Highland Redemption

by Lori Ann Bailey

  “That makes me tingle.” The words spilled out in a throaty rasp she barely recognized and let him know how affected she was by his touch. Closing the gap between them, he kissed her again, this time with a little more force. When he pulled back, his eyes focused on hers for just a brief moment, and she could have sworn they turned darker.

  He claimed her lips, but this time was different. The delicious kiss stole her breath and left her completely at his mercy. The heat of his mouth seared her all the way to her core with each swipe of his tongue. She matched each stroke with her own fevered desire. As their tongues mingled, she thought, This is heaven.

  Moaning, she reached out for him. Her hand trailed up his taut waist and landed on his ribs, urging him closer. Cherishing the feel of his warm flesh under her palms, she held on to keep herself grounded in this moment, and to let him know she was his and completely lost to the desire coursing inside her.

  Brodie’s hand fisted in her hair and pulled her closer. She didn’t know how it was possible, but the kiss deepened. This man owned her. She had been branded by him, and her heart would never belong to anyone else.

  When they broke apart, they gazed at each other. Skye licked her lips as she thirsted for his again. He shifted and kissed her as his arm snaked around her waist to pull her body flush with his. Her sensitive breasts felt hot and swollen against the flesh of his chest.

  The caress was slower and more deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world, as if he was intentionally drawing out the moment to savor the taste of her. She didn’t mind the leisurely pace. It was pure ecstasy just being in his arms with his lips pressed hers. But that would not be enough as the ache between her legs grew. Her body was ready to feel him plunge inside her tight, slick sheath.

  Brodie’s lips closed around the most sensitive spot on her neck, the one that always sent waves of need pulsating through her. Her back arched involuntarily, and she felt his long thick shaft hard against her belly. She groaned at the desire to have it buried deep within her.

  The ache that was building, and begging for release became a growing desperation. Moisture pooled at her center. His lips followed the curve of her flesh slowly up to her ear.

  “Ye are so beautiful, love. I want this to go on forever.”

  Oh, she did, too, but she also yearned to feel that sweet pressure filling her. Everything outside of this moment ceased to exist; nothing else mattered when she was wrapped in his arms with his body pressed to hers.

  His mouth trailed back to the sensitive spot on her neck that screamed for attention. She trembled as his moist heat clenched around her tender skin, and he suckled as he gently moved his head in small circles.

  She closed her eyes and tilted her head farther to the side, allowing him full access. She gasped, and his teeth tugged and his lips clasped around the spot as he gently sucked again. A stark primal need raced through her. She could feel herself becoming wetter and knew she was fully ready for him.

  The need was urgent now. The desire to have him buried inside her was all-encompassing. She wanted to feel the length of his shaft deep inside her as he drove into her again and again. Her body wanted him. Her heart wanted him.

  “Please,” escaped from her as she struggled with the need for release.

  He pulled back and gazed directly into her soul with a look of desperation, like he was on the verge of losing her. She blinked and looked back at him in confusion.

  “Ye are safe now.” His hand rose and softly caressed her cheek. It was like he was reassuring himself more than her, then his lips returned to her neck and his hand trailed down her ribs, leaving her skin on fire in its wake. His hot palm landed on her hip and held her.

  When he rose up on his knees, the loss of his warmth left her shivering. His gaze fastened on her with such hunger she knew he was walking a thin line on the edge of control.

  If she tried, could she send him over that precipice? She was already there, and was on the verge of pushing him to his back and climbing astride him. A wicked smile curved his lips, and his head tilted slightly to the side as if he could read her thoughts.

  She expected him to fill her in that moment, to give her body the release it craved. His scorching gaze seared her heart, putting a hot brand there that said I belong to Brodie Cameron.

  He did not enter her. His head dipped to her breast, and his body slid down hers, igniting fires down her belly and thighs. His hot, searching mouth landed on her breast as his hand sank lower to play in the curls at her apex. Her eyes fluttered back, and her hands clutched at the covers as she surrendered to the feel of his urgent attentions.

