Wicked Highland Ways

by Mary Wine

  “Ye will be…mine!” he declared.

  His grin melted as his lips thinned. The time for talking was over. She felt something shift between them before he began to ride her, slowly at first. Each thrust was controlled. She wanted to lift up to meet him, but he had his arms beneath her knees and had folded her legs back so her knees were nearly at her shoulders. The position allowed him complete control.

  Bothan made full use of it, too.

  She wanted to care.

  Brenda felt the thought move through her mind, but it dissipated as passion rose inside her once more. This time the pleasure was deeper, his cock filling her and stroking all the places the first release had denied her. It was too encompassing, too complete to allow for anything such as thinking.

  No, there was only feeling.

  Her eyes closed as her head fell back. Her back arched as he increased his pace, thrusting hard and deep into her body as she tried to drag in enough breath to support her racing heart. She was straining toward him, fighting to get closer because there was nothing except their union left. She could no more deny it than her next breath.

  “Open yer eyes!” Bothan ordered her. “I want to see yer pleasure, lass.”

  Brenda forced her eyelids up, denying him unthinkable. It was the last straw, though. The glittering determination in his eyes sent her over the edge into a vortex of sensation. Was it pleasure or pain? The edges were so blurred she couldn’t tell the difference.

  But she cried out, lifting herself up as the climax ripped through her. It wrung her, refusing to release her until she felt her passage gripping Bothan’s cock. He growled and buried himself inside her. His seed hit her in a thick stream that set off a second ripple of satisfaction deep inside her belly.

  Every muscle she had felt strained when she could think again. Bothan rolled to the side, releasing her legs and stroking her sides before he landed heavily on his back, his chest heaving. The night air was a balm for how hot they both were, soothing them as Brenda surrendered to the blackness.

  Nothing really mattered, not in that moment. She didn’t have a thought to spare.

  * * *

  Bothan fell into a deep sleep. Weeks of tracking had taken their toll. Now that every breath he drew pulled her scent into his lungs, the need he’d ignored for sleep took its due. He spared only one last thought and opened his eyes to see that the fire was burning down. Soon, it would be only coals covered in ashes. The moon was only a sliver in the night sky, so no one would know where they were.

  Five

  Brenda stirred while it was still dark.

  Fatigue was weighing her down, and Bothan’s warmth made it hard to wake up. Still, something refused to be ignored. She blinked and opened her eyes. The fire had burned down, leaving only a bed of glowing coals. A tiny amount of wind made it to them, blowing across them and making them bright for a moment.

  It was enough for her to see the shape of a man. She gasped, sitting up as Bothan opened his eyes and moved. He was on his feet before he saw what she did. Reaching out for his sword, he shoved her to the side, drawing the weapon from the sheath and swinging it in a high arc above his head.

  Brenda landed on her backside. She wasn’t wearing a stitch, but she was far more concerned with identifying the danger they were in. Horror gripped her as she saw more than one shape in the dark. Bothan thrust his blade through one, only to be struck from behind as he was withdrawing his weapon.

  She heard the sound of his skull being hit with a heavy club. His body jerked, and then he slumped to the side in a boneless heap.

  “No!” she screamed as she launched herself toward him. She reached him, frantically searching for signs of life.

  “I believe I’d enjoy taking ye home in naught but yer skin, Brenda,” Hamell Campbell declared gleefully.

  Icy dread gripped her as she recognized him. There was dirt smeared on his legs and arms to mask his scent. So close to the river, Bothan hadn’t heard him or his men approaching.

  They were both so very stupid.

  But she took the larger share of the guilt on herself because she knew the Campbells. Their greed made them pressure her father to wed her against her mother’s concerns over how young she’d been. Her sire had loved her, but he’d been a man who had a clan to worry about, and with neighbors like the Campbells, he’d had to placate them or risk a feud.

  She’d been the price, and it seemed Bothan was now paying as well.

  Hamell tossed her smock to her with a wink. “I’m no’ of a mind to share ye with me men…yet.”

  Brenda bit back the argument she wanted to make. She’d learned early that life often offered her two choices: She might be right, or happy. Today, she’d take being clothed over blistering Hamell with words he deserved.

  “Chief Gunn isn’t dead,” one of the Campbells observed after watching Bothan’s chest rise and fall.

  Hamell shifted his attention to Bothan. Brenda pulled her smock over her head and got her arms through the sleeves. Her breath caught in her throat as she waited to see what Hamell would decide.

  Hamell looked at her. “I could kill him.”

  Brenda felt her heart stop.

  Hamell read the horror on her face. “But I think it will serve me better to have ye fear for his life. Come away with me now, or I’ll put a sword through yer lover while ye watch.”

  She bit back the correction she wanted to voice.

  Husband…he’s yer husband…

  Fate was feeling especially cruel in making her long to say the words Bothan had wished for when she was about to agree to leaving with another man.

  She had to.

  There was no resistance in her when it came to nodding agreement. She had to give Bothan a chance at life.

  Hamell grunted at her. He reached out to lock one hand around her wrist before he tugged her away from where Bothan lay. She turned her head, desperate for a last look at him. Just one final memory to sustain her.

