Highlander's Prize

by Mary Wine

  “Allowing you near me now, with your suspicious questions, would only prove you right.”

  She drew in a stiff breath, her temper flaring bright enough to burn away her desire. “So go on with you before I tempt you.”

  He captured her hand and twisted it behind her back to press her against his body. “And I’m a liar for saying I came in here to discover why ye left me bed.”

  His kiss drowned out her response. For one moment, her temper had her struggling, but he held her still, pushing her lips apart to accept a deeper kiss. All the anger transformed into passion. It happened as fast as summer straw burned. One moment she was trying to yell at him, and the next she heard his shirt rip because she was pulling on it so hard.

  “That’s right, lass. Take what ye want.” He cradled her head, holding her in place with a grip that pulled some of her hair too tight. Tiny points of pain dug into her scalp, but they intensified the need boiling inside her. “Rip it if ye want to feel me skin.”

  She laughed like a lunatic, enjoying the idea of doing wrong, because she was insane. The shirt split easily, the fabric tearing with a loud sound. She pushed her hands inside the opening and shoved the ruined garment over his shoulders. He had to release her, and his arms became pinned.

  “There are some of your orders I do like following after all, Broen.” Her voice was deep and husky, astounding her with how sultry it sounded. She buried her face against his chest, working her hands up the ridges of muscle until she found his nipples. She continued up, pressing kisses against his flesh until she found his jaw.

  “Ye’re in need of chastisement, woman.” His voice lacked any true warning, but there was a promise lurking in his eyes when he stepped away from her. A quick pull on the wide leather belt that held his kilt in place and the plaid began to slide down his body. He caught it with a practiced motion and flung it onto the chair where she’d been sitting. The ruined shirt fluttered to the floor before he tossed his bonnet onto the chair as well.

  Somehow he was more powerful nude. Clothing was made to impress, but the way Broen stood so confidently in nothing but his skin sent a shiver through her. The man feared no one, not even the harsh environment he’d been born into.

  Highlander—it was a title a man earned.

  “You’re my lover, Broen MacNicols, not my husband, so do not think to chastise me.” She felt wonderfully free in that moment. “I’ll do what I please, and only what pleases me.”

  He growled softly, “Nay, lass, I assure ye the pleasure is going to be all mine.”

  He was smug and arrogant, but excitement went flooding into her belly. Her lips curled back from her teeth slightly, the pure magnetism of him threatening to make her wild. But she would hold her ground. She stepped back toward him, watching enjoyment take command of his expression.

  “There can be rewards for the man who waits on his lady’s whim.” She met his eyes, staring at the flames of hunger. “Rewards you will never sample if you continue to act like such a brute.” She rolled the word and watched his eyes narrow.

  “Ye should nae be able to make that word sound enticing, but ye do.”

  She tapped the center of his chest with her fingertips. “And you shouldn’t be about to growl while giving me a compliment.”

  “Me tone is part of the praise.” He tugged the belt of her dressing robe free. “It is nae often I find me control tested.”

  He pushed the edges of the dressing robe open, and the heavy garment fell to the floor with a soft sound.

  “Can you never admit you’re wrong?”

  His teeth flashed at her before he answered, “No.” He tugged her chemise over her head. The night air felt good against her skin, the excitement brewing inside her making her warm. She only had a moment to notice they stood together nude before he scooped her off her feet and carried her to the bed.

  “Let’s give Argyll something to watch, should he decide to come calling.”

  She aimed a slap at his shoulder and rolled over, refusing to be pinned. “Little wonder your tower is haunted when you talk in such a way about the dead.” She ended up on her knees facing Broen. He climbed onto the bed, looking as though he was stalking her. She knew the bed was smaller than his, but it seemed to sink as he moved all the way onto it. That, or he grew until she was battling the urge to flee. But it wasn’t the sort of fear she knew—this was an insane sort of need to run simply because she hoped he’d chase her.

  And catch her.

