Secrets to Seducing a Scot

by Michelle Marcos

  When her nails released him, he moved. Slow, steady thrusts at first, stoking the fire that had sputtered when the pain of penetration left her winded. But when that fire blazed to life again, it began to burn her up, and only Malcolm could extinguish it for her.

  He kissed her mouth, his tongue dancing upon her own, and she moaned at the double penetration. His thrusts became shorter, faster, and she gasped for air. She was one long sleeve for his penis. Her body rocked upon the bed, the headboard banging against the wall. She thrashed upon the bed, crying his name and gasping for release. The invisible thread that held her control in check stretched tauter and tauter, until finally it snapped and pleasure exploded through her body.

  Involuntarily, her body squeezed upon his still-erect member, organically pumping upon his penis to draw in his seed. When the fog cleared, she found him staring at her in seductive amusement.

  “That’s the look I wanted to see.”

  “Oh, Malcolm,” she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I love you so much.”

  He smiled. “Come. I’ll give ye a chance to love me again.”

  Her legs slid down his sides, and he sat upon his haunches, taking her with him. Now she was seated upon his member, supported by his hands clasped under her bottom. Her hips were unaccustomed to the rocking motion, so Malcolm helped her move upon him. Her breasts bounced over the shredded bodice, giving him something to kiss while she thrust herself upon his shaft. Though her need had been sated, she found the movement upon him to be very stimulating. But she wanted to watch his expression as her body accelerated his pleasure. He closed his eyes, a deep moan rumbling in his massive chest. Her arms upon his wide shoulders steadied her as she sped up her movements, creasing his brow. As he begged for his release, Serena exulted in the feeling of power over his unresisting body. She stroked the hair at the back of his neck, something she knew brought him pleasure, and watched as his orgasm hastened. Suddenly every muscle in his body tightened, bringing them more snugly together, and his body shuddered in a lightning flash of passion.

  She accepted inside her all he had to give. As his last shiver died away, she stroked his face. And when he opened his eyes, she grinned at him.

  “You’re a passionate animal, Malcolm MacAslan.”

  “So we’re fairly matched, then.”

  “It would appear so.”

  “But now, this animal needs a wee rest.” He threw himself on the bed, basking in the glow of the moment. “Come lay beside me.”

  She rested her head on the pillow of his bicep, watching his handsome face. He was a great lion of a man, able to scatter lesser men from his path with just a low growl. But Serena Marsh could bring him low with just an expression of love.

  They lay together for some time, his mighty arm wrapped around her head and her foot stroking the inside of his leg.

  He turned to her, the sheen on his pink lips returning as he smiled at her. “Let’s do this properly.”

  “Properly?” she asked, bewildered. “I’m no expert, but I thought we did this fairly well.”

  He smiled broadly. “Wait here.”

  He sat on the side of her bed and began to remove his shoes and stockings. From her vantage point, Serena watched his back in motion. Light and shadow danced upon the muscled V, outlining every unexplored crevice and ridge. He stood up and unbuckled the small leather strap that held his kilt to his narrow waist. The garment slipped to the floor, revealing a pelt of hair above his penis. Its skin was darker than the rest of him, but smooth all the way to the rounded knob. It rested upon his sac, which to Serena’s amusement resembled two eggs in a dark nest. It was naughty and unladylike to regard him so brazenly, but she wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

  The servants had left a decanter of wine and some fruit on her tea table. She watched his backside as he padded to her morning room to pour out two glasses. What a beautiful bottom it was, to be sure. Twin squares of muscle perched atop two long thighs, each dented at the hip. Damn that kilt for hiding such a gorgeous feature.

  Taking her cue from him, she got off the bed, holding the ends of her wedding dress together at her bosom.

  “Where are ye going?” he asked.

  “To change into my nightgown.”

  Gripping her wrist, he spun her in the opposite direction. “Ye won’t be needing that. Come with me.”

  He handed her a glass and took a swallow from his before setting it on her night table. He spun her around and began to undo the hooks at the back of the dress.