  When his fingers dipped lower and one skimmed the sensitive nub between her legs, she thought she would cry out at the pleasure.

  He briefly stilled, his finger resting on that pressure point that was on the verge of pulling her under the blissful currents about to envelop her. She rotated her hips to urge him to give her that release. He smiled against her chest, and she was afraid he would make her beg.

  His mouth covered her breast again and instead of reverent kisses, he took her nipple and the surrounding area into his mouth and sucked, gentle at first, then fevered and urgent. Fire shot through every part of her body. His finger rubbed up and down, over her sensitive nub again and again. It was too much. It was just right. She tried to look down at him and he must have sensed her movement, because his eyes tilted up to watch her with her breast still between his lips.

  The climax enveloped her as pleasure rippled from her core outward. Wave after delicious wave assaulted her senses as gasps of undeniable euphoria escaped from her lips. He released her breast and rose slightly, and his eyes devoured her moans of ecstasy. His finger still worked on her apex as the sensations continued to claim her.

  Just as the currents started to fade, Brodie removed his fingers and slid back up her body. His chest rose up but his hips impaled hers to the bed. His hard length was poised just outside her entrance. “Ye are so beautiful.”

  The tip of his cock touched her, and her hips shimmied to coat it in her juices. Despite her release, her body was not done with his. She still craved the pressure of his hard manhood filling her completely.

  His warm gaze met hers, and he seemed to struggle with something. “I love ye. I always have,” he said, and her heart clenched with happiness and despair.

  It was the truth. His soul could not lie to her, so she gave him the truth in return. “I love ye, Brodie Cameron.”

  He entered her deliberately and painfully slowly. His gaze told her they belonged together, and she recognized the emotion because she felt it also. Her heart almost broke, knowing she would have to go to another and that he could be discovered at any moment.

  He started to move, not so much pulling out, but thrusting while grinding his hips into her, reaching her very core. It was as if his body had merged with hers and recognized its home. The primitive dance caused his pelvis to rub against her sensitive nub again, sending renewed waves of urgency flooding through her.

  The fullness in her core and the crushing pressure at her center was too much, and a second wave of orgasms, even more intense than the first, rocked through her.

  “Brodie,” she managed to breath out as her hands reached up to clutch both sides of his head.

  His pace increased, becoming fevered and urgent. His mouth fell open to gasps that matched her own. His eyes glazed over as his hot seed filled her. Her chest swelled, and she soared in the pleasure of knowing that it had been she who had put that look on his face.

  He gently sank down on her chest and lay there as his breath slowly returned to normal. Her fingers wove in and out of his thick hair, the silky strands tickling the place where her fingers met. Neither moved. She wanted to remember this, the feeling of sharing their souls.

  This night would end too soon, so even when his body slackened into slumber, she was reluctant to slide out from under him. Eventually, the weight became too much, and she maneuvered to the side, leaving
his shoulder resting on hers and his arm draped across her belly.

  Nestling her head next to his, she caught a whiff of his unique woodsy scent. She would miss that about him, too.

  She wanted to cry, but remembered she was supposed to be savoring the night because tomorrow she would leave her heart here with the Raven.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Morning, love.” The words were whispered into her ear. Delicious chills spread through her as she stretched awake.

  “Umm, ’tis a nice morning.” She wrapped her arms around the warm body next to her. Brodie caught her hand, cupped it in his, and brought it to his mouth to place a gentle kiss on the top.

  “Sorry to wake ye.”

  She smiled lazily at him.

  “Dinnae look at me like that. We willnae not make it out of here.”

  “What if I dinnae want to go anywhere?” she asked as she ran her fingers up and down his back.

  “We have to get to Kentillie.”

  Awareness crashed over her.

  She forced a smile and pretended it would be easy to leave. “Ye ken he will definitely be there today, then?”

  “Aye, Lachlan sent word again late last night.”

  Their time was over. Now she had to make herself believe she could go back to a life without him.

