The Forbidden Highlands

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Lilias gave a triumphant laugh as she knelt before him, gliding her hands down his abdomen toward his turgid length. Gripping him, she leaned forward and touched her tongue to the tip. He drew in a harsh breath, his hands sliding over her back and threading through her hair.

  Glancing up at him, she asked, “Is that all right?”

  “Perfect,” he ground out.

  With a triumphant grin, she licked him again, then took his length the rest of the way into her mouth. He tasted like salty silk on her tongue. But he only allowed her one tiny suck, before he wrenched her up and tossed her onto her back.

  “I need to have ye, love. I canna let our first time end like this. Look what ye do to me.” He gripped his wet shaft, hard and long.

  Lilias licked her lips, thrilling and craving more. “Then I did well?”

  “More than well.” He leaned over her, kissing her languidly, his thigh parting her legs and rubbing tantalizingly along her sex. “Are ye ready for me, love?”

  “Aye.” And she was, incredibly so. If he wanted to do this every night, she was more than willing to accommodate him.

  Dirk pressed gently forward, as she clung to him, toes curled. He thrust through the barrier of her maidenhead, the sharp pinch acute and startling her. She’d known there would be pain, but with all the bliss she’d felt up until this point, she’d not expected it to be so intense. Fully seated inside her, he gazed down at her.

  “Are ye all right?”

  Lilias blinked, nodded, biting her lip. The pain had been quick and was just as quickly fading. “The pain is easing,” she said, amazed.

  “Tell me if this hurts.” Dirk slid out, and then slowly thrust back in. His breathing was deep, measured, and she imagined if he allowed himself to pant like she was, that his carefully orchestrated control would snap.

  Lilias waited for the pain, but none came. Instead, that same pressure she’d felt when his mouth was on her core brushed its way up her thighs. Lifting her legs higher, Dirk slid one hand beneath her thigh, hitching it around his hip. She did the same on the other side, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  His pace was slow and gentle. Gliding in and out, kissing her mouth, her neck, her breasts.

  Aye, she’d been right… His lovemaking was much like his kisses. Infinitely full of pleasure and love. Intense and powerful. Amazing. Thrilling. She never wanted it to end.

  They rocked together, murmuring of their love and joy, and when the time came that no more sound but audible cries of pleasure came, they rode the waves together.

  Though a love between them had been forbidden, there was nothing that could separate them. Their love triumphed. Again and again. Theirs was a future foretold, but a love so great that no one could have predicted its power.

  Soon the battle would come back to Lilias and Dirk, but they would be triumphant. By the birth of their second child, the King of Norway would be dead, and his hold on Scotland relinquished.

  Through their line, the MacDougall Legacy would be unstoppable.

  The End

  If you enjoyed LAIRD OF TWILIGHT, please spread the word by leaving a review on the site where you purchased your copy, or a reader site such as Goodreads or Shelfari! I love to hear from readers, too, so drop me a line at authorelizaknight@gmail.com OR visit me on Facebook: facebook.com/elizaknightauthor. I’m also on Twitter: @ElizaKnight. If you’d like to receive my occasional newsletter, please sign up at www.elizaknight.com. Many thanks!

  About the Author

  Eliza Knight is an award-winning and USA Today bestselling indie author of over fifty sizzling historical romance and erotic romance. Under the name E. Knight, she pens rip-your-heart-out historical fiction. While not reading, writing or researching for her latest book, she chases after her three children. In her spare time (if there is such a thing…) she likes daydreaming, wine-tasting, traveling, hiking, staring at the stars, watching movies, shopping and visiting with family and friends. She lives atop a small mountain with her own knight in shining armor, three princesses and two very naughty puppies. Visit Eliza at www.elizaknight.comor her historical blog History Undressed: www.historyundressed.com

  Across a Windswept Isle

  Terri Brisbin

  Prologue

  Aros Castle, Isle of Mull

  September, In the Year of Our Lord 1490

  Death stalked a slow path through the village and keep of the Clan MacLean on the Isle of Mull. It took the young and the old, the weak and the strong, and the rich and the poor. It cared not if a life had been well- or ill-lived. It took and took until, satiated, it left as silently as it had arrived. Clan MacLean mourned the deaths of so many of its own.

