes in the weather as Olivia started to prepare their dinner.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Olivia watched the delicate young woman and shook her head slightly. She could not understand Elizabeth’s choice to marry her boss. He was a gray-haired, flabby, pig-headed drunkard who constantly yelled at everyone in the household. And Elizabeth seemed to take the brunt of it. They had been married almost two years now, and despite his every effort to force her, she had yet to produce an heir for his estate.

  Olivia smirked to herself as an errant thought crept through her head. Perhaps Elizabeth’s body was rejecting Henry in a way that she could not. The cook was certain that it had been an arranged marriage. Elizabeth’s father had been the banker in town, and thusly had his choice of suitors when Elizabeth came of age. The wealthiest landowner in the area was an obvious choice on paper, and it was not allowed for the young lady to question the agreement that had been made. They had both been brought up in the proper British envir
onments, and the arrangement did make sense on paper.

  By the time Henry had returned from his meeting with the other landowners, Olivia had the dinner prepared. They dined on more of the same bread and cheese, along with slices of smoked ham, fresh green onions and ripe tomatoes from the vegetable garden, tart pickles, and slices of crisp apple from the grove down by the pond.

  After they finished, Henry retired to his study with the bottle of whiskey. Elizabeth went to her bedroom to light her fireplace, and to cross stitch before retiring for the evening. She just hoped he would succumb to the effects of the alcohol before he wanted to try yet again in his heavy-handed, demanding way for a son.

  Chapter Two

  William grinned as the wind ruffled his shaggy dark hair and he squinted his brown eyes against the sun. His horse, King, huffed at the dust in the air and pawed at the ground between the trees where they waited.

  The tall, broad-shouldered man ran his hand down the horse’s whither and admired the well-muscled animal. He had always been a good companion and a faithful friend, even when William would talk his ear off with all sorts of random mutterings about the state of the countrymen he encountered.

  William pitied the working man as he strained his back in fields that did not even belong to him, and he detested the nobleman who cracked the whip over that back. He much preferred his life, not that it was ever much of a choice, but he could not imagine answering to either master—the field that demanded so much or the landowner who demanded even more. Some would envy him his freedom, but some would pity him for his lack of roots.

  His band of friends would be meeting up soon, in the clearing just on the other side of the pond, and he knew he should get going. But he did love these fall days, when the sun was still warm but the wind had started to whisper of the winter chill. He did hope that one of the men had found some food that day, because the rumbling in his stomach was starting to irritate him.

  He mounted the horse and urged him into a walk. He loved to tell people that he had named the horse King, so that he would always be in the company of royalty wherever he went. They were planning an outing for some time in the next few days, and he was looking forward to the adventure and hopefully the spoils of their personal private war. He liked to think that they were raging against the heavy-handed nobility, but some of their group simply did it for the fight and the gold.