Forbidden Night with the Highlander

by Michelle Willingham

  But he didn’t move at all. Instead, his rigid erection pressed against her while he continued his exquisite torment of her breasts.

  She raised her knees, shuddering as the feelings gathered into a tight ball, rising higher until suddenly she broke apart. Violent tremors rocked through her, and she gasped with the force of the release. Rhys balanced his weight upon his arms, and she grasped his hips, silently urging him to thrust.

  With each stroke, she felt her body merging into his, becoming one. This man was everything to her, and it frightened her to think that she’d nearly lost him.

  She met his hips with her own as he drove within her, his body tensing as she squeezed him tightly.

  ‘I love you,’ she whispered again. And with the words, he gripped her bottom and thrust inside over and over until he groaned and seized his own release. She felt thoroughly loved, and suddenly she realised that Rhys belonged with her. No matter what happened, he would be at her side and she at his.

  They could never know what the future would bring or if her fate would be the same as her mother’s. But for now, they could live each day, loving one another, for as long as possible.

  Rhys ran his palms down her spine, cupping her bottom as he remained buried inside her. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I feel loved,’ she confessed, smiling softly. ‘And whatever happens, wherever we live, I am yours.’

  ‘You are loved,’ he answered. ‘With everything I am, Lianna, I love you. And we will find a way to live here and at Montbrooke. I swear it.’

  She kissed him again as he stroked his hands over her body. There had been a time when she would have done anything to avoid marriage to this man.

  But he was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

  Yuletide

  Outside, fat flakes of snow drifted down to the ground. Lianna sat inside her chamber, watching it fall. It was the morning of the solstice, and her people had planned a feast this night to celebrate. Already, her stomach rumbled at the delicious scents coming from outside.

  A knock sounded at the door, and when she called out for the person to enter, her maid Orna arrived, carrying yards of emerald silk. The colour was beautiful, and Lianna rose to greet the older woman. ‘What have you brought?’

  ‘’Tis a gift from the MacKinnons. They want you to wear it on this day.’

  She brightened with joy and agreed. With her maid’s help, she donned the gown, and Orna arranged her hair so that it fell across her shoulders. Last, Lianna wore the ruby that her husband had given her, letting it rest at the edge of her bodice. ‘It is beautiful,’ she said, running her hands over the silk. ‘I will have to thank them.’

  ‘Follow me,’ Orna said. ‘You can tell them yourself.’

  Lianna wondered if there was more that her maid hadn’t said, but she noticed that the older woman was also dressed in a clean, crimson gown. Curiosity caught her, so she accompanied the old woman down the stairs where she found Rhys waiting for her. He, too, was dressed in new finery. She smiled and greeted him, taking his hand. ‘You look handsome, my husband.’

  He kissed her cheek. ‘You look lovely as well.’ Then he nodded towards Orna. ‘I was told that the MacKinnons have invited us to their feast. But I thought it would be this evening.’

  She shrugged. ‘As did I. What are they planning, do you think?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ But he guided her outside. The snow had stopped falling, and she was startled to see the clan lined up on both sides of the clearing, creating a pathway for them. All were dressed in finery, and she also saw the Norman soldiers standing among them. One of the MacKinnon girls came forward, her hair tied up in colourful ribbons.

  ‘They are here for your wedding celebration,’ came a deep voice from behind them. Lianna turned and saw her father Alastair standing there. He was dressed as befitted a clan chief, with a saffron shirt and hose, as well as a hat adorned with a hawk’s feather.

  ‘But we have been married for months now,’ Lianna said.

  ‘Not properly,’ her father said. ‘You are a Scot, and you should be married as one of us.’ He nodded towards the people. ‘Go on, then. The priest is waiting.’

  A sudden swell of emotion caught at her heart, and Rhys squeezed her hand. When she met his gaze, she fought back tears of happiness. The people had remembered her desire to be wedded here, and this was their way of accepting Rhys among them.

  She took his arm as he helped her down the stairs, through the snow. The people cheered for them, and she smiled as they walked towards the kirk. Someone had decorated it with holly and greenery for the Yuletide season, and the priest stood outside the door, ready to hear their vows.

  A few tears did escape when he began the words in Latin, offering blessings upon her and Rhys. She spoke the vows binding them, and he did the same. All throughout the Mass, she kept her gaze fixed upon her husband’s face, her heart filled up with joy.

  Afterwards, a deafening roar of approval sounded from the crowd, and Rhys kissed her. He lifted her up so the clan could see the new bride, and she laughed at him. ‘It must feel as if you are lifting a fat cow.’

  ‘I am lifting the two most important people in this world,’ he said quietly. ‘And I am proud to be your husband.’

  She touched her forehead to his, whispering words of love. After he lowered her to stand, the clansmen began carrying long trestle tables into Alastair’s house. Then came the food—roasted mutton, fish, boiled eggs, beef, cheese, and plenty of ale.

  Rhys walked with her back into the house and their table had been raised up on the dais. He guided her to sit at the centre of the table, and Alastair beckoned for two of the servants to come forward. They were carrying a large barrel of wine, and Lianna waited for them to set it down. But Alastair raised a hand, saying, ‘We will wait until all the people are inside, to offer our blessings.’