  Lachlan MacLean surveyed the number of graves before him with a bit of shock and sadness. His mother and brother lay beneath a newly-strewn covering of dirt at his feet. His father, devastated in a way Lachlan had never seen, stared off into the misty hills that led away from their village. Lachlan swore that Dougal MacLean aged a score of years in just this last fortnight.

  Villagers, kith and kin drifted away after the priest finished his blessing. Lachlan turned to go. The rough hold stopped him.

  “Her father comes on the morrow. We will discuss the matter when he does.” His father nodded across the graves to tall, lithe Wynda MacLeod, his late brother’s betrothed.

  He’d completely forgotten about the young woman in the hurried arrangements for the many burials. Now, Lachlan noted that her calm, blue eyes stared over at the keep, unfocused as though in deep contemplation. When her eyes shifted and met his, the lack of grief in hers surprised him.

  “The matter?” The older man now clenched his arm harder and shook him. “Father, I canna. . . .”

  “Ye will do yer duty now that ye are my heir.”

  With those words, his father released him and strode to the keep, not glancing back at his living son, or the dead one, again. Lachlan understood the message and the warning in his father’s words. Everything had changed on the death of his brother.

  He must get word to Ailis before she heard it from someone else.

  Ailis MacKinnon believed they would marry. He had pledged his heart and honor to her. They had plans and had promised their lives to each other. They hoped that their fathers would eventually agree as a way to keep the peace, though neither would like the idea of linking their families. The MacKinnons were a thorn in the side of the MacLeans of Mull and had been for generations, so he and Ailis had made certain that few knew the true extent of their relationship.

  If his father wished to broker a marriage between his second son, and now heir, and The MacLeod’s daughter, Lachlan would be expected to disavow his promises to Ailis. If word got out that he’d broken faith with her, the tenuous peace between their families would shatter and make their clans enemies.

  But none of that was the worst thing about this. The worst was that he would be forced to marry another and break Ailis’ heart.

  Lachlan went into the keep and climbed the stone steps into the tower to his own chamber. He found some parchment and wrote the message that would bring her to their trysting place. He’d just handed it to a boy to take to her when Artair stepped in front of him.

  “Do ye think that is a good idea?” he asked, looking in the direction the servant had gone. Artair knew how they communicated secretly. . . and where they met.

  “She must hear it from me.”

  “So, ’tis a deal already done?” Artair asked.

  “The MacLeod comes on the morrow to make the arrangements. Father has decided that I will take my brother’s place and marry the MacLeod lass.”

  “Wynda.” So much anger infused the one word. Lachlan looked closely at his closest friend.

  “Have ye knowledge of the woman that I dinna have?” At his friend’s silence, he narrowed his gaze and asked again. “Is there aught I should ken, Artair?”

  “She had no liking for yer brother,” he muttered.

  “It matters not, the betrothal was made a
nd she agreed. As will this next one.”

  “Aye, it matters not,” Artair repeated. “Ye are the heir now.”

  Lachlan couldn’t understand why his friend’s words, nay the tone of his words, bothered him. Something swirled in the back of his thoughts, glimpses of gestures and looks exchanged between his friend and his brother’s betrothed. The truth struck him. He gasped at the recognition of it.

  “I would never betray ye, Lachlan. ’Tis done as of this moment.”

  Artair held out his hand, offering his word and solemn vow that he wouldn’t betray his trust and consort with the woman Lachlan would marry. Lachlan paused before accepting his friend’s hand. Artair was a man of his word. Artair was one of few men Lachlan would trust and had trusted with his life and safety.

  “I ken,” he said, clasping the man’s forearm with his hand. After a few seconds, he released his hold and stepped back.

