No Other Highlander

by Adrienne Basso

  Malcolm raised his head and their eyes met. His were dark with passion and full of a promise that lured Joan closer. She slid her hands up to the front of his tunic and clung to the edges. He bent her backward and they tumbled onto the bed.

  Laughing, she held on tightly. He chuckled, too, and they sprawled together on the bed, half on, half off.

  “Ye’re a rather clumsy lover, husband,” Joan teased.

  “Aye, ye make me boneless, wife,” he replied.

  Joan’s insides twisted as she gazed up at him, her heart pounding anew. The guard she had long ago placed around it began to quiver, breaking away in small pieces. ’Twas dangerous to trust so completely, yet she felt herself stirring with excitement as she allowed it to happen.

  She knew she was on the verge of experiencing something wondrous, made all the more important because it was Malcolm who would be her partner.

  With a warrior’s yell, Malcolm lifted her into the center of the bed. He crawled after her, resting on his elbows above her. Despite the tingling in her body, the yearning in her blood, Joan felt exposed, even though she still wore all her clothing.

  She swallowed, then smiled at him. A smile of encouragement. He kissed a trail from her neck down her collarbone to the top of her breasts. They strained against the soft wool of her bodice as his lips closed over her nipple.

  He suckled hard, coaxing the bud to an even harder point through the wet fabric of her gown. Joan threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging on the strands. The sensations were heady, decadent, and she embraced them fully. He teased and aroused her until she felt on fire for more, his skillful hands and tongue robbing her of all control.

  Joan heard the distinct sound of ripping cloth as Malcolm pulled the garments from her body, but she didn’t care. Her blood ran faster, her body felt hotter than it ever had before. All she wanted was to feel his naked flesh pressed against hers.

  He rewarded her newly bared skin with a trail of delicate wet kisses, leaving her quivering with excitement.

  She felt as though she finally understood what he had been telling her about shared passion. The fierce possession and burning desire reflected in his eyes was not to be feared, but rejoiced in.

  She allowed him to raise both her arms over her head. The action forced her back to arch and a surge of need filled her. She wanted to be closer, needed to be closer. She longed to experience fully the passion she had once feared.

  With Malcolm. Only with Malcolm.

  “What have ye done to me?” she whispered, her heart hammering against her rib cage.

  “I’ve only just started,” he said, moving his lips to her now naked breast. “I’m going to make ye faint with pleasure, lass, and taste every sweet morsel of ye.”

  True to his promise, Malcolm ran his fingers down to the juncture of her thighs, sliding them through the feminine folds. She trembled violently, closing her eyes, panting and squirming at his fiery touch. Joan could feel the vibrations of a moan lodge in her throat as his hand pressed deeper, teasing the spot that ached and throbbed again and again and again.

  Time seemed to stand and hold. There was nothing beyond it except the two of them, entwined together on this bed.

  “Ye know what happens when ye play with fire, don’t ye, lass,” he said, kissing small bites down her stomach. “Ye burn.”

  Joan moaned as the heat did indeed flood through her. She could feel the light touch of his lips as he alternated placing kisses and small bites lower and lower down her body. His tongue seared a path to the top of her thighs. She tensed, feeling the heat of his breath where his fingers had just been, having a vague inkling of what he was about to do.

  Joan held her breath. ’Twas wicked. His lips kissed the curls that guarded her feminine bud. Sinful. His tongue parted the moist folds and found her most vulnerable spot. Oh, Lord!

  Joan’s heart nearly stopped and she instinctively pulled herself away. “Saints above, is such a thing even decent?” she cried.

  “’Tis better than decent, ’tis wondrous,” he whispered wickedly. “That is, if ye agree to allow it.”

  Her eyes opened and Joan discovered Malcolm watching her. Waiting to see if she would accept what he was so intent on having her experience. She hesitated, the old fears emerging. She’d heard whispers of such things, but never had she imagined such a coupling.

  “I would never hurt ye, Joan.”

  “I know.”

  “Or do anything that made ye feel uncomfortable.”

  “I know.”

