Highland Warrior

by Evie North

  The sensation made her gasp and close her eyes. When she opened them again he was still watching her, his chest rising and falling with each hard breath. He shrugged off his jacket, and his white shirt was fine indeed. He reached up to untie the cords at his throat and reaching over his head, dragged it off. The muscles of his chest were hard and his stomach flat, and a dark trail of hair ran down from his belly button and under his kilt. Elspit’s memories had not done him justice.

  “Take off your gown,” he growled. “I want to see you. I’ve dreamed about you for so long ... I want to know if you really are the temptress of my imaginings.”

  If he had stepped closer she might have refused but he stood at the door, waiting. Elspit’s fingers trembled as she began to undo the fastening at her wrist and throat, the bodice of her gown opening to show her chemise. It was of the palest pink, and when her gown fell around her feet, she stood in only that translucent garment.

  His eyes flared and his gaze roamed over her again. She was certain that, with the only light a candle by her bed, he could see the shape and texture of her body through the cloth. The rose pink of her nipples and the dark curls between her thighs.

  “You are even more beautiful,” he said it with reverence.

  Elspit gave a soft cry. That was when he moved toward her, and she saw that he was all muscle. There was a scar on his side that looked barely healed, and she reached out, not quite daring to touch him.

  “You are hurt,” she whispered.

  “The only thing that hurts is here,” and he caught her hand and pressed it against his cock, hard and erect beneath his kilt.

  Her fingers began to move, caressing him, tracing the length and girth of him.

  “Lady,” he warned on a groan.

  Elspit’s gaze lifted slowly to his. She felt as if she had drunk too much wine.

  “I want to see you,” he told her huskily. “I want to see all of you.”

  Somehow she managed to unfasten the tiny buttons at the front of her chemise, and when it fell to the floor the light from the candle made her skin glow.

  His jaw clenched, and his hands fisted at his sides. His gaze had dropped to her breasts and he reached out to trace the shape of one with his finger. Then he unfastened his kilt, tossing it aside, and she saw how aroused he was. His cock jutted up toward his belly, big and handsome, just as she’d remembered it.

  “All yours,” he told her. “Always was.”

  Before she could think to answer him or make a sound he had lifted her in his arms, cupping the globes of her bottom as he swung her up. Her legs fastened about his hips and her arms slid around his neck, holding on. All that bare flesh, hard muscle, and abrasive hair. She wanted to rub herself all over him like a cat in heat. She pressed her face into the warm hollow of his throat and licked his skin.

  He tasted of salt and sweat and man. He tasted like Ewen Campbell.

  “I’ve waited ten years for this moment,” he said, “and now here it is. I am going to take you until you can’t remember a time I wasn’t here. I’m going to take you until you become a part of me.”

  “Yes,” she begged him. “Yes, Ewen.”

  He turned to the bed and she felt the soft mattress beneath her bare skin, and the heavy weight of Ewen on top of her. His mouth was feeding off hers, tongue and lips and teeth. Sucking and biting. His hands were kneading her breasts, filled with the heavy weight of them, while his muscular legs pressed between hers.

  Elspit moaned and arched against him, feeling the hard length of his cock sliding between her thighs. The head of it bumped against the sensitive nub above her entrance and she gasped and clutched at his shoulders.

  “I’m going to lick you all over,” he rumbled. “Taste you and feast on you and mark every inch of you. But first I am going to fuck you.”

  The crude words should have made her draw back but the look in his eyes as he said them … Ewen was going to claim her in the most fundamental of ways. She felt her core spasm, and then he drew his hips back and, staring into her eyes, thrust. There was no easing inside her channel, no waiting for her to adjust to his size. He drove into her until the base of his cock knocked against her clit.

  “Oh God,” she wailed. Because he was big and she had only been bedded for one brief week, before her husband died. And no, it had never been like this. Never.

  Ewen held himself inside her as if he wanted to mark her, possess her, make her forever his. Before finally he began to move.