  “How late is it?” She looked to the window, thankful she could peel her burning gaze from his. From the beams shining through the small slit in the curtains the sun had started its ascent into the sky.

  “No’ too late, but we should eat and get there soon.” He gave her a quick peck on her temple and threw the covers back. Jumping up, he retrieved his clothes as if he weren’t dying inside like she was. Cold rushed over her, and she shivered.

  Brodie had already made her breakfast by the time she’d dressed, and they sat together and reminisced. Just days earlier, she would have thought it heaven, but now she felt it was hell on earth, being unable to savor the moment, knowing they were about to be torn apart.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “I’m on my way to the village,” came a muffled voice from the other side. Brodie must have recognized the sound because he unlatched the lock then pulled.

  Ross. She couldn’t think of a logical reason for him to be there, because last time she’d seen him, he and Brodie were fighting.

  “Did my parents treat ye right?”

  “Aye, ’twas generous of them to let me stay overnight.” Ross smiled but avoided looking directly at her.

  “I’ll send word once the MacDonald arrives.” Brodie moved forward to embrace the man as if they were friends. She tilted her head, trying to dislodge her confusion.

  “I’ll be at the inn or the tavern until I hear from you.” The man who should not be there nodded at them. “’Tis good to see ye on yer feet again, lass.” Ross smiled at her sheepishly.

  She nodded. Was she still dreaming?

  Brodie said, “He helped save ye from the currents. We would probably both be dead right now if he hadn’t helped.” He turned to Ross. “I’ll talk to Lachlan about the MacLean and the trouble the MacDonalds are causing on yer land. Hopefully, he’ll be able to broker some kind of peace.”

  MacLean. Skye rolled the name around in her mind. There was something about it. Something she’d seen recently and blocked out.

  “’Twill come to war if the man willnae see reason.”

  “I dinnae think ’twill get that far. Once the MacDonald finds ye helped save Skye, he’ll have to let yer father go.”

  “From what ye tell me, he isnae reasonable. Will he forgive me when he finds I was the reason his niece disappeared from Stirling? And will that stop the MacDonald clan’s senseless killings of the MacLeans?”

  “My uncle wouldnae attack innocent people. Yer father is the monster,” she chimed in, fists balled, angry that everyone kept accusing her uncle of being things he wasn’t.

  “My father is innocent,” Ross countered.

  “We’ll sort it all out at Kentillie. Where’s Neil?” Brodie changed the conversation.

  “He went out for a drink last night and never came back. He’ll turn up, though. He always does.”

  “You should go back to the inn. I’ll send for ye after I meet with the MacDonald.”

  Ross nodded and turned to leave.

  A short while later, Brodie ushered Skye through the door and walked with her, hand in hand, toward the stable. The sun climbed in the sky on a beautiful but cold day. Although her stomach churned at what she must do, she leaned into his warmth, savoring his scent for the last time. A lump formed in her throat.

  Just before they reached the stable, she tightened her grip. “Please, dearest, one last kiss.” But even that would not sustain her.

  A slow sad smile curved his lips, and his head started to dip towards hers, but his attention was pulled away. She followed his gaze to see a large group approaching from the direction of Kentillie. The riders were too far away to see, but she recognized the unmistakable flag of the MacDonald clan.

  Grasping Brodie’s arm, she felt more despair than relief. “’Tis my uncle.”

  He became stiff, as rigid as a tree, and took a step back from her. The cold engulfed her. His expression was stoic and closed off as if he were ready for a fight. And when she looked back to her uncle, fear snaked through her as she recognized her betrothed riding next to him.

  A second banner came into view, the flag of her betrothed’s family, neighbors to the Camerons. Until now, she’d thought to spare Brodie the news that she’d be living so close, but there was no way to avoid it.

  “I need to tell ye before I lose my nerve. That’s Collin MacPherson with my uncle. ’Tis the man I’m to wed.”

  Hands gripped her from behind and yanked her back, away from Brodie, her uncle, and her betrothed.