  She did know. Her trust in him was complete. He had told her it was wondrous and what little she had experienced certainly intrigued her. With a timid sigh she allowed him to pull her forward. To her delight, the heavy warmth pooling between her legs started the moment his tongue found her again.

  Clever tongue. Magic lips. Joan’s vision blurred, the heat between her thighs increasing until it was almost painful. His tongue was moving in and out of her body, teasing her with short, sweet strokes. Her back arched up from the bed as she gave a low cry; her head thrashed back and forth as the tension continued to build.

  The sensations he was provoking in her were indescribable. Joan bit her lip to hold back her scream and then suddenly her body seemed to crest and explode, coming apart in deep, convulsing tremors.

  Malcolm continued to caress her, the stroke of his tongue light and erratic while her breathing returned to a more normal cadence. Languid and sated, Joan turned to look at him, shocked to realize he still wore his shirt and braies.

  Smiling wantonly, she pressed her finger against his chest, then swirled it down his chest over his flat, taut stomach. The front of his braies rose and she could see his manhood thicken and stiffen beneath the fabric.

  “Will ye remove yer clothing, Malcolm, or shall I tear it off?”

  Joan smiled sweetly as she spoke, her grin widening when he crossed his arms and lifted his shirt, then pulled his braies off so quickly they nearly caught on his foot. His powerful body intrigued her; the wide shoulders, well-muscled chest and thighs, the springy hair that encircled his erect penis.

  It seemed to grow even larger as she stared at it, forming a glistening drop of liquid at the tip. Curious, she touched it with the tips of her fingers, massaging it into his hard flesh. He groaned and rocked his hips forward. Grinning, she encircled her hand around his heavy shaft.

  He was so hard.

  “Will ye take me now?” she asked thickly.

  “Show me what ye want.”

  Joan’s nostrils flared. Her emotions spun, her desire spiraled. She swallowed, her body filling with a bold, brazen strength. Slowly, sensually, she sank back on the bed. Her heart beating erratically, she nudged her legs open in an act of trust and acceptance.

  “My God, ye are beautiful,” Malcolm cried out in a guttural moan, thrusting his hands beneath her buttocks and lifting her.

  With one quick thrust, he sheathed himself inside her. Joan clutched his shoulders, her body opening to receive him. She lifted herself closer and he moved slowly, pumping against her with firm, deep strokes, letting her feel every inch of him.

  The air was filled with the sound of their harsh breathing. Though he had brought her to climax only a few minutes earlier, her body once again grew tight with need. Shocking her. Delighting her.

  Joan felt consumed by the fire he built between them. She arched her hips willingly, pulling him deeper inside. His thrusts were hard and steady, yet she wanted more, needed more.

  She wanted to look into his eyes, gaze into his soul. She wanted to know that he felt the same intense emotions that were driving her to near madness.

  “Look at me, Malcolm,” she croaked.

  His eyes opened. She saw the dark desire in them and it fired her blood to new heights. Their bodies were hot and slick with sweat, moving together in perfect harmony. It was not only the physical, for Joan felt herself drowning in a tide of feelings too strong to control.

  This was how it was meant to be be
tween a man and a woman. Passionate, primitive, pleasurable—a fever of hunger and need.

  She squeezed her legs around him, drawing him closer. Faster, harder, deeper. She felt the tears on her cheeks and didn’t know why she was crying. Her body started to crest again and Joan tightened her inner muscles, wanting to hold on to him for as long as possible.

  Suddenly, Malcolm crushed her to his chest, burying his head in her shoulder while the spasms of release shuddered through him. She felt a warm wetness flood her womb and joyful thoughts of a child invaded her heart.

  He lay sprawled on top of her for a moment, then rolled to his side, taking her with him. Floating on a cloud of sensation, Joan rested her head against Malcolm’s shoulder. His hand stroked her back gently, soothingly, and she basked in the intimacy of the moment, in the joy of being in his arms and in his bed.

  He hadn’t lied to her, nay; making love with him was all that he had promised and more. She was glad that she had trusted him, was even happier that he had convinced her to marry him.

  We shall share this fer the rest of our lives!

  Sated and drowsy, Joan felt her eyelids start to close. She struggled against it until she realized there was no need. Malcolm would be here when she awoke, keeping her and their bed warm. The thought made her heart sing in anticipation.