  Chapter 6

  EWEN

  Her mouth was open under his, warm and sweet, and his tongue dove in. He’d forgotten how she tasted, but in that instant it came back to him. He groaned into her mouth, unable to help himself. His cock was painfully hard, threatening to burst, but he needed to hold on. She wasn’t there yet and it was important to him that they reach their peak together.

  Her breasts were squashed against his chest, her rosy nipples hard against his coarse hair. He could tell she wanted him just as much as he wanted her—he’d known from the moment she turned from the window to face him. Any doubts he might have had about her desire for him had vanished at that moment. Now he slid his palm down to cup her hip, arranging her so that when he withdrew and thrust again he could pleasure her with the drag of his cock against her swollen bud. It was something he had learned during the long hours with those willing women, although he had never put it to practical use. Not until now.

  She made a wordless sound, pressing up against him, and a tear ran out of the corner of her eye. He almost stopped but then he realised she did not seem to be aware of it. This was not pain or sadness but an overflow of emotion, as if she was feeling a pleasure too great to contain.

  “Wait for me,” he whispered, and began to kiss her again, pinning her wrists to the bed above her head while keeping his weight from crushing her. His buttocks tightened as he pushed into her, deep, so deep. “You’re my prisoner,” he reminded her, knowing how ridiculous that was when he had always been hers.

  “Yes,” she panted. “I am.”

  He lifted his head and stared down at her, just as she opened her eyes, the lids heavy, the pupils enlarged with desire. She looked back at him for a heartbeat and then she stretched up to press her lips to his. Her tongue swept along his bottom lip before she sucked on it.

  With a groan, he fell upon her like a starving man taking his first meal in ten years.

  He wanted to tell her how much he had longed for her, longed so desperately. She was his, had always been his, and the agony of missing her had almost been too much to bear.

  He thrust into her harder, driving out the sadness and the regret, filling her with hope for the future. She writhed, her breath quickening, her hands clinging.

  And then it happened.

  She cried out, arching up against him, her thighs trembling. Even as he registered her response, his own body was rushing to climax, his hips jerking, his heart pounding. With a long groan he emptied his seed inside her. His head dropped against the bed beside hers, and he turned his face into the damp warmth of her neck.

  After a little while he felt her hand stroking his hair. Softly. Gently. “Ewen,” she murmured.

  With an effort he lifted his head, meeting eyes that were warm, no longer welling with tears. Her lips were swollen. He had marked her and because of it he found her the most beautiful of all women. He was filled with a love so great he struggled to contain it.

  With a deep breath, Ewen withdrew, rolling onto his back. He had fought a battle today and tonight he had claimed his prize, and now all he wanted to do was sleep.

  “Tomorrow I want you with me,” he mumbled, barely aware of what he was saying.

  He felt her body jerk, and then she was sitting up, her dark hair tangled about her, her gaze wild on his. “No,” she gasped. “I will not stay tomorrow. You promised to give me leave to go north!”

  Her voice had risen until on the last word it was a wail. Awake now, he tried to grab her, but she slipped through his
arms, crossing the room for her clothing.

  “Get out!” she shouted at him, holding her chemise in front of her naked body. “I want you out of my room!”

  He hesitated but when she drew breath as if to scream he held up his hands in surrender. “I am going,” he said, glaring back at her. He wrapped his kilt about his hips, and caught up his jacket and shirt.

  “You must give me leave.” Her voice was trembling. “I cannot stay, I cannot.”

  Anger rolled over him until he could barely see straight. She hated him so much? After what they had just done? He did not even consider letting her go. She was his. Furiously he decided he would have her as his wife whether she wanted it or no, and he did not try to blunt that fury when he spoke.

  “You will be in the chapel tomorrow, Elspit. I command it of you, do you understand me?”