  “I certainly made a mess of that,” he said, tossing the tattered garment onto her chair. He looked at the remains of her torn muslin shift. “And that.”

  He raised the shift over her head. She met him with a kiss. Their naked bodies touched, lips on lips, skin against skin.

  His callused hand rubbed her back. It was scratchy but manly, as was the hair that touched her tummy. He was so delightfully masculine, so ruggedly male, that it called to something naturally female within her.

  His hand went to the side of her breast and cupped its heaviness, making her nipples bloom at his touch. The hand then traveled up the side of her face and pulled at the pins holding her chignon in place. One by one, tendrils of blond hair cascaded down her shoulders. He lifted a handful of it onto the back of his hand, and kissed it tenderly.

  He threw off the twisted bedcovering, revealing the soft sheets. He bent over, scooped her up, and laid her gently on the bed. He feasted his eyes upon her naked body, and she could almost feel his dark gaze upon her breasts, tummy, and muff. He pulled off her heeled slippers, and one after the other gave the soles of her feet and toes a gentle rub. A grin spread across her face at the relaxing ministration.

  The white silk stockings were the last remaining garment. He sat next to her on the bed and tried to unfasten her garters. But they proved tricky to remove, thwarting his best efforts. She struggled to keep from giggling as he pulled on the pink strands. Finally, he got one off and in a fit of pique, threw it across the room.

  She chuckled behind her clenched fist. Slowly, he unrolled her stocking, exposing the sensitive skin to the air. With the tips of his splayed fingers, he contoured a path down her leg from upper thigh to ankle. By the time he got to the other leg, the heat had already begun to pool inside her.

  With the backs of his fingers, he trailed a path down the very center of her body. The tiny blond hairs all along her core quivered at the tender touch. Her skin demurred from the passing fingers, unaccustomed to their intimacy. Wordlessly, he bent over upon her chest and placed a hot kiss upon her right aureole.

  She inhaled sharply at the sensation. It felt as if he was breathing fire upon her already tight nipple. Even so, she lifted the soft breast higher into his sensuous mouth.

  When he moved to the left one, a moan escaped her lax mouth. His palm smoothed a trail down her waist and covered the soft fur between her legs. The sensation stimulated her desire to be entered, and she relaxed her legs.

  But he ignored the invitation. Instead, he traced each rib and slope of her hips, studying her, learning her shape and contours. His fingers passed through the sensitive valley between her chest and arm, and the skin alongside her bent elbow, taking careful note of her shudders. Her breathing started to come shallower and more uneven, at once enjoying his touch and wanting the sweet torture to end.

  “Turn over,” he said, his voice a low whisper.

  She did as he said. His hands lifted the blond tresses over her head, exposing her nape. His head descended and she felt his torturous mouth on the back of her neck. She moaned pitiably, delighting in the ravishing sensation. Something impeded his sumptuous mouth … it was the strand of pearls that still clung to her neck. How she wished they would disappear!

  Malcolm climbed over her on all fours. The heat from his body wrapped her in a cocoon of warmth. His mouth kissed her shoulder, feasting upon her back. His tongue flicked a trail down the middle of her back, which undulated with the surprising sensat
ion.

  Farther down his tongue went, eliciting a moan with every inch. But when his tongue passed her waist and climbed up the ridge of her lower back, she stiffened. He was leaving no spot on her body unexplored. His hand rubbed the slopes of her bottom, cupping the flesh in his giant hand. She was still wet between her legs from their earlier lovemaking, but a new, hotter flow warmed her passage.

  Instinctively, her back arched, jutting her bottom upward. She was ready for him again. Kneeling on the bed, Malcolm lifted her hips up to meet his own. She, too, was on all fours, her legs open for him. Malcolm brought his penis to her caramel-colored curls, and plunged deep inside her.