  She suddenly giggled, unable to resist the urge to be insane again. A look of surprise appeared on Broen’s face before she smashed one of the pillows into it. He yanked it from her grasp and offered her a growl.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she groused. “You’re a Highlander. I’ve been raised with tales of how barbaric you are, and that measly growl is all I receive for my impertinence?”

  “I would nae dream of disappointing ye. ’Course, it will likely bring the boys running again…”

  She launched herself toward him, slapping her hand over his mouth. Satisfaction lit his eyes as he cupped the sides of her hips and held her firmly.

  “Oh fie.”

  He forced her back, placing her beneath him without any further effort. He nuzzled her neck, numbing her wits again as passion began to intoxicate her. She was suddenly awash in sensation—every inch of her in contact with him. It was overwhelming, but exciting beyond even her memory of last night. Her body didn’t wait to be coaxed into arousal. Passion swept across her like fire in summer.

  “Are ye truly dismayed to be beneath me, lass?” He found her neck with his lips. He lingered over the delicate skin, teasing it with tiny kisses that set her clitoris to throbbing. “Admit ye crave me.”

  “I do, but I want more than to lie beneath you.”

  He raised his head, the unmistakable look of anticipation illuminating his eyes. “Ye were virgin last night, Clarrisa.”

  “Virginity doesn’t interfere with hearing, Broen, and I’ve heard as many heated tales as the next girl.”

  He stroked her cheek, tenderly smoothing over her lower lip before leaning down to kiss her. “Do nae be gullible, lass. Listening does nae grant ye any skill.”

  She reached down and grasped his cock. His expression hardened. She could see him battling to recall what they were talking about, and it filled her with confidence. She wanted to send his wits scattering just as he so often did hers.

  “If I wanted to lie beneath a man, I’d have done my duty to my family and let your king have his way. Tonight I’ll ride you.”

  He shuddered. She felt the ripple move down his length, and his cock hardened even more. It was now as hard as iron, and she shivered at the idea of being the one to set their pace.

  “Ye bait yer hook well, lass. I’m eager to jump at it.”

  He rolled over, shaking the bed as he settled onto his back. The night air was cold after having his warmth covering her, but she sat up, the freedom to command him filling her with a confidence she’d never felt before. Once more all the rules vanished, and she was able to follow her feelings, her cravings, wherever they took her.

  “I don’t want to be your possession.” And she refused to be intimidated. She rose onto her knees and heard him groan.

  “There are advantages to having ye on top, lass. More are being revealed to me as we speak.” His gaze was on her breasts. He cupped her hips and helped lift her into position. He held her above him, and her knees sank into the soft bedding on either side of his hips. “Aye, this position has merit.”

  She should have scoffed at him, challenging him over his comments, because it was unlikely he’d never been in a similar position. But she didn’t want to think, didn’t want to quibble with him. The head of his cock was burrowing into her passage, and all she wanted to do was sink down until his entire length was deep inside her.

  “Easy now… The night is young.”

  Need was pounding through her, but he maintained a grip on her hips that kept her obedie
nt to his will. She sank inch by inch onto his length, every moment feeling too long. At last he relinquished control, and she rose instantly, up until only the head of his cock was within her and then down until she no longer held her weight.

  “I recant, woman… Go as fast as ye like.” His voice was husky now, his expression tightening. He guided her with the grip on her hips, helping her to learn the rhythm.

  “I’m telling you what I want… Broen MacNicols…” It was nearly impossible to form her thoughts into words, so she stopped trying. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. All she wanted was to feel the sensations being unleashed by her motions. Every lift granted her light friction, but when she came down, his rod was pressed firmly against her clitoris, threatening to send her into the vortex of pleasure she’d experienced last night.

  She craved that pleasure, but she wanted something else too. Forcing herself to look down at her partner, she watched his face, seeking out signs of what he enjoyed best. She adjusted her pace and held the one that seemed to intensify his pleasure. For long moments, they were locked in a battle of wills. He tried to maintain his composure, while she attempted to break it.