  She went pale, her mouth open, her dark eyes once more swimming with tears, but he didn’t have time for her games. She had shown she wanted him, perhaps even loved him, and he was going to keep her. Ewen turned and walked out, slamming her door behind him and not caring who heard.

  He hardly slept. His body craved rest but his mind was racing. He did not understand. She had wanted him, he knew it; he could not be mistaken. She felt the same deep emotions as he. And yet, when he asked her to stay she flew from the bed as if he had asked something foul of her.

  Did she love this Cameron so much? He asked himself if after all her previous experience of marriage had left deep scars on her and she couldn’t bear the thought of binding herself to him. But did she not know he would be patient? He would heal her. He loved her.

  Just before dawn he fell into an exhausted sleep, and it was only when his youngest brother Dugald pulled his covers unceremoniously from his body that he jerked awake, believing he was under attack.

  “Here he is, the lucky bridegroom!” Dugald grinned down at him, his dark hair rumpled, his gleaming eyes a deeper blue than Ewen’s.

  Ewen grumbled and sat up, naked as the day he was born. He wanted to complain about the ‘lucky’ part but he didn’t want to admit that things hadn’t gone to plan.

  But he should have known better than to try to fool Dugald. They knew each other too well and had shared too many late night, drunken regrets.

  “What is it?” Dugald demanded, suddenly looking concerned. “She is still alive, isn’t she?”

  His heart caught like a jagged nail in a blanket. The thought of Elspit dead or harmed ... he would live his whole life without her if it would keep her safe.

  “She asked me to give her leave to travel away from Castle Tighe. She wants to go north, to Cameron country. I told her no. She was not happy.”

  Dugald raised his brows toward his unruly dark hair. “She will not marry you?”

  “She will,” Ewen growled, but then he sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “Perhaps she hasn’t forgiven you for leaving her all those years ago?” his brother said thoughtfully.

  Ewen looked up with an agonised expression. “I will not force her to marry me,” he said in a bleak voice.

  Before Dugald could answer another voice came from the direction of the door. A young woman, barely out of her teens, came tripping into the room. At the same time Ewen’s father roared out, “Cover yourself, laddie!”

  Ewen dragged the covers over his lap and the young woman blushed. “I-I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Fair haired and petite, she was a pretty creature.

  “That is Mistress Stewart,” Dugald murmured in his ear. “She has been placed in Father’s care for now. The duke had intended you to marry her, brother, but we explained that could never be, that you were already taken. Now Father is her guardian until other arrangements can be made.”

  Ewen tried not to smile. He could already see his father was taking his role very seriously, although at the same time not quite sure how to handle so fragile a miss. Since his wife died shortly after Dugald was born, Hamish Campbell had only ever had dealings with sons.

  “The twins are here somewhere,” his father informed him. “After the wedding we will travel on to Auchiltie.”

  Hamish Campbell had finally reclaimed his lands and couldn’t wait to return to them. His twin sons, Finlay and Callum, were going with him to assist in clearing out the last of the usurpers who had driven the family to seek refuge at Castle Tighe ten years ago.

  “When is the wedding to take place?” Mistress Stewart trilled. “I would love to see your bride, Ewen. Dugald said she is very beautiful.”

  “She is,” Ewen said, dry mouthed. Then, shrugging off his fears, “If you will let me prepare, Mistress Stewart, I will introduce you to my future wife.”

  Except when Ewen and his family arrived at the chapel Elspit was not there. Instead Rosina was waiting, while refusing to look any of them in the eye, especially Dugald.

  He had forgotten that once Rosina had thought the sun shone where Dugald walked. Until his stupid brother had hand fasted with her and left her, and brought to an end her infatuation. Dugald had been looking forward to seeing Rosina again, but it didn’t appear as if that was going to go smoothly. Ewen was selfishly glad that he was not the only one with a broken heart.

  “She is not coming,” Rosina said quietly. “I do not know how you can expect her to.” She glared at Ewen. “Let her go, my lord. Do not force her to stay and watch you marry this woman,” and she shot a savage glance in Mistress Stewart’s direction.