  Sleep soon claimed her, yet before she slipped away, Malcolm moved his lips to her ear. “I was right,” he cooed. “Ye were worth waiting fer.”

  * * *

  As the first light of dawn slowly crept into their bedchamber, Malcolm lay on his side, watching Joan. He could tell from the steady rhythm of her breathing that she was sleeping deeply. Her hand was resting on his chest, her nose was pressed against her pillow, and he had trapped one of her legs beneath his.

  By rights he should be equally exhausted. He had woken her twice during the night to make love to her again, his body sated only until the cravings started anew. Never before had he felt such an intense need to possess a woman, never before had he allowed himself to be so completely enraptured.

  It was an odd feeling to realize that he would never grow tired of the sight of her, the feel of her resting in his arms, the sound of her voice, raised in joy or even anger. Men were enthralled by her beauty, but it was Joan’s spirit and heart that had captured his.

  Malcolm reached for her hand and held it, bringing it close to his lips. She mumbled in her sleep and snuggled closer. He breathed in the warm smell of her, the hint of lemon and lavender mingling with the musky scent of sex.

  ’Twas intoxicating.

  Playfully, he blew at the wisps of hair that lay on her cheek. She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. Grinning mischievously, Malcolm did it again, and again, until he noticed her eyelids fluttered.

  When they opened, Joan caught his eye and smiled. Malcolm’s heart swelled. He smiled back.

  “Ye’re finally awake,” he said.

  “Not really,” she replied, closing her eyes and snuggling back against her pillow.

  “Ah, so ye intend to sleep the day away, ye lazy hussy,” he teased.

  “It seems only fair, since I got almost no sleep last night,” she quipped.

  “And whose fault is that, I ask ye?”

  Joan opened one eye and stared at him. “Mine?”

  “Aye. I’m a mortal man, not a saint, and ye are impossible to resist. Every bit of reason flies out of my head the moment I kiss ye and hold ye close.”

  She opened both eyes, then furrowed her brow. “I have come to understand precisely what that look in yer eye means, Malcolm.”

  “Och, ’tis a clever lass that I’ve married.”

  Malcolm ran his fingers down her arm and over her hips. Joan’s eyes darkened with interest and it pleased him mightily to see how receptive she was to his caress.

  “If ye take me again, husband, I’ll not have the strength to walk,” she mumbled, though in truth she did not protest overmuch.

  “Then I’ll just have to carry ye,” he whispered wickedly.

  * * *

  “Bring in the prisoners,” the McKenna bellowed.

  Joan stood beside a trembling Brienne as the four prisoners were brought into the great hall. They were a somber lot, sporting several scrapes and bruises. ’Twas obvious from their dirty clothes and gray, exhausted faces that they had spent an uncomfortable night locked in the dank, dark dungeon beneath the castle.

  A few curious murmurs from the small crowd broke the silence. The McKenna turned to Brienne, waiting for her to answer his unasked question. Brienne grasped Joan’s hand so tightly the knuckles turned white. Ignoring her own discomfort, Joan refused to pull away, knowing how much the younger woman needed her support.

  Finally, Brienne lifted her chin. Joan saw the spark of emotion pass between her and the imposter when their eyes met, and she feared the younger woman would lose her nerve.

  “Aye, Laird McKenna, that’s him,” Brienne finally croaked, her face as pale as snow.

  The McKenna nodded in satisfaction. He gestured for the imposter to be separated from the others. The man stumbled as he was yanked to the side, while his three companions remained in the center of the room.

  “I will have justice this day,” the McKenna declared.

  “Ye dinnae seek justice, but revenge,” Robbie cried peevishly. “Ye’ve no right to hold us. We’ve committed no crime. Laird MacPhearson offered a bounty to any man who would bring him Sir Malcolm. We broke no laws by seeking to collect it.”

  “Ye ambushed and kidnapped my son,” the McKenna shouted.

  Robbie’s eyes shifted. “Well, he wouldn’t have come with us if we had asked him.”