  “When will ye see her?” Artair asked as they walked out of the keep and into the yard. Not many knew of the extent of his involvement with Ailis. They kept it quiet because of the tenuous situation between their families.

  “In the morn. Once The MacLeod is sighted, word will spread.” Lachlan nodded to the stables. “I have matters to arrange.”

  As he walked away, Artair spoke his name. Lachlan turned and saw a strange expression on his friend’s face.

  “She is not as she appears, Lachlan. She never was.”

  Did his friend speak of Wynda or of Ailis? Did he know something more after all? Before he could ask for an explanation, Artair walked away.

  The rest of the day passed in silence, his family still reeling from the deaths around them. Supper was a somber meal. Those living in the keep had little patience for idle or joyful chatter that night. Rest wouldn’t come to him, so he rose long before dawn to be on his way.

  He reached the cottage just as the sun broke the eastern horizon. There was no sign of Ailis, so he walked inside to wait. Smiling at the memories of this place and of her, Lachlan tugged open the wooden shutters to watch for her approach. When the sound of footsteps behind him interrupted his thoughts, he turned, thinking he’d missed her arrival.

  “Lachlan,” she said softly as he turned.

  That was the last thing he would remember.

  Chapter One

  Dun Ara Castle, Isle of Mull

  Eight months later

  Ailis MacKinnon sat at the table on the dais, waiting for her father’s words. From his ruddy face and the way he kept starting and stopping, he was angry. Davina threw furtive glances in her direction, as though asking for her help. Ailis snorted. Davina, her stepmother and former closest friend would rot in Hell before Ailis helped her.

  “Ye’re being willful, girl,” her father shouted. “Ye will accept this man!”

  Silence reigned over the entire hall as all gathered there waited for the next argument between the chieftain and his daughter. Ailis knew it. Her father prepared for it. Even Davina saw it coming. It was Davina’s voice that gave her father pause.

  “Husband,” she said, rising and walking to his side. “Mayhap we should discuss this in the solar?” Davina placed her hand on Ailis’ father’s arm. He took a breath, clearly considering his wife’s plea. For a moment, Ailis thought he might accept Davina’s suggestion but he shook off her hand and stomped his foot.

  “Nay, Wife,” he said, “’tis too late for a private word on this matter.”

  Davina startled at the sharpness of his tone and stepped back. Ailis watched as he grabbed Davina’s hand and tugged her closer to him. Tears burned in Ailis’ eyes as she watched, yet again, as her father softened for. . . her.

  Ailis wanted to run. She wanted to leave the table, leave the keep and even her father’s lands. Everything in her life had fallen apart. There was no way to put the pieces back together. Her friend was happy. Her father was happy. She was desolate and no one seemed to notice or care.

  “Ailis! Come here now!”

  She’d not realized she’d turned away until his call turned her back towards him. Lord Duncan MacNeil stood at her father’s side watching the drama unfold. As she walked around the table towards them, she saw neither anger nor any emotion on the old man’s face. If he was insulted by her refusal, she cared not. Pushing her hair over her shoulders, she stopped before her father and curtsied.

  She nodded at Lord Duncan, out of respect, truly. The poor man had no idea of what he’d agreed to in bringing his suit to her father. He likely believed his offer was a kind one for a nobleborn woman with such. . . deformities as she did. That thought made her tug the leather gloves higher onto her arms before she faced her father.

  “Lord Duncan is of good standing with his chieftain and his king. A marriage like this will benefit ye. Ye will accept his offer of marriage.”

  Ailis felt the eyes of those gathered moving from one to another as they watched this disagreement continue. A glance past her father revealed Davina’s concern. Ailis looked away from her.

  “I fear I canna.”

  The simple statement sent everyone into chaos. Shouts and whispers filled the air around them until her father waved his hand and everyone quieted.

  “Ye seem to think this is a request, Daughter. Mistake not my resolve that ye will marry Lord Duncan.”