  There was a hushed silence, and then Ewen caught Rosina’s arm in a hard grip. She winced and Dugald growled and pulled his brother away, but Ewen hardly noticed.

  “What do you mean I am marrying Mistress Stewart?” he demanded. “I am marrying Elspit!”

  He had never seen Rosina look so confused. She put a hand over her pink lips and blinked at him. “You are marrying Elspit?” she repeated. “I do not understand! We all know that the duke has drawn up marriage contracts for you and Mistress Stewart.”

  “Well you are all wrong,” Ewen said. “I am marrying Elspit. Why is she determined to run off to the Cameron? Marriage is what I promised her before I left.”

  Rosina still seemed to be struggling to understand. “That was years ago,” she burst out. “Why would she think you still meant to keep your promise? When the rumours of your impending marriage to the Stewart woman are common knowledge?”

  Ewen frowned. “Common knowledge? Not to me! Show me who has spread these rumours?”

  Rosina sighed. “Your squire and my daughter.”

  “Daughter?” Dugald stiffened, staring at her, but she continued to ignore him.

  “The Cameron …?” Ewen said. “Was that why she asked leave to go north? Because she thought I was marrying another woman?”

  “What do you think?”

  It seemed he and Elspit had been at cross purposes all this time. But he could fix it. He would fix it. “Where is she?” he demanded.

  “She is in her room,” Rosina said. “She has locked herself in and is refusing to come out.”

  “Go and get her, brother,” Dugald slapped him on the back. “Explain the matter to her, and do it right this time.”

  Ewen turned to go, only to stop. A smile slid over his face, and suddenly the war-hardened soldier was gone and he looked like the young man he had been ten years ago.

  “I have a better idea,” he said.

  Chapter 7

  ELSPIT

  She had wept most of the night after Ewen left her. Her heart was broken, and it felt more broken than it had been ten years ago. The way he had held her and loved her last night had brought to the fore everything she had once dreamed was possible between them, only to have her face rubbed in reality again.

  He wanted her at his wedding. What else did he want from her? To fill his bed when his new wife wasn’t inclined?

  Elspit could not be the other woman. She might love Ewen but she knew that in such circumstances she would come to despise herself, and him. There was no happiness to be had by being his dirty
secret.

  He must let her go.

  She only hoped that once Ewen was married he would realise how unfair he was being and send her north, just as she had begged him to do. Then at least she could hide herself away and be miserable in peace.

  There was a sound outside her window.

  The scrape of a boot against the old stone of the tower. She stared at the window. No, it couldn’t be. No one had climbed to her room since … With a cry she ran to hang over the sill.

  Dark blond hair cut short to his head, hands clinging to the niches in the stonework, his kilt swinging as he lifted one strong thigh and rammed his boot toe into a cleft between the stones.

  “Ewen!” she cried, strangling it into a whisper in case he fell. “What are you doing?”

  He looked up, his eyes blazing blue, and grinned. Just for a moment it was as if the past was juxtaposed with the present, the old and the new. And then his fingers slipped and for a moment he scrabbled for a grip.

  Elspit pushed her own fingers into her mouth, wanting to scream. He would fall. He would never survive such a long drop. She would lose him forever this time.

  But he didn’t fall. He grabbed hold of a corner and hauled himself up further, frowning now, focussed on each move upward. A moment later his hands were on the sill and he dragged himself into her room.

  He lay on the floor, panting, so big and alive, the colours of his kilt brilliant in the gloom.

  “You fool,” she said, her voice shaking. “You could have fallen. What did you think you were doing?”

  He rolled onto his back and looked up at her. Sweat had stuck his hair to his skull and made his handsome face shiny, but nothing could dim the gleam in those eyes.

  “I wanted to prove to you that I love you. That I will risk everything for you, even my life. I wanted you to know that I didn’t want to leave you ten years ago. I have regretted it every day since.”