  She moaned loudly, the length of him reaching all the way inside her. She wasn’t sure if it was the primeval position or the erotic caresses beforehand, but his thrusts stoked a ruthless lust within her that she found impossible to contain. His driving hips bounced against her bottom cheeks, making her dangling breasts sway beneath her. She used the headboard to curl upward, closer to Malcolm. He stroked her neck and hair, bringing as much of her body into contact with his as he could.

  The closer his body came to orgasm, the louder his grunting became. Her breaths came in short rasps, and before long they had turned into moans that echoed his sounds. The fire grew inside her until she could no longer withstand the heat. Together they reached their release, exploding with heated pleasure. Together they stayed mated until their breathing evened. Together, they lay entwined until the morning came.

  And somehow, Serena’s pearls fell away altogether.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Serena had learned by experience that the weather in Scotland could be fickle. But as their brand-new town coach rumbled up the lesser-trodden roads in the Highlands, she gloried in the cool air and the bright sunshine.

  Ravens Craig House was all Malcolm could talk about since they left Edinburgh. He talked of his earliest memories of the house—fond memories that Serena doubted he had ever unearthed until now—and what the place would be like once they moved in.

  But as they neared his lands, he grew quiet. There were memories hidden in the forests and hills that sent him to another place. It was here that Malcolm lost his innocence, learning of evil firsthand and all alone. How she pitied that child. The twenty years since that boy had been here had been bleak, but she silently promised herself to make the next twenty his happiest.

  At first, the furrowed road to Ravens Craig seemed to be nothing more than a path overgrown by rhododendron shrubs and beech trees. Then it began to peek out at her. A window pane flashing between laurel branches, a hint of a turret peeking through the lofty oak trees. And then it appeared, springing from the top of the hill.

  The house was wreathed in centuries. It slept atop a green field, surrounded by acres of forests and meadows. The walls were bricked with gray and brown stones that seemed hewn from the very mountain behind it. A crenellated tower overlooked the view of the neighboring rises, dotted with sheep and lambs. A massive door, reinforced with black iron strap hinges, remembered the house to a bygone age.

  The carriage turned onto an ancient stone bridge painted by a thick coat of moss. They traversed a stream that wept around the hill.

  Serena turned to Malcolm in disbelief. “You lived here?”

  “Aye.”

  The house was not at all what she expected. She wasn’t sure why, but she had assumed Malcolm had lived in a tiny cottage. Though Ravens Craig was no manor or palace, it was far from being a one-room croft.

  Malcolm stepped out of the carriage and took a lingering look around before helping Serena alight.

  “Welcome home, wife,” he said, grinning into her face.

  Serena glanced at the impressive structure. “Welcome home, husband.”

  As they approached, an elderly couple came to the door.

  “I’m so glad ye’ve arrived safely,” said the woman from the door. “Mr. Brooker here can see to the horses. I’ve a warm stew and some fresh-baked bread waiting for ye. Come in, come in!”

  The lady had on a simple apron, and she wiped her hands on them. “My name’s Mrs. Brooker, sir. I used to be the cook here. When the sheriff came here aboot a month ago with orders to the previous owner to vacate the premises, he let Mr. Brooker and myself stay behind to look after the house until ye arrived.”

  Serena looked around the house. It looked as if it had been cleaned out of all its belongings. Hardly a stick of furniture was left behind. “And who was the previous owner, Mrs. Brooker?”

  “It belonged to the McCullough.”

  Serena’s eyes flew open. “Brandubh McCullough?”

  “Aye. ’Twas him who lived here since the time he came of age. His father be the man who took hold of it, aboot eight year ago.”

  Malcolm looked at the yawning emptiness. “And took all its antiquities with him.”

  Serena was in shock that Brandubh McCullough was still alive. “McCullough is a wanted man. Didn’t the sheriff take him into custody?”

  “He wouldna do that. The sheriff is the McCullough’s kinsman.”

  Malcolm walked away into another room. Serena was about to follow him, but Mrs. Brooker stopped her.

  “Pardon me, missus, but would it be asking too much if me and the husband could stay on awhile longer ? Just until we find another situation for the both of us, mind. Only it’ll take a bit of looking, and we’re not as young and strong as we used to be.”