  “Ye learn too quickly, lass,” he growled before pushing her down and turning over with her clasped to his body. He pressed her onto her back and took command of their pace. “But I’ll nae be unmanned before I hear ye cry with delight.”

  “You brute.”

  He growled at her but grasped her wrists and pulled her arms above her head. His pace was driving her insane, the hard, driving strokes making her mindless. He leaned close to her face, pressing a hard kiss against her mouth as his body drove her closer and closer to climax.

  “Aye, and ye enjoy every bit of me brutish nature, because it allows ye the freedom to meet me.”

  It was true.

  She cried out, not sure if it was because of the motion of his driving hips or his words. Everything was tangled inside her mind, and she surrendered to it. Lifting her hips to meet his, moving faster and faster until her heart beat at a frantic pace—it didn’t bother her, because it allowed her to feel so much more. Her clitoris was tightening, and the explosion of release beginning to wash over her.

  “That’s the way, lass. Take yer pleasure.” His voice was like a clap of thunder, accentuating the flash of intense light that split her in two. She strained toward her lover, crying as she felt him begin to give up his seed. For a moment that felt endless, they were spinning through the wildness of the storm together. When the wildness released her, she was bathed in satisfaction so heavy she felt pinned to the bed.

  But she realized the weight was Broen. He kissed a trail along her arm before releasing her wrist and then tenderly rolled off her. The only sounds in the chamber were of their heavy breathing. She lay where he’d left her, feeling too spent to move. He reached for her and pulled her next to his body with one solid arm.

  “What are you doing?”

  He nuzzled against her hair, drawing in a deep breath. “Going to sleep.”

  “But…” She tried to disengage herself from his body, but he smoothed her back into his embrace and even tugged the bedding over them as though she hadn’t tried to escape.

  “Lovers lie together long after the hunger is fed, lass.” He slid one of his legs over hers, tangling their bodies even more.

  She wanted to argue but couldn’t seem to form her thoughts into words—at least not any that made any sense. Railing at him for wanting to remain after he’d had her certainly made no sense. Women the world over struggled to overcome the hurt inflicted on them when men used their bodies for release and left moments after gaining it.

  So what did it mean when a man pulled her close?

  Love…

  She scoffed at the word that rose in her mind. It was born in that part of her that wanted to believe in courtly love. Reality wasn’t so peaceful. Affection for a husband was a wife’s duty, but only after marriage. True courtly love didn’t involve physical intimacy.

  So what was Broen doing? The man wasn’t chilled and in need of a bed partner to keep the Highland night away. He was warm, and she snuggled closer because his heat was inviting. So what…

  Her mind refused to continue trying to understand the situation. Instead, she sank into slumber, satisfaction still radiating inside her. Morning would be soon enough to contemplate the issues surrounding her.

  ***

  “I’m riding out to see Broen MacNicols.”

  Donnach Grant sputtered and struggled to his feet. “Ye’ll do nothing of the sort! That man is set on running through every Grant.”

  “Exactly why I’m set on clearing up this matter.” Kael Grant already had his mail tunic on, and his gillie followed behind his master with his helmet. “Ye may have given yer word, Father, but I’m… reckless. So I’ll be riding out to set the matter straight, since ye cannae.”

  “Ye do nae need to sound so smug. The ploy we’ve employed was to benefit the clan. No’ give ye the freedom to do as ye pleased.” Donnach grunted, his face turning red, but he lost the battle to remain on his feet. He dropped heavily into a chair positioned next to his bed because his leg supported him less and less these days.

  “This leg is a curse,” he muttered. “It keeps me from doing the things I need to.”

  “This is nae yer duty,” Kael insisted. “By the rules of this ruse we’ve begun, I’m the only one who can make peace with the MacNicols. Ye gave yer word to keep the secret of Laird MacNicols’s death, but I did nae.”

  “Aye, I did, and I will nae break me word. I’m grateful ye came home, for ye’re right. Ye are the only one who can ride out and keep Broen MacNicols from spilling our blood. But I do nae like it, no’ a bit.” He slapped the armrest.