  Ailis felt a small trickle of sweat run down her face and another on her back. Defying her father wasn’t an easy task, nor one she did lightly. But the thought of taking this man to husband when she had already promised herself to another was too hard, even if that man was now dead. Facing her father’s bluster wasn’t something she wished to do, even knowing he had promised her mother as she lay dying that he would never force their daughter to marry.

  “Father,” she began, lowering her head and her voice. “I canna and willna marry this man.”

  He reached out for her hands and realized his error before touching her. Instead, he lifted her chin with his finger to bring their gazes to meet.

  “Ye must marry, Ailis. Ye will marry Lord Duncan.”

  “Nay.”

  Instead of the reaction she expected of her father, that of any irate man when faced with a recalcitrant and defiant daughter, the one she witnessed startled her. His gaze narrowed, he glanced from her to the man involved before huffing out a loud breath and walking to the table. Even Davina was surprised. She met Ailis’ eyes and shrugged.

  Her father grabbed a goblet and filled it from the pitcher sitting there. He drank it down and filled it again. Turning to face them, he swallowed the contents in several mouthfuls and slammed the cup on the table. She jumped, Davina jumped and the rest gasped.

  “Ye willna marry Lord Duncan then?” She shook her head. “Fine.” He walked to her and stared at her, his gaze softening for so short a time she thought she’d not seen it happen. “I have labored under a promise, sworn as all of ye ken, to my late, sainted wife not to force our daughter to marry against her will. A man of honor, I have upheld that promise.”

  “Father—” she began. Mayhap she had pushed him too far? Glancing at Lord Duncan, she wondered if she should relent.

  “But even my beloved dead wife wouldna expect this behavior in her daughter.”

  Ailis gasped in shock and pain. Tears escaped before she could stop them. Her mother had passed before she had lost Lachlan. Her mother couldn’t have known how this would be for her. Or how hard it would be to watch her friend betray her and marry her father, fresh from her mother’s death. Now, ’twas clear that her father’s regard for her mother and the vow made was at an end.

  “My late wife would understand there has to be an end to this and a way to give ye into the care of a husband.” She heard Davina’s whispered pleas and saw her father brush her words off.

  “I will give ye a choice, Ailis,” her father said. “Consent to marry Lord Duncan now or ye will marry the man who next enters my keep.”

  She couldn’t help herself. She looked to doors of the keep across the chamber. Closed because of the
storm raging outside, ’twas almost as though everyone witnessing this expected the doors to crash open and a man to enter as if told beforehand to do so.

  After that did not happen, she turned back to face her father. Certain that, if given time, she’d find a way to change his mind on this declaration, Ailis decided to agree with his demand. Aye, there would be time to allow her stepmother to soothe his temper as she seemed to in times like this one.

  “I will marry the next man through the door, Father.”

  ’Twas her father’s turn to be surprised and his expression showed him so. Davina whispered out a warning, but Ailis would listen not. Ailis spoke her words louder so all could hear.

  “I will accept the next man through the door.”

  Would her father call her bluff or accept it? He stared for a long moment before nodding. Chances were that any man entering was someone in their clan and married already. Content that she would have more time to chip away at her father’s demands, she glanced at Lord Duncan.

  God bless him, the man appeared relieved at this development. Ailis didn’t doubt that the man, nigh on sixty years of age, was silently thanking the Almighty for saving him. When her father took Davina’s hand and led her back to table, Lord Duncan followed. Ailis returned to her seat and held up her cup to be filled by the servant. She’d barely settled on the wooden chair when one of the doors blew open with a bang. Ailis jumped to her feet and wondered if the fates had called her to task for her bold bluff.

  A form appeared there; tall, swaddled in layers of soaking plaid. She squinted across the smoky chamber, trying to determine who it was. Her father rose and called out.

  “Come ye inside!” he said to the stranger. “Come ye forward into the light and the warmth of my hall.”

  Her stomach roiled as the person walked slowly into the chamber. The gasps rippled as those closest got a better view of this man. All she could see was the plaid that covered his body and head. With the shadows thrown by the hearth and the lanterns around the hall, she could see little but his shape.