  Dozens of clansmen, women, and children entered, taking their places at the long trestle tables. Several children were too excited to sit, and two chased one another until their fathers intervened.

  ‘I sent for our best wine to celebrate the occasion of my daughter’s wedding to Rhys de Laurent,’ Alastair said. ‘This barrel has not been opened for many years.’

  There was a gleam in his eyes as he turned to them both. ‘It took two men to bring this wine here. And I believe you will understand why it was so heavy when they pour it.’ He nodded for the men to open the barrel, and Lianna wondered what the reason was for her father’s amusement.

  She passed her goblet, but instead of wine, gold and silver coins poured from the opening of the barrel.

  The people uttered exclamations of surprise, and Rhys began to laugh. ‘So this was where your brother hid your treasure.’

  Lianna picked up several of the coins, and let them fall through her fingers. She could hardly believe that they had been here all along, but a part of her grew thoughtful. Her brother had stolen the coins from her, but he hadn’t gambled them away, as she had believed. Instead, he had saved them, along with the rest of his winnings.

  He had made many mistakes, but she chose to forgive him. And for her father to find the coins, on this day above all days, made her want to believe the treasure was an unexpected wedding gift from her brother.

  She picked up several of the coins and met Rhys’s gaze. With a warm smile and a nod of silent understanding between them, they began tossing the fallen coins into the crowd of people, sharing the wealth.

  There was laughter among the people as the children scrambled for the coins, and a different barrel of wine was opened to share. Rhys raised his goblet and offered a toast, ‘To the MacKinnons!’

  ‘To the bride and groom!’ another man answered, and the cheers erupted through the house, filling the space with joy. There would be enough food and wealth to see them through all the years ahead.

  And in time, a new lif
e would be born into the world. Lianna rested her palms upon their child, feeling as if there had never been a moment of greater happiness than this.

  Epilogue

  Four years later

  Rhys stood with his brother Warrick and their sister Joan while their father, Edward de Laurent, lay in his bed, his face grey in pallor. They did not know how much time remained, but he knew his father was dying.

  The door opened abruptly, and his three-year-old daughter Sorcha came skipping in. Her face was filled with smiles, and her dark hair framed a mischievous face. ‘Grandfather, I brought you flowers!’ She carried a fist filled with buttercups, and Rhys scooped her up in his arms before she could pounce upon the bed.

  ‘Your grandsire is very tired, Sorcha. Leave him be.’

  Seconds later, Lianna hurried through the doorway. ‘I am so sorry, Lord Montbrooke. She was too fast for me.’ And it was little wonder, given that she was heavily pregnant with another child.

  ‘Both of you may stay,’ he said. ‘It does not matter.’

  Perhaps the little girl brought him memories of his younger days. Rhys let Sorcha sit beside the old man, and she pressed the crushed buttercups into his hand. ‘For you,’ she insisted. And a faint smile cracked across the man’s face.

  Then he turned back to Warrick. His expression held regret, and he ventured quietly, ‘I have need of your help, if you are willing.’

  Over the past four years, there had been a tentative peace between them. Warrick had fought hard to win the heart of the woman he had loved, and now their son, Stephen, had become the pride of his grandfather, while his sister, Mary, was outspoken and fierce. It was no secret that Edward’s brittle hatred had cracked apart at the presence of his grandchildren—especially after Rowena had died last winter. He had endless patience, and it did seem that he was trying to atone for his earlier misconceptions. He gave his grandchildren anything and everything they wanted, and in return, there was a fragile truce restored between Warrick and himself.

  Edward took a breath. ‘I have arranged a marriage for Joan, in Ireland. I would like you and Rhys to accompany her there, to witness the betrothal.’

  Joan appeared horrified at the idea. ‘No. You cannot ask this of me.’

  ‘It is well past the time you should have been wedded,’ he said. ‘And I trust Warrick and Rhys to be there on my behalf.’

  Joan took a step back. ‘Did you forget what happened the last two times I was betrothed?’ Her voice came out in a quaver. ‘They both died, Father. I am cursed, and no man will ever want to wed me.’ She shuddered at the thought. ‘And besides that, I am too old.’

  Edward shrugged with disinterest. ‘You are still breathing, are you not? You may be too old for childbearing, but this husband will not mind. He has children from his first marriage.’

  ‘But...Ireland?’ Joan looked appalled at the prospect. ‘You would send me away, to be married to a stranger? One who will probably die, too?’

  A tightness stole over Edward’s face. ‘Your fears are meaningless, Joan. You will do as you are told.’

  Rhys saw the panic on his sister’s face and intervened. ‘Don’t be afraid, Joan. I will go with Warrick, and you may meet the man. If he does not suit, the betrothal will not happen.’ He caught a glimpse of his wife’s face, and Lianna nodded her approval. Then she went to stand at his side and held his hand in silent support.

  ‘We also have an alliance with the King of Laochre, Patrick MacEgan,’ Rhys reminded Joan. ‘And Warrick holds estates in Ireland now, through his marriage to Rosamund.’