  …

  Brodie’s heart stopped at Skye’s admission—his woman would be a married to another man.

  Collin MacPherson.

  It hit him.

  Argyll. He knew the earl was scheming to wed his ally, a Campbell, to the youngest MacPherson: Collin. But with Collin married to Skye, the earl’s plan would fall to pieces. That was why he wanted her dead. Her uncle would only propose the match, risking Argyll’s wrath, if he was seeking to make a Royalist match.

  Her uncle had never been a traitor.

  Skye’s hand was wrenched from his, and pain erupted from his shoulder. He winced, arching his back. Reaching around, he touched the sensitive spot and pulled his hand away to see crimson dripping from his fingertips.

  Scuffling reached his pounding ears and he jerked upright to see Skye struggling with a man who was pulling her toward the dense trees and away from him. Familiar, cold eyes watched him closely as Neil held a knife to Skye’s throat. The man he’d clubbed only yesterday glared, eyes bulging with hatred and a hint of madness, reminding him of a rabid dog eyeing a cornered squirrel.

  Movement to his right caught his gaze, and he shifted his weight in time to see the surviving bandit who had attacked them days earlier swipe at him with a dirk. Brodie ducked to the side and took up a fighting stance.

  “We just want the lass,” the bandit said as Neil pulled on Skye’s hair to tilt her face up.

  “Ye cannae have her.” Brodie’s claymore was strung over his back; he would lose precious seconds unsheathing it.

  The bandit would be no match for him. What concerned him was whether or not the arse had informed Neil that Argyll was offering a reward for Skye, alive or dead.

  Brodie launched himself toward the bandit—it was the small one who had trembled like a thistle’s seeds blown by the wind, running after their last encounter. Before the man could blink, Brodie had one hand around his neck and another around his wrist, which held the jewel encrusted dirk that had belonged to the bandit’s leader. His opponent attempted to break the hold by swiping at Brodie’s legs, but only succeeded in losing his own balance.

  He fell, and Brodie went down with him. Tangl
ed together, they hit the ground with a thud, and the man’s head hit the earth, a whoosh of air escaping from the attacker’s lungs. He didn’t give the bandit time to recover.

  Rising up on his knees, he released the man’s neck to strike his face. Bones crunched beneath the blow, and the man squirmed to get out of Brodie’s grasp, struggling in vain as Brodie’s fist returned again and again to the attacker’s face.

  Skye screamed, and he turned to see her sprawled on the ground and crawling away from Neil as he drove the knife he’d held up to Skye through the chest of one of Lachlan’s guards.

  His gaze shifted back to Skye to make sure she was unharmed. She appeared uninjured, but in the time he’d taken to inspect her, Neil had unsheathed a broadsword from his waist. Brodie didn’t have time to draw his claymore before the brute charged toward him.

  Releasing the limp man, he rolled, but not in time. The blade grazed his arm, and pain exploded at the spot. His hand moved to cover the wound as he continued to roll then bounded to his feet.

  Neil hadn’t been able to stop his forward momentum, and the traitor’s sword pierced the ground. Struggling to pull it from the soft earth, the arse’s attention was focused on his indisposed weapon and not him. Neil’s sword had landed just shy of the bandit, who came up on all fours and coughed up blood.

  Brodie charged before Ross’s friend could turn the broadsword on him again. “What are ye doing, Neil?”

  “Argyll wants her. The bounty on her head will see my family fed fer years,” the brute huffed out.

  Catching Neil’s arm as the man swung back around, Brodie grabbed the hilt and jerked down, freeing the sword from the mountainous man’s grasp. It slipped from his own and fell to the ground.

  Struggling for the dominant position, he faltered as Neil’s elbow connected with his side. Despite his pain, Brodie was faster and more agile, punching forward into the man’s gut. He was rewarded when the bastard folded at the spot of impact and buckled at the knees, falling to the ground.

  He kicked at Neil and scored a shot to the man’s ribs. Rolling over, the arse writhed on the ground and cradled the spot where the boot had connected.