  “The only part I like is that I’m able to shoulder the duty of serving ye and this clan, Father. I understand it frustrates ye, but I’m proud to be able to assume me duty as yer son.”

  Donnach struggled back to his feet. Kael stepped forward so his father could clasp his shoulder.

  “I’m proud of ye, Son.”

  Once outside the master chamber, Kael frowned. His sister, Nareen, stood there, waiting on him. Her lips were lifted in a satisfied smile.

  “Ye have too much cunning for a female,” he announced on his way toward the yard. Nareen laughed, her voice soft and musical. He turned to look at her. “And ye have all the charm of a siren.”

  “Ye needn’t sound so surly, Brother mine.” She paused near the doorway to the yard and pulled her arisaid up to shield her head from the rain. “What good would I be to ye today if I were timid? Ye are nae the only member of this family who likes to receive Father’s approval.”

  Nareen stepped into the rain without a care for it.

  “Fate has a misplaced sense of humor for sending ye to this life as a female,” he remarked. “Ye have the spirit of a Highlander.”

  Nareen took the reins of her mare and mounted the animal without any help from the men waiting to ride with them. The mare was a feisty creature and danced in a wide circle before his sister took control. Nareen’s eyes sparkled with enjoyment of the challenge.

  “Of course I do. Am I nae riding out with ye and yer men?” She scoffed at him with a pout that made her too fetching by far. “Do nae be so dense as to think only men can be Highlanders.”

  “Ye mistake me, Sister. I was lamenting the lack of feminine graces ye were not endowed with. Finding a man to wed ye will be a chore, to be sure.”

  “An easier task than finding a bride who will wed ye, thinking ye a man of no position who is naught but a rogue.”

  “I might take that wager, Sister, and ye know I do nae ever lose when I accept terms. Ye’ll find yerself behaving meekly in order to best me.” Kael tilted his head. “It might just be worth losing to see ye behaving all sweet and submissive.”

  “Nothing is worth that.” She tossed her raven hair and shot him a sour glance, but she also looked toward the gate. Kael took his helmet from th
e young lad acting as his gillie and gained the back of his stallion. A priest was offering a blessing to the men who were set to ride out with him.

  Maybe he was a fool to forgo kneeling in front of the priest. Broen MacNicols wouldn’t be friendly. But the season had changed fully, and there was no longer any time to spare. War was looming over the entire country, which meant he couldn’t leave his father with a neighbor who felt he had a justified reason for feuding.

  “Let’s ride, lads. There are important matters to resolve.”

  Or die trying.

  ***

  It was a gray morning.

  Clarrisa woke to the sound of the church bell ringing. She lifted her head, only to have the bed rock violently as Broen erupted from it.

  “It’s only Mass.”

  He turned to glare at her. “That is nae the church, Clarrisa. It’s the village bell.”

  She sat up and listened, hearing the difference in the tones. This bell rang faster, like a cry for help.

  “Cover up. We’ll nae be alone much longer.” He had already shrugged into his shirt and was pleating his kilt.

  She heard the pounding footsteps of his men and grabbed the coverlet before they made it to the chamber door.

  “Enter!” he snapped before they made it close enough to knock. The chamber door was yanked open, and Shaw came in with others on his heels.

  “Grants are riding over the hill, Laird. Looks like Kael is leading them.”

  “So… Donnach’s son has returned at last.” Broen’s tone was ominous. Clarrisa hugged the bedding closer, certain the temperature had dropped.

  “Out,” he ordered his men.

  Shaw looked confused, switching his attention between his laird and her. Clarrisa was sure her cheeks would catch fire.

  “Right, lads… Let’s wait in the hallway…”

  Clearly Broen hadn’t given his men such an order before. They all glanced at her, contemplating why she was pulling their laird’s attention away from them.

  “Just for a moment, lads.”

  Broen finished dressing, and his men left. They didn’t go very far, for she couldn’t hear their footsteps on the stone stairs.