  The other two men sneered. Joan’s eyes widened at their foolish audacity. ’Twas like baiting an already angry bear. Clearly, these men had no idea what they were facing.

  Their brief moment of joviality ended when the McKenna walked forward and began slowly circling around them. Though older by several decades, his powerful presence easily intimidated. After a long, tension-filled moment, he finally spoke. His voice was deceptively quiet, so low that all had to strain to hear him.

  “Normally, I would offer a man the honor of trial by combat and let his sword speak fer his guilt or innocence. But ye three are not men—ye’re worms.”

  The scowl that darkened the McKenna’s features was terrifying. His hand moved to the hilt of his sword as he surveyed the three men in front of him. Any prior hint of grins on their faces vanished completely. Robbie licked his lips nervously and the other two blanched.

  “If not fer the ladies present in the hall, I’d draw my blade and gut the lot of ye,” the McKenna continued, his expression unforgiving. “But I’m a civilized man, not a barbarian.”

  He turned to Malcolm. “Is there anything ye want to say before I pass judgment?”

  Malcolm shifted his black stare to the three prisoners, stalking over to them. He glared at each man in turn, stopping when he stood in front of the tall one. Without warning, Malcolm drew back his arm and slammed his fist into the man’s jaw. He dropped like a stone, two teeth flying across the floor.

  Joan thought Malcolm had knocked him unconscious until she heard him groan. The tall one rolled to his side, wiping the blood from his mouth with his sleeve.

  Malcolm reached down, grabbed the fellow by his tunic, and hauled him to his feet. Blood seeping from his nose, the man started choking in Malcolm’s iron grip. Eyes glowing with fury, Malcolm lifted his knee and rammed it between the man’s legs. He howled in agony and once again fell to the floor, writhing in pain.

  “By rights I should castrate ye fer trying to force yerself on my wife,” Malcolm snarled, his face hardening into a scowl. “Lucky fer ye, I’m in a generous mood today.”

  A mixture of fear and sympathy rippled across the other prisoners’ faces as they watched the tall one curl into a ball. There was a general rumble of approval from the crowd, though a few suggested a harsher punishment. The McKenna held up his hand and the great hall fell
silent.

  “Ye three shall pay fer yer crimes with the strength of yer backs and the sweat of yer brows,” the McKenna decided. “The north side of our outer curtain wall needs repair. Ye three will fix it.”

  “I fear that might be too skilled a job fer this lot,” Malcolm said. He cast a contrived look at his father and the McKenna smiled.

  “Perhaps ye are right. Instead of rebuilding the wall, these men shall be sent to the quarry to extract the stone,” the McKenna amended.

  “’Tis backbreaking work,” Malcolm added. “But if ye are diligent, and manage to stay alive, the job should be completed in a year.”

  “A year!” Robbie cried, a vein throbbing in his neck.

  “Aye,” Malcolm answered. “And if ye cause any trouble, any at all, the sentence will be extended to two years.”

  “Take them away,” the McKenna said, slicing his hand through the air.

  Two of the McKenna guards dragged the tall one to his feet. Robbie and the other brigand fell in step behind them, their shoulders slumped and expressions subdued. ’Twas a harsh sentence, yet Joan could see their undeniable quiver of relief; they fully realized they were lucky to leave with their lives.

  “Bring the other one forward,” the McKenna ordered. “I will hear from his own lips why this imposter perpetuated such an insult to the McKenna honor.”

  Noticing Brienne nervously moisten her lips, Joan was glad that the McKenna had agreed to make this a relatively small audience, with only the immediate family and a small group of clansmen in attendance. A larger crowd would have caused Brienne even greater anxiety.

  The imposter took his place in front of the McKenna and Malcolm. His face was ragged and wary, but his bearing was proud, his head held high. His gaze traveled among them, resting upon Brienne. She, in turn, regarded him in stony silence.

  This time, it was Malcolm who asked the questions. He folded his arms and looked sternly at the imposter. “Why did ye impersonate me at the fete?”

  “’Twas an unplanned impulse,” the imposter replied. “After the first melee, a McKenna plaid had been left behind on the battlefield. I picked it up, intending to return it, but that’s when I first caught sight of Lady Brienne.”