Highland Captive

by Hannah Howell

  “There are ways to secure even that brute.”

  “But weel secured he will do ye little good as a mount.”

  “Mayhaps, but he could still be put to stud. I would wager he has weel proven himself in that area.”

  She thought about lying but knew the man would simply test the truth for himself. “Aye. He hasnae had a miss yet.” She could not restrain the impish twinkle that entered her eyes. “Another year or twa of letting Elfking do what comes naturally and I will be a rich woman.”

  “Ye claim a fee?” Parlan asked in mild surprise.

  “Do ye not if a man uses Raven for stud?”

  “Aye, but”—he frowned—“payment went to Lachlan, did it not?”

  “Nay. Elfking is mine. I take money or one of his offspring. The horse Leith was on is one of Elfking’s spawn.”

  “Whose mare?”

  “One of Alaistair MacVern’s.”

  Parlan gave a soft whistle for the man was well known to have prime horseflesh. Then he chuckled to himself. It must have been a sore trial for the stiff-necked Alaistair to deal with a slip of a girl. That he did at all only verified Elfking’s worth.

  “Then he could weel richen my purse,” Parlan observed, and met her glare with a smile.

  “Aye, that he could but t’would be a waste to use such a fine horse for naught but that.”

  “True but who is to say he will never turn to me? Given long enough away from ye and good care at my hands and the bond that ties him to ye could slowly weaken, even break.” He took careful note of the fear that briefly flashed in her eyes. “‘Tis worth a chance.” He let her think on his words for a moment before drawling, “I may be willing to bargain.”

  Her impulsive start of hope was quelled briefly by the strange glint in his eyes. “What sort of bargain?”

  Leaning forward, he murmured, “Ye or your horse.”

  Aimil frowned in confusion, wondering why the other men at the table were suddenly so quiet. “I dinnae understand.”

  A slow smile touched his face as he traced the gentle curve of her face with one long finger. “Nay, ye truly dinnae. ‘Tis astounding. I want your horse. I also want ye.” He smiled a little more when she blushed. “I willnae steal your horse if ye come to my bed.”

  The outraged refusal she knew she should make immediately did not come forth. “I must speak to Leith.”

  He sat back with a nod and signaled Malcolm to take her to her brother. “I will have my answer this night, Aimil.”

  She paused in the doorway to look back at him with all the icy hauteur of a duchess despite her tangled hair and odd attire. “Sir, I dinnae recall giving ye leave to address me so familiarly.” She turned sharply on her heel and left before he could reply.

  When Parlan had stopped chuckling, Lagan ventured, “So ye ask her to choose one stallion or another.”

  Parlan frowned, wondering why being termed a stallion should bother him. “Aye, in a manner of speaking.”

  “Why dinnae ye just seduce her? For such a stud as ye, t’would be easy or so says your reputation with the ladies.”

  “I dinnae think she would be an easy one to seduce and I havenae the patience to wait long for her.”

  Lagan’s brows rose sharply in a gesture of surprise. “If ye are that hungry for a wench...”

  “I am not that hungry for a wench. Leastwise, I shouldnae be after Catarine wrung me dry but twa days past.” He grinned when Lagan laughed. “Nay, I am hungry for Aimil Siubhan O’Connell Mengue and I mean to have her.”

  “Even if she doesnae come to your bed this night?”

  “Aye. I will simply find another way.”

  “I think ye also mean to try for the stallion as weel.”

  “Aye. I said I wouldnae steal it. I didnae say I wouldnae try to win the beast over.”

  “Parlan, ye are surely destined for hell.”

  “Aye. Nay doubt, but I mean to have a taste of heaven first.”

  Chapter Four

  “He said what?”

  Aimil looked at her brother, thinking how much a warm, dry bed and food had restored him. He was as weak as a baby and the fever still lurked in his blood, but she no longer feared he would die. She did think, however, that he was close to bursting a blood vessel in reaction to the bargain Parlan had offered her. Leith seemed ready to start spouting all sorts of male nonsense about honor and duty to name. It was going to be very difficult to tell him her decision.

  “If I come to his bed, he willnae steal Elfking from me. ‘Tis his ransom for my horse.”

  Leith noticed the way she could not meet his eyes, busying herself with disrobing to her shift and performing her ablutions. “Ye mean to meet his price.” She began to brush her hair. “Answer me, Aimil.”

  “Aye, I mean to meet his price.”

  “Ye would sell yourself to him for the sake of a horse?”

  “I would sell myself for Elfking. He isnae just a horse to me. Please, try to understand.” She wondered if he