The Highlander's Mail Order Bride (Scottish Highlander Romance)

by Kaley McCormick

  “AHHHHHHH.” He was not gentle by any means and I don’t think that I would have wanted him to be. I needed this to be done quickly and even though it was painful, it soon subsided to a more pleasurable sensation. He never stopped and he was like a sexual machine. He drove into the quivering depths of my hole, where I welcomed him with an embrace that squeezed down like a tight glove. “Fuck me…Shamus…make me your woman.” It didn’t seem like that request was going to be denied.

  “I knew that you would be right for me. I don’t even care how or why you are here. I hope that eventually that you’ll realize that this is your place.” He was the leader and the land that he had a dispute over was going to be his after the ceremony. This was a prelude to standing in front of his people and taking his name. Right at that moment, I was taking his love staff and giving it a treatment that he could probably never get anywhere else.

  “I am right for you. I also don’t care how I got here. It doesn’t matter anymore.” I did have that lingering doubt that he would attack my village anyway. I would just have to take it on face value that he was an honorable man and that he wouldn’t go back against his word. “I think that I’m going to have my first…first…OHHHHH.” I had done this with my hand many a time, but that didn’t compare to having a cock like his slamming inside me.

  “My lassie, you are turning out to be something that I can truly sink my teeth into.” He proved that by biting my shoulder and making me moan in pleasure of having his cock inside me and scream in pain of his teeth digging into my flesh. He was bouncing me up and down, holding me by the thighs and making sure that I wasn’t going to relinquish my hold on him.

  “Shamus… Shamus… Shamus.” His name was now on my lips. My eyes were closed and I felt weightless in an almost erotic and naughty way. I could do nothing, but take what he was giving. I did have my hands around his neck and it was a wonder that I even was able to do that. That second climax was one that twisted my thoughts and made me think that he was never going to stop.

  “Elizabeth… God damn it…you are one hell of a kind of woman.” It was evident that he was coming to the end of his rope. His breath was raspy, hoarse and sounding like he was never going to make it. His body was covered in a sheen of wetness that seemed to stick to my skin. I liked that we could be joined like this and suddenly his cock opened up the floodgates. The dam burst and he was now injecting a fresh supply of man cream between my legs. My body greedily gobbled it up and never let it go. Even when he pulled free, there was nothing there.

  He held me in the palm of his hands, not allowing me to find the purchase of the floor. He let me feel the enormity of his staff and the way that it slowly receded. He had given it to me and I was more than willing to take it again any time that he damn well pleased.

  He finally let me down on my feet, but not to rest and certainly not to let my mind wrap around the fact that I had just had sex with him. He turned me and bent me over the bed, slapping my cheeks with his cock and leaving behind the telltale wetness that came from his overanxious state. Just slapping my ass with his cock head made him become ramrod stiff. His love for me was consummated with him taking me from behind and slapping my upturned ass.

  I don’t know how many times I came, but I finally slumped forward on the mattress. I couldn’t move and he was now licking my ear lobe and whispering naughty and nice things into my ear.

  It wasn’t long before we were joined, as one in front of his people. I thought that I was sacrificing myself, but I realized that I had found something better. I wanted to belong somewhere and this was what he had given me. Along with that, I had a baby on the way and a father that was doting on me hand and foot. I doubt that that was going to last any longer than the pregnancy, but I was going to take full advantage of it.

  ‘You have made me a very happy man. I fight battle after battle knowing that I have all of this to come home to. It gives me that incentive to reach down deep and grab onto a strength that I didn’t have before. You made me a better man and I hope you know that I don’t think that I could have this with anybody else.”

  I wrapped myself in his arms and that comfort and heat surrounded me, until I fell into a blissful sleep with my hand on top of my belly. The look in his eyes told me that he was very happy.

  THE END

  Taken by the Forbidden Highlander

  Daytime was always brisk in the highlands of Scotland. Especially near the mountains, where every first whiff of a frosty morning hit you like a snowball in the face. This morning in particular was biting, the coldest of the year so far and it seemed as if the air itself was full of savagery.

  The mountains were snowy and the air was cold. Angus Artair surveyed the land, tired from a long walk and ready to spend the night in a nice spot. Probably not a man’s house, given his stranger status around these parts, but maybe under a tree or near an open cave. He was a large man, muscular and long-haired with fiery shades of red. He looked like he was in his thirties, though heaven knows the man never looked his age. His ruddy complexion was complemented by his bulky clothing. Animal fur, with a thick leather belt and an armored bracelet on his forearm. All he carried with him was a sword. It was all he needed because life as he knew it wasn’t conducive to settling down.

  Just as he went to explore a nearby valley, he was alarmed at the presence of another person approaching in the distance. A child, he thought at first, until he realized the taller stature. It was a woman. She had curly hair and a clean face, walking affectedly, carrying a heavy bag up the hill.

  She noticed him staring and dropped the bag, doing a double take and wondering what his next move might be. She was dressed in rags, wearing only a purple scarf on her neck to guard her from the cold.