  She very much feared it would be the only balm her soul would have for the rest of her life.

  * * *

  He’d been a fool.

  Bothan’s mind was offering up the thought as he started to wake. It was harder than it should have been. His mind was stirring, and yet breaking through to consciousness was proving difficult.

  He needed to wake.

  He felt those words hit him like a bucket of icy water. As he came closer to the edge of consciousness, a wave of pain tried to warn him against waking completely.

  No, there was something he had to do.

  Brenda…

  Bothan came awake with a roar. He rolled over and up onto his feet. His vision swam in dizzy waves, but he pushed up to his full height.

  Christ, ye are an idiot!

  The makeshift camp only accentuated how great a fool he’d been. So close to the river’s edge, he’d placed them in a vulnerable position because the water masked the sound of any intruders.

  Maddox would never let him hear the end of it.

  Not that Bothan cared too much about having his captain tear a strip off his back. He’d let the man bring it up for decades if it meant Brenda was there to laugh over it.

  What mattered was tracking down Hamell Campbell.

  And killing the man.

  Bothan took the time to dress because he wasn’t planning on staying at the tower long. Hamell was hardened enough to ride at night, which meant Bothan would have to strive harder.

  And perhaps smarter.

  Maddox was on his feet the moment Bothan gave the bell outside the kitchen a ring. Men gained their feet in an instant as torches were lit and the clan came together to see what was wrong.

  “Christ,” Maddox exclaimed as he caught a glimpse of the blood running down the side of Bothan’s face.

  “Hamell Campbell has stolen me wife,” Botha
n declared. “I’m riding after him, and it will be bloody. I’m looking for volunteers.”

  His men formed up, their faces betraying their anticipation of the coming fight. Even the women watching sent Bothan firm glances. Hamell and his men had made a grave error in trespassing so close to their home. It wasn’t the blood sport they all craved but the peace of mind to lay their heads down at night and sleep.

  Men were pulling the horses into the yard. Alba was directing her staff to pack every bit of bread and cheese into bundles for them. Maddox caught Bothan watching it all.

  “Do no’ look so surprised, Chief,” Maddox informed him. “Ye’re a fine chief, and the lass is the right fit for the Gunns.”

  Bothan finished securing his saddle and looked at Maddox. “I’m proud to call meself yer chief.”

  Maddox slowly grinned. “Ye should be.” He mounted his horse and clung to the back of the beast as it shifted. “Unlike the thieving Campbells…we Gunns fight our battles straight on!”

  The retainers making ready to ride out with them roared with approval. Bothan swung up onto the back of his stallion and dug his heels into the sides of his horse.

  Unlike Hamell Campbell, Bothan would be the victor.

  Brenda was his.

  * * *

  “Get yer tits under control.” Hamell followed his crude comment by tossing Brenda’s underdress at her.

  Brenda caught it.

  Hamell’s men were watering the horses. He’d taken them down near the water’s edge, where there was abundant cover from trees and rocks alike.

  “I enjoy watching ye bite back that temper of yers,” Hamell taunted her as she struggled to get into her underdress.

  At least the tie was still dangling from the last eyelet. Brenda started threading it through the rest of the eyelets while Hamell smirked at her plight, denying her privacy simply because he might.

  He was such a petty creature.

  “Ye were always such a proud little bitch,” he continued without a care for how lewd it was to watch her dressing. “Truth is”—he lowered his voice so his men wouldn’t hear—“I wouldn’t have been interested in wedding ye if ye’d given me a taste of yer honey.”

  Brenda knotted the lace and sent him a hard look. “Ye dare to admonish me for no’ turning adulterous?”

  Hamell shrugged. “Ye were a good little wife to me cousin. Faithful, obedient enough. But what has that gained ye?” He leaned closer, sharing his sour breath with her. “Me cousin was a bastard to ye. Used to seat his mistress right there at the high table next to you.”

  Brenda raised one of her eyebrows. “A few of the reasons why I refuse to wed…ever again.”

  “Ye married Chief Gunn,” Hamell was quick to point out.

  Brenda lifted her hands into the air. “An action that benefited both of us. I needed out of the arrangement made by the King, and Chief Gunn wanted me cousin Symon to owe him. It will end in annulment.”

  “So why were ye fucking him?” Hamell demanded.

  “Why shouldn’t I?” Brenda steeled herself against the crudeness of the comment. When fighting with a dog, she had to get into the gutter. “My maidenhead was taken long ago. No one will know if I enjoy meself or no’. Besides, I even have the Church’s blessing.”

  Hamell held one finger up in her face. “No’ the true Church.”

  “Ye have buried four wives,” Brenda said softly. “I do nae think ye are any authority at all when it comes to God.”

  His eyes narrowed. A moment later his hand collided with her face. It was a hard blow, one his men heard clearly. Two of the younger ones turned to look their way, but what frightened her the most was how the rest of them ignored what their leader was doing.

  Ye shouldn’t be surprised.

  Brenda realized the feeling filling her wasn’t surprise. No, it was longing for the way Bothan had treated her.