  Serena nodded. “I’ll consult the matter with Mr. Slay—that is, Mr. MacAslan. But I don’t think he would be opposed to letting you stay on for as long as you wish. We don’t have anyone else to assist us at the moment, and we’d be grateful for the help.”

  “Oh, thank ye, missus! Thank ye! We’ll do our best to please ye.”

  Serena followed the path Malcolm had taken. She found him standing in the kitchen.

  She looked around the room. There was a fireplace big enough for her to stand in, where Mrs. Brooker had a pot hanging from a spit. There was a long wooden table at the other end. And there was Malcolm, lost in a world of memories.

  Mrs. Brooker came in behind them. “The table’s all set for ye in the dining room. I’ll bring the pot out straightaway.” She seemed somehow embarrassed, as if they were inspecting her cooking area.

  But Malcolm didn’t hear her. There was a door that led out into the rear of the house, and Malcolm walked through it.

  Serena followed Malcolm through the rear garden, down the hill, and to a patch of gravestones under a shady oak. Her eyes darted around at the ones still standing. Most of them were smashed, the names of the honored dead unrecognizable.

  A surge of anger welled up inside her. Whoever had desecrated the gravestones had tried to obliterate the MacAslan name.

  “Don’t worry, Malcolm,” she said, putting a hand around his elbow. “We can rebuild them. We’ll put up whole new ones even more beautiful than these. Marble ones, if you like.”

  He shook his head. “No need. My ancestors … they’re no longer here. Beneath this ground are only bones. There’s no need to venerate the dead.” He picked up the corner of a stone slab that had fallen facedown, pushing away the grass that had grown high around it. “I only care to know where my brother and my sisters are. If they’re alive, or … if they also need gravestones.” The slab fell from his hand. “I feel ashamed somehow … being the only one to return to the house.”

  She turned him around to face her. “You must never say that. You belong here. And so do they. If they’re alive, then we will find them … together.”

  She hoped that some of her optimism would splash upon him. His countenance shifted, and a look of hope twitched the corners of his eyes.

  “Do ye think then that I am no’ the last of the Mac-Aslans?”

  She smiled. “No. You’re looking at one now.”

  He chuckled, and engulfed her in his mighty arms. “No wonder I delight myself in ye.”

  EPILOGUE

  Tossing his blue-patterned fly plaid cas
ually over one shoulder, Malcolm sauntered into Serena’s morning room while she was scratching furiously at a lettersheet with her quill.

  “I’m going down to the village.”

  She dipped her quill in the inkpot. “Mm-hmm.”

  “I’m after buying some seed to have the crofters plant the north field.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Malcolm sighed at her obliviousness to him. “And then I’ll play the lute while the pixies braid yer hair.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  He placed a hot kiss on her neck. “Why do I get the feeling ye’re no’ listening to me? Must I resort to doing what I did to ye last night?”

  Serena feigned a cross expression. “It took me half an hour to pull all the hay from my hair.”

  He peeked over her shoulder at her lettersheet. “Is that a new article for the Edinburgh Gazette? What is it this week? A scathing indictment of the conditions of the working class in industrial living quarters? A plea for the plight of children in workhouses?”

  She set down her quill. “No. This is not an article for the new ‘Rage Page.’ This,” she said, folding the lettersheet, “is an invitation for my father to come visit at Easter. I’m planning a very special event, and I don’t want him to miss it.”

  “Another party?”

  She nodded. “Of sorts. It’s a birthday party.”

  Malcolm frowned. “Yer birthday isn’t until January.”

  “It isn’t for me. I wasn’t planning to tell you until dinner, but … it’s a birthday party for the next MacAslan.”

  Malcolm’s eyes flew open. “You mean—”

  Her eyes lit up. “Oh, aye.”

  He lifted her out of the seat high over his head. “Our very first babe!”

  She tightened her arms around his neck as he lowered her to the floor, and placed a slow kiss on his mouth. “And I can hardly wait to start on the next one.”