  Artair didn’t react. To show fear and run away would no doubt provoke the nearby village. To run at her or shout pleasantries could be misconstrued as any number of offenses. At this point, staring was really the only option.

  He nodded her way as she slowly walked forward to speak.

  “Don’t come any closer,” she warned, sporting an unfriendly look on her face.

  “Hadn’t any plans of it, woman. Just stopping for a breather. I take it your village isn’t offering any hospitalities. So I suppose I’ll just look for a cave.”

  “I think it best you keep on going and hope we don’t decide to kill you where you stand.”

  Artair scoffed and shook his head. “Aye. I’m shaking in me boots.”

  “I’m a married woman, stranger. Don’t be fancying me or getting any ideas.”

  “First of all, no. I don’t reckon you’re my type at all. But number two, if I were an evil man I’d have already raided your village and taken all the lovely women I wanted. That’s how it works up here in these parts. That’s probably why you’re so afraid. And you have every right to be. Next time though, send a man out to intimidate a warrior. You’re embarrassing ye-selves. Eh?”

  “Blether on straight to Hell!” the woman screeched, waving her arms and causing a fuss. Artair laughed and took his time walking away. She barked like a dog and scared him about as much as any mutt. He actually pitied a village that would be so careless as to send a woman so dangerously close to the top of the mountain where any unwholesome fellow might decide to walk.

  But just as Artair decided he ought to cross the river and head into new territory, he felt a strange sensation buzzing in his head. A sense of madness and mania, a war cry in his heart. The taunting of an invisible man and thumping sensation in his head. It was the only fit way to describe it when someone else was near.

  Someone else was in the vicinity and indeed the Game had just begun. Another one like him, a highlander, in his prime. And once he met that man all hell would break loose, as was the rule. But no, he didn’t sense anything coming from the wee little village below. The woman was probably the most courageous of any of them. Maybe the other immortal was waiting eastward in the great wilderness.

  Probably the case. But for now, Artai
r had traveled enough. It was time to sleep and eat and maybe pick up the great walk later that night. Poor Bristol, his late horse. The adventure sure was a lot more fun when his mare accompanied him. He died like a warrior stallion all right, helping his master kill twenty stupid pirates that tempted fate, thinking they could overpower one of him.

  No contest at all. The only regret Artair had, he thought as he gripped his sword and flared his nostrils, was that he couldn’t kill those cowardly bastards all over again.

  Poor Nessia though, she was scandalized for the rest of the day after her chance encounter with a wandering brute. She reported the news back to the village but by the time they sent their spies out, he had disappeared in the forest.

  His statements were alarming. That if he were another type of man he would just go and raid the village and take whatever women he wanted. A strange thing to say, and a discomfiting thought entirely. Yes, of course there were men that way but surely not in the peaceful province of Estandia?

  William her husband was half-asleep inside their small cottage. It was a modest place, surely falling apart every which way, but a quaint abode nonetheless. The thought of losing it cast a shadow on the rest of the night.

  “Do you think we should be worried, love?”

  “Eh?” William replied, drunk as always and half asleep. “Are you still talking about that drifter?”

  “The way he said it. It seemed like an omen of sorts.”

  “Shut your geggie, woman. If you drag that bastard into one more conversation tonight me head’s going to explode. Did you fuck him?”

  “No, don’t be foolish.”

  “Did you think about fucking him?”

  “I…of course not! Why are you putting all sorts of ideas in me head?”

  “Because I know the way females think,” he said, stumbling up out of bed and walking around looking for another drink.

  “All you ever want to do is fuck another man. No matter how hard I work for ye. Try hard to give ye a baby. None of it be good enough, right? You’d rather ride the cock of a stranger.”

  “You’re talking madness!”

  “I fucking hate you, Nessie. You slut. You foul-smelling bitch.”

  “William, stop!”

  “Are you telling me what to do? Am I your slave then?”

  “No…” she said shyly, staring into his vacant eyes, fearing for her life. Again. If it wasn’t the threat of marauders it was William again. Always drinking. Always screaming about the sex he didn’t even want. She had to accept that one way or another, she was going to die. Probably in screaming pain at the hands of some barbarian. Either one who “loved” her or another man who just admitted he wanted a shag. The old romantic life her father dreamt for her years ago was surely a waste.

  Marriage ruined her. Poverty ruined everybody.

  “William, you’re hurting me,” she cried softly, as William grabbed her by the forearm.

  “You can’t fool me, witch. I know the way you are.”

  “I know that you’re drunk.”

  “Riiight,” he said with an out of place laugh. “My drunkenness is the problem. The fact that I’m drunk invalidates everything I say. I’m drunk…I’m the problem!”

  Nessie stared at him and he tightened his brow. Whenever he got like this, there was no right answer. All a woman could do was stare him down like a storm and hope it ended with him passing out on the bed.

  “Well it ain’t helping,” she finally said. “Sometimes, William, when you speak to me like this…it makes me feel worse than any pirate raid ever could.”

  William remained silent, absorbing her statement like a body blow.

  “I just wish we could go back to the way things were.”