  His sister still appeared uneasy. ‘I don’t want to be married.’

  ‘You will not be alone in Ireland, I promise you.’ Warrick came to stand beside her. ‘All of us will go, if it will make you feel better.’

  But Joan did not seem eager to make the journey. ‘No, I would prefer to stay here. I may become a bride of the Church.’

  ‘I will not give your dowry over to a greedy abbot.’ Edward grimaced at the thought, and at that, Sorcha hopped down from his bedside, returning to her mother.

  Lianna picked their daughter up, and Sorcha nestled her cheek against hers. Then she brightened and smiled at Joan. ‘Don’t worry. You’re going to marry a prince.’

  At that, Edward gave a bark of laughter. ‘She has no hope of that, sweet girl. But perhaps a nobleman will do.’

  Sorcha shook her head. ‘You’re wrong. It will be a prince, and he will love her very much.’

  Rhys didn’t bother to correct his daughter, for she was strong-willed and loved to argue. ‘We will discuss our travel plans later,’ he told Joan. ‘But the choice is yours.’ He took Sorcha from Lianna’s arms, knowing that his wife’s back was bothering her.

  Then they departed his father’s chamber, while Sorcha continued to chatter about Irish princes with castles. Lianna only smiled. ‘Orna has been filling her head with stories.’

  ‘So she has.’ Rhys brought Sorcha back to their bed and tucked her in for a nap, placing her cat beside her to snuggle. Then he embraced his wife from behind, nuzzling her neck as they waited for their daughter to fall asleep. ‘Do you think we should let Joan have her wish to remain unwed?’

  Lianna turned around. ‘My father arranged a marriage for me, and it turned out to be the greatest gift of my life. Let Joan meet the man and decide for herself.’

  Rhys drew his arms around her waist. ‘You didn’t want me at first. Or have you forgotten?’

  She reached up to embrace him. ‘Oh, I wanted you from the first moment I saw you. When I believed you were a handsome Scot, come to carry me off.’

  ‘And when you found that I was a Norman, you were eager to be rid of me,’ he teased. He kissed her lightly, loving the way she responded to him.

  ‘I was stubborn,’ she confessed. ‘But then I grew to love you for the man you are. And I never intend to let you go.’

  He claimed her mouth, kissing her until both of them were breathless. ‘If I had a thousand years in your arms, Lianna, it would never be enough.’

  ‘But we have every day of the rest of our lives. And I will love you through all of them.’

  Rhys held her close, so grateful for the love of this woman. His life had been years of meaningless duty before Lianna MacKinnon had entered it. But now, she had filled up the emptiness, offering him the precious gift of her heart.

  And nothing in this world would ever part them.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this story,

  you won’t want to miss the first book in

  Michelle Willingham’s

  WARRIORS OF THE NIGHT series

  FORBIDDEN NIGHT WITH THE WARRIOR

  And look for

  FORBIDDEN NIGHT WITH THE PRINCE

  coming soon!

  And, if you’re looking for more sexy warriors, you’ll love Michelle Willingham’s

  WARRIORS OF IRELAND duet!

  WARRIOR OF ICE

  WARRIOR OF FIRE

  Keep reading for an excerpt from A WARRINER TO TEMPT HER by Virginia Heath.

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  A Warriner to Tempt Her

  by Virginia Heath

  Chapter One

  July 1818

  Dr Joseph Warriner sat down behind his desk with an air of resignation. Despite today’s genuine attempt at resolve, he realised such efforts were ultimately futile. His situation was pathetic. Worse—he was pathetic. He flicked out the dented gold pocket watch he always wore secured to his sensible dark waistcoat and knew, before even looking at the dial, it was almost eight o’clock. The fact he had checked the stupid thing every two minutes for the last half an hour irritated him, as did the sorry realisation he had also been drawn to participate in this ridiculous ritual for almost a month now. Drawn like a sailor to the sirens.

  And for what? One transient dance exactly twenty-eight days ago. A few exchanged, meaningless pleasantries whilst he had stood with her other eager admirers, tossed randomly like discarded breadcrumbs to a yard full of chickens. Or like today, for a surreptitious glimpse of the cause of his torment, guiltily stolen through the heavy lace that covered the windows, when he knew, deep down, his foolish heart was once again chasing a shadow.

  The whole sorry situation was pathetic.

  Angrily, he snapped the watch closed and turned his chair towards the window and waited. Just like he had every Tuesday or Friday morning in the last few weeks, at precisely eight o’clock, the glossy black carriage turned into the square exactly on time. It was market day in Retford and she always came to shop on market day. And the fact she was always so punctual also irritated him. Just for once he wished she would be late and he would be forced to attend to his first patient of the day, whose appointment was now timed for five past the hour on market days instead of on the dot of eight as usual. Another sign of how lamentable this folly was. It would be much better to do something worthwhile rather than waste his time engaging in this pointless ritual, especially as he already had a mountain of tasks to complete today. But, no—this carriage was a creature of habit, much like its vexing occupant, and it slowed to a stop just past the window of Joe’s surgery as it always did. To torture him.