Highland Surrender

by Dawn Halliday

  She took a huge risk, but the compulsion was impossible to resist. Nothing could stop her. Despite the niggling fear of discovery, she couldn’t stop herself.

  She was madly besotted with Robert MacLean. The force of her need for him was too powerful to deny. When she was apart from him, every muscle in her body grew restless and achy for him. Panic threatened to overwhelm her. She couldn’t focus. She couldn’t think. His presence calmed her, cleared her mind. He grounded her.

  “Rob . . .” she choked. She licked her lips and tried again. “I . . . I won’t suffer. I don’t. Not when I am with you. When I am with you, I feel . . .” Her voice dwindled, and she stared at him hopelessly, watching his face darken. “I heal,” she finished in a whisper.

  “Elizabeth . . .” The warning was evident in his tone. “Don’t.”

  But she’d toed off her slippers. Her dark wool cloak slipped to the floor. Her shaking fingers tugged at the strings tying the neckline of her shift. She dropped her hands, curling them over her legs, pulling the shift higher, exposing her calves, her knees, her thighs. The triangle of hair between her legs, her stomach, her small breasts. She tugged her shift over her head and tossed it aside.

  She stared at him, knowing every part of her body was flushed and quivering. “I’m not a virgin,” she whispered.

  She’d bedded Tom the footman. She’d tumbled him on the river-bank near Purefoy Abbey. But that was different. That was because she craved the contact, the human connection, because she was curious, and because there was some inexplicable force that drove her to self-ruin. That had been a rash, impulsive decision. There had been none of the emotion, none of the intensity she felt now.

  “Elizabeth.” His voice sounded strangled. He kept his amber gaze focused on her face. “Put your clothes back on.”

  “No.”

  He stood rooted to the spot. “You are to be married.”

  “It is you I want.”

  He glanced at the window. The shutters were closed, but the window looked over the keep, where Cam lay in his bed, most likely asleep.

  “He is my brother.” His words rasped with the internal battle he waged. She understood exactly what he felt, for she’d waged the same battle earlier tonight.

  “I know.”

  “We cannot betray him.”

  “I don’t want to, but I must. We must. We haven’t any choice.” She stepped toward him. “I . . . need you.”

  It was a pleading whisper, an entreaty. Couldn’t he see she’d stripped herself bare in so many ways?

  “Kiss me,” she whispered. She daren’t step any closer. “I need you, Robert MacLean,” she breathed. Please, please, please. She’d never needed anything more wholly, more violently. Every drop of blood in her body craved his intimate touch. “Please.”

  “I . . . can’t.” He sounded pained. Miserable. He tore his gaze from her.

  The blood that had raged through her veins moments ago solidified into ice. “Please.”

  “Get dressed. Go back to your bed.”

  “Rob—”

  “Go, Elizabeth.”

  With every word he uttered, his conviction to turn her away grew more solid. She stood frozen. The ridiculous idea of ordering him to take her to bed—like she’d ordered Tom—crossed her mind, and she gave herself a mental slap in the face. Robert MacLean didn’t take orders from her.

  Her vision blurred. Frantically, she searched for her shift among the items she’d scattered on the floor. She dropped to her knees, grabbed it, fumbled at it to turn it right side out. Rob knelt beside her, but she tried—impossibly—to ignore him as she jerked at the uncooperative fabric.

  “Elizabeth . . .”

  “Don’t speak to me,” she said dully, finally finding the armholes. She yanked it over her head and thrust her arms into the sleeves. “I will leave.”

  She’d never felt so worthless. She didn’t know what to do. Where to go. How could she return to that room in the tower where her uncle had beaten Bitsy? That tower room was a prison, cold and dank, like her heart, like her soul. She thought Rob would set her free, but he was unwilling. He didn’t want her.

  He laid her cloak over her shoulders, and she grabbed the ties, jerking away from his touch. Blinking hard, she rose and shoved her feet into her shoes.

  “Elizabeth—”

  But she flew down the narrow stairs. Horses nickered as she fled past the stalls, and cool air collided with her body when she threw open the door to the stable.