  “Doesn’t everybody!” he said, right before he bashed in the table and lamp next to the bed with his shaking hands. “Why? Does that drifter remind you of me? When I was young? The way things were?

  “Get out of here with your crazy accusations. Please let’s talk about something else.”

  “No.” He stood up and walked towards her, backing her against the wall. “I want you to fuck him in front of me. I want to watch while you betray me.”

  “William, please! You’re talking mad.”

  “I just want honesty out of you. For once, you mangy cunt. For once in your life tell the truth. Tell me that you hate me. Tell me that you want to leave me and run off with some young handsome fellow. We both know it’s true. So just say it.”

  “I’ll do no such thing. You…angry, sad little man.”

  She stared him down, tightening her brow as she looked into his destitute eyes. She braced herself for another punch.

  Then William smiled. “You just described yourself, you know. Except for the man part.”

  She shut her eyes in relief. Apparently, this was one of his good drunken phases where he just talked shit and then fell asleep in his own filth.

  “Right then. I forgive you, muh’ lady.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Just suck my cock and we’ll call it a night, yeah?”

  Nessie sighed. Of course her heart wouldn’t be into it, but that never mattered. A forced sucking always hurt less than a slap to the face, William made sure of that. Honestly, she thought, hating the taste of her old shit of a husband, a raid wouldn’t be the worst of things…provided they had the decency to kill her afterwards.

  **

  II

  Artair awoke from a bed of leaves. The day felt breezy and cool as always but the lack of a draft certainly alarmed him. He looked up into the open blue sky and sensed something was dreadfully wrong. It wasn’t the madness of the Game calling to him, but still an ominous feeling that he couldn’t shake. He looked around the forest to his left side, seeing nothing of interest.

  However, as he stood up and looked over to his right he saw the source of his discomfort. A band of warriors, a raid, not by pirates this time but by armored men from England. They were staring at Artair, showing their broken teethy smiles and holding their weapons strong, ready to kill him at a moment’s notice.

  Artair looked down to the ground, realizing his sword was a few feet away. A lunge for the weapon would give his enemy time to shoot an arrow into him or spear him. Not that such a wound could kill him, but it was still require a few hours of healing. Certainly enough time to slow down his onward trek. And it probably would hinder him in battle against the other highlander, wherever that arsehole was lurking.

  “Well, well,” the leader said, taking a forward sprint on his horse and holding a pole axe in hand. “It looks like we woke you up from your beauty sleep.”

  “Ah,” Artair said, laughing quietly. He wasn’t afraid of them and the band of marauders could see that, which only made them more cautious.

  “Why are you smiling, fool? This could be the end of your life.”

  Artair calmly turned his head side to side estimating how many horses and men there were in front of him. At least forty, with ten or twenty horses. They had plenty of weapons and certainly enough blades to take his head off—if he let them, of course.

  But his instinct reminded him that maybe this was a fight he didn’t need under his belt. Pick and choose your battles, his mentor always said. The best way to remain undefeated was to forfeit the battles you know you might lose. Good advice, he said, nodding to himself and swallowing some pride.

  “Tell me who you are, homeless man.”

  “I will. But I want your name first.”

  Some in the group laughed at his audacity. The leader looked provoked and stepped off his horse, a bit mad in the face. “Well, well. Quite the balls you have on ye, if you’re telling me what’s what. The man with the weapon.”

  He walked up to Artair and grinned in his face. Artair stood strong, silent. If the man stabbed him in the gut, he would reveal himself and be forced to kill every last one. Or die trying, and eventually losing his head, as was usually the highlander’s life.

  But the gentleman refrained, smili
ng and nodding like an out of control school boy. “My name is Emery. I lead this pack. And it’s fortunate that we are a growing army. We could use good men who know how to use a sword. I assume that you know something, since you have a mighty impressive specimen there. Maybe I’ll just reach in and take the specimen for myself.”

  Artair shrugged. “Well I do have an impressive specimen, Emery. But only women are allowed reach in and take it.”

  Emery kept a straight face until he realized some of his men were laughing, or trying to stifle laughter. The leader finally grinned and nodded, feeling camaraderie with the snarky bastard.

  “I like you, old man. But my admiration is conditional. I only admire men who can fight. Liars and pretenders are no friends of mine. Show me that you know how to use this sword.”

  “Very well. But just so you know, if someone duels me I don’t stop swinging until someone’s head comes off.” He slowly walked over to his fallen sword and scooped it up.

  Emery smiled. “It’s a fair game. Someone do the honor of fighting Mister Lancelot here to the death.”

  Reluctantly, a foot-bound warrior with barely any armor on stepped forward. Dying for the king was certainly a waste. But in the event that he won the duel, the warrior knew he would become the right hand man.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Heads will roll, stranger.”

  The warrior and Artair went into their fighting stance. The warrior was less experienced, obviously, as he was moving his sword back and forth in panic, shielding his chest with his uneven shoulders. Artair barely moved but hovered his sword in the air ready to plunge.

  “What is your name, by the way?”

  “My name is Artair.”

  “Nice noble name. Do you require full concentration to win a fight, Artair?”

  “No, Emery. This fight is already over.”