  “I like yer spirit, Brenda.” Hamell reached out and grabbed a handful of her hair. He pulled closer as he sniffed at the auburn strands in his grip. “It goes well with yer fiery hair.”

  He shifted his attention to the side of her face that was throbbing. Satisfaction filled his eyes before he released her hair.

  “Bringing ye to heel will be amusing.”

  He turned his back on her after giving her cleavage a long look. Brenda reached down and caught the edge of her smock. She gave it a good tug, pulling the fabric up higher.

  Not that it would matter much. Hamell knew she was at his mercy.

  He wants to toy with ye…

  Brenda latched onto the idea. However flimsy a thought it was, the alternative was despair.

  So she’d gather her courage and face her fate. As for lament, she’d dispense with it. Perhaps she’d failed to savor her time with Bothan while she was in it, but at least she had the memories.

  It was better than naught.

  And likely better than what the future would afford her.

  * * *

  Bothan found Hamell’s tracks easily enough.

  “The bastard is heading to Sutherland.” Maddox voiced what Bothan thought.

  Bothan nodded and stood. “It’s his only haven, and he knows it. If he takes Brenda back to Campbell land, I can argue against the dowry on grounds that I wed her before the English Queen.”

  Bothan mounted as Maddox nodded.

  “Hamell would think ye are only interested in the dowry,” Maddox added.

  Bothan turned his horse in the direction of the Sutherland stronghold. “Someday soon, I am going to sit down with Symon Grant and enjoy drinking to the end of this matter.”

  “I hope that part will happen after we kill some Campbells,” Maddox said without a hint of remorse.

  Bothan heard his men adding their approval.

  It wasn’t bloodlust.

  It was justice.

  * * *

  Hamell took her to Sutherland Castle.

  Brenda felt her belly tighten into a knot at the first sight of the Sutherland stronghold.

  Gunn Towers had impressed her with their strength, and Sutherland Castle was everything she might have expected of Bothan’s overlord.

  Hamell’s as well.

  Her belly twisted tighter as she absorbed the reality she faced. Hamell was riding fast. A couple of the horses had been abandoned along the trail as they failed to have the stamina to keep up.

  And Brenda understood the reason.

  Out on the road, Bothan would take Hamell man to man. The Campbell retainers riding with Hamell might guard their laird’s nephew, but they were still Highlanders. Sneaking up on Bothan allowed Hamell to steal her without anyone raising a complaint. But if Bothan caught them and issued a challenge, Hamell would have to face it or risk having his own men turn on him.

  Cowards didn’t last very long in the Highlands.

  But Hamell was no stranger to fighting. Brenda looked at the scars crisscrossing the man’s arms and neck. He was just as hardened as Bothan. She didn’t want to think about the pair of them fighting over her.

  Because ye fear to lose Bothan…

  It was the truth, one she didn’t shy away from. Instead she tried to gather it close to her heart as Hamell took them down the road toward Sutherland Castle. It rose up taller than she’d thought it was as they drew near. The huge towers had thick walls between them. The entrance was watched by two archer positions. As they rode through it, arrows might have been unleashed on them from above.

  Once inside, the Sutherland retainers closed in behind them, making it clear they wouldn’t be leaving until the earl said they might.

  As far as the Highlands went, Sutherland was the only earldom. The King might hold higher rank over the earl, but the King was very far away.

  “Hamell Campbell.” The man who spoke was also hardened. He stood on the steps of one of the l
argest towers, watching them as they entered his yard.

  Brenda slid from the back of her horse but had to hold onto the saddle for a moment because her knees were weak.

  “I did no’ expect to see ye back, Hamell,” the man addressing them stated firmly. The tone in his voice made it clear that whoever he was, he wasn’t feeling very welcoming toward the Campbells.

  “I’m here to see yer father’s words made law,” Hamell informed their host.

  Cormac Sutherland.

  Brenda knew the name of the eldest son of the Earl of Sutherland. This man was backed by rough men who looked ready and almost eager to deal with the men Cormac was making clear he didn’t want to welcome into the castle.

  Cormac looked at her. His eyes narrowed. “Bring her inside.”

  If Brenda had doubted how much authority Cormac had, she was left with no further illusions when the retainers behind her moved forward and caught her by her upper arms.

  “I can walk,” she assured them.

  They must have heard, her but they didn’t give her any indication they had. She was walked across the yard and up the steps that led to the tower. She gained a glimpse of a massive great hall before she was being escorted through a passageway. Window shutters were open, affording her a glimpse of expensive glass. When the weather was wet or snowy, there would still be light in the stone hallway.

  Cormac was ahead of them, the longer pleats that made up the back of his kilt swaying with his determined stride. The heir to the Sutherland earldom had blond hair, and when his men finally followed him into one of the smaller towers where the bottom floor was used as a weapons room, she gained a glimpse of blue eyes.

  Hamell had been left to follow them on his own. Cormac gestured to the men escorting her forward, which meant she was delivered right in front of him. A childhood full of training meant she was lowering herself out of habit. Cormac watched her perform the polite courtesy, but he didn’t return it.

  “Brenda Grant,” Cormac stated firmly. “Yer hair is as red as I’ve heard.”