  Where would she go now?

  Cam couldn’t sleep. Ceana had occupied his thoughts since he’d gone to bed, and he couldn’t shake her free. He was too warm, the air too close. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

  He rose and pulled on a pair of breeches and a coat; then he slipped outside and down the stairs.

  The night was cooler than he’d expected. He hadn’t buttoned his coat, and clean, fresh air washed through the thin linen of his shirt and over his skin. It refreshed him, revived him. He strode across the courtyard and passed the stables, hearing the shuffling sounds of the animals inside.

  Everything was serene, quiet. Beyond the guardhouse to the north, the loch sparkled in the starlight. This was his home. He loved this place. He couldn’t fathom why he’d spent so much time avoiding it when he was young. Perhaps because his father was here, spewing venom on his only son whenever he was near. And, Cam realized, on his own people as well. It was his father’s legacy he battled now, as much as his own.

  Cam wandered down the path leading toward the guardhouse. A dim light flickered from inside, where the man on guard gazed out over the loch.

  A frisson of unease crackled through him. Perhaps he shouldn’t feel so comfortable here. People existed who wanted him dead, and he wouldn’t be surprised if some of those people inhabited his lands.

  Cam stopped in the shadow of an imported tree that had been coaxed to an unnatural height by his mother when he was a boy. She’d loved to putter about the grounds, making certain everything was beautiful and welcoming, and he’d always trailed after her, playing in the grass and dirt. In the years since her death, his father hadn’t taken such care with the grounds, and now Camdonn Castle was a forbidding place.

  Yet this tree remained, larger than ever and still healthy. He leaned against the trunk, closing his eyes and trying to recall images of his long-lost mother. She was dark haired, like he was, thin and lithe, with a ready smile and a tempestuous demeanor. She’d scolded him endlessly, but she’d loved him, and always showed it with embraces and fond words.

  When she knew she was sick, she’d searched for just the right governess for him. When she’d died, not long after finding Mrs. Jones, Cam had clung to the older woman until his father had ordered her away.

  A soft crunching noise drew Cam from his thoughts. He opened his eyes to see a dark shadow sprinting across the lawn. The woman held up her skirts as she ran.

  The moon emerged from behind a cloud, glinting over blond hair.

  Elizabeth! Cam stiffened. What in God’s name could she be doing outside this late at night?

  She slowed, coming close to the edge of the cliff and walking alongside it, looking for something. She paused between two bushes, and then she crouched down and disappeared over the side.

  Cam froze, gripping the tree trunk. What the hell? There was a mooring for boats at the base of the cliff, and one could climb down the rocks protruding from the cliff face if one was careful. The climb was far less dangerous in daylight, for the rocks were slippery and surely invisible on even a moonlit night such as this one. How could dainty Elizabeth make her way down safely? Further, how could she know about the rough stepping-stones to begin with?

  Cam paused in indecision. She had clearly not wished to be seen, and he didn’t want to invade her privacy. Should he go after her? If he did, it was likely to cause both of them some measure of embarrassment.

  But hell. He couldn’t allow her to slip and fall to her death. He stepped forward from th
e shelter of the tree, determined to assure her safety, when the sound of footsteps drew him back into the shadows.

  Another figure emerged from around the corner of the stables. A shaft of moonlight glowed over the man’s features, revealing Robert MacLean. He strode to the cliff ’s edge and paused, momentarily appearing undecided. Then he dropped to his haunches and slipped after Elizabeth.

  Cam’s chest tightened. As crazy and unbelievable as it sounded, the truth slapped him in the face. There was only one way to interpret what he’d just seen.

  His betrothed and his stable master had planned an assignation.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Rob descended to the beach and turned toward the small impression of earth. Elizabeth stood there, her back pressed against the smooth rock wall, her face hidden in shadow.

  “Go away,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

  For the briefest of seconds, he hesitated. When he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion. “I want you. You know I do.”

  She shook her head.

  “I cannot betray my brother. Cam—”

  “What does it matter? He has no idea you’re his brother. He certainly doesn’t treat you like a brother. You’re naught but a servant to him.” Her shoulders shook. “Just go away.”

  The tension in his body was so tight, Rob feared moving. If he moved, he might snap. This woman . . . this Englishwoman . . . He’d never seen anything like her. She was utterly fragile. She’d been broken over and over, but somehow she’d picked up the pieces and continued on. He didn’t want to be the one to break her yet again.

  “I am selfish,” she whispered.

  He couldn’t disagree. “There are reasons why you behave the way you do.”

  Angrily, she pushed the back of her hand over her eyes. “Didn’t I tell you to leave?”

  He flexed his fingers. Hell, he was so close to letting himself go. His control was stretched on the rack. One touch, one slight brush, and it would break.

  “Aye,” he said tightly. But he made no move.

  “Go, then.”

  He stood still.

  She raised her chin at him. “What, then, do you expect to do to me?”

  That was it. Her words snapped his restraint. She didn’t make any mention of what she’d do to him—oh, no. It would be what he would do to her. She understood.

  He no longer gave a damn about Cam or anyone else. There was only this haughty woman, this fragile, spoiled, hurting woman he’d wanted since the first moment he’d seen her.

  Elizabeth had been left to her own devices to such an extent that she had disconnected from the world. Even her own punishments hadn’t been inflicted on her. Whoever had taken her virginity might have performed the act, but she had dictated every moment of it, and the man hadn’t gone beyond skin deep. He hadn’t affected her.

  She was untouched. It was time to end that. She needed someone to touch her. To take that rigid control out of her hands and teach her to be human again.

  “Turn around.”

  After a moment staring at him, she obeyed, slowly opening her palms against the smooth rock face.

  He slipped his arms over her shoulders. She was strung tight, nearly as tight as he’d felt moments ago. Reaching around her, he pulled loose the string holding the neckline of her cloak and then her shift. Her cloak fell to her feet, and he tugged the material of her shift down over her creamy white shoulders. She pressed her forehead against the wall.

  A tremor buzzed within him. His seed boiled in his ballocks. His cock tightened until it hurt. Discovery meant certain death for him, but God, how intensely he wanted this forbidden woman.

  He needed her. Needed this.

  So did she. Perhaps even more than he did.

  The desire to give her what she needed was a fierce compulsion within him. She wanted his possession; that much he knew instinctively. Maybe this could help rebuild her. And if she was strong, she could bear the rest. Because God knew, Rob had no idea how to stop the duke, and even the earl, from sucking her lifeblood like leeches.

  Or maybe he deluded himself. Maybe he was a selfish bastard who wanted her too badly to pay heed to the consequences. Who had abandoned all reason for the simple purpose of easing his lust.

  He didn’t know. He couldn’t consider what drove him anymore. All he could consider was Elizabeth and the smooth skin of her back.

  He lowered his head and brushed his lips over the tops of her shoulders, skimming her shoulder blade. Moving her sleek blond hair to the side, he kissed the back of her neck at her hairline. Then he traveled to the opposite shoulder, dropping his hands to clasp about her waist. When he reached the soft flesh on the outside of her upper arm, he bared his teeth and bit down.

  She didn’t move, didn’t cry out. She sighed, long and low, and he felt the deep shudder resonate through her, passing out and up through her hips.

  The nip of pain brought her pleasure. His cock grew harder with the understanding, and the gleam of hope that she could be his match strengthened to a bright, burning light.

  “You taste sweet,” he murmured, soothing the skin he’d bitten with gentle kisses.

  She began to turn toward him, but he raised his hand and pressed her cheek away. “Be still.”

  She shuddered again, and he sank to his knees. Slowly, he worked his hands upward from her ankles, over her calf, lingering behind her knee, pulling up the hem of her shift as he went. How he’d fantasized about running his hands over this woman’s flesh. Now he lived the fantasy, and it was every bit as compelling as he’d imagined it would be.

  He rubbed his thumb over the sensitive area behind her knee, then kissed her skin. She tasted like an English rose. Sweet and delicate. He’d never feared her thorns, however. He intended to strip them away one by one.

  She breathed harshly now, making no attempt to hide her reaction to his touch.

  He splayed his fingers and ran them up the backs of her thighs until he reached the rounded curve of her behind. He closed his eyes. How often had he pictured this arse under his hands? How often had he imagined the pink imprints of his fingers on the plump, pale flesh?

  He rose, lifting her shift over her head and tossing it aside. It was a cool night, and save her shoes, she was naked. But her flesh was warm under his seeking touch.

  “Yes,” she whispered, “yes, yes,” as his hands found their way around her body, up the smooth flat of her stomach and around the curves of her breasts. Her breasts fit perfectly in his palms, and her nipples were taut, jewel-hard under his questing fingers. He pinched them simultaneously between his thumb and forefinger, and she released another sigh, this one more ragged than before.

  He pressed his cock against the cleft of her arse, knowing she’d feel the hard ridge behind the fabric of his plaid.

  “See?” he growled into her ear. “Never say you do not affect me. That I don’t want you.” He grazed his teeth along her earlobe.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  “Please what?” He swiped his tongue over the shell of her ear. “Tell me what you wish I’d do to you.”

  “Take me.”

  Not enough. “How? Where?”

  “Take me hard.”

  He feathered his fingertips over her lips. “Do you want me to take your mouth?”

  “I—I . . . yes.”

  “Your arse?”

  She gulped.

  He slid his hand between their bodies, tracing the crease of her arse, pausing at the forbidden area and circling it gently as she sucked in air and shudders rippled beneath her skin.

  He traveled farther, deeper between her legs, until he felt the slickness of her desire. “Your cunny? Is it here that you want me?” he purred into her ear.

  Her only response was a whimper.

  Gently, he stroked over the wet tissue and teased her opening. Then, all at once, he thrust two fingers in.

  She didn’t make a sound, but her whole body jerked violently, and her inner muscles spasmed over his fingers. She’
d said she wasn’t a virgin, but she was tight, so tight that once again he had to school himself to temperance.

  “Tell me about the men you’ve taken here.”

  “O-only one.” She gasped as he pumped her.

  “Tell me.”

  “He was one of . . . my . . . uncle’s footmen.” Her body undulated against him.

  “Did you seduce him?”

  “N-n-no. I . . .”

  “Tell me, Elizabeth.”

  “I ordered him to bed me.”

  “Couldn’t say no to the duke’s niece, could he?”

  “No . . . but he was frightened that we would be caught. It was . . . over very quickly.”

  “And afterward?” he said silkily.

  “He ran away.”

  “And did you do it again?”

  “No.” She sighed, long and low. “He wasn’t worth the risk.”

  “But I am?”

  “Yes.” Her response was instantaneous. “For you I would risk everything.”

  He chuckled softly in her ear. “Your footman was a weakling, as most men are when it comes to bonny women. To women of a certain class. But I’m not.”

  “I know.”

  He continued to slide his fingers into her, reaching deeper with every stroke. He watched her carefully, felt her beneath him, learned her body as he explored it. As the pads of his buried fingertips stroked against her inside walls, she trembled. That one spot deep within her was something he could exploit, use to his benefit when the time was right. But for now, he made his strokes shallower, using his thumb to explore the area behind her cunny.

  “Ah,” she whispered from behind clenched teeth.

  She liked it there, then. The forbidden territory of her body. He wouldn’t take her far tonight, but soon he’d know every inch, every piece of her. But he’d take his time—there was a fine line between pleasure and pain, between punishment and reward. He would skirt between those lines, right to the cusp of her tolerance, but he would be careful never to take her beyond her limit. He would never hurt her, never scare her, because, in the end, what he loved most was what he saw in her now: the expression of sweet, compliant agony on her face. The sighs of contentment. Each time she responded to him, his need to protect her, to care for her, and to bring her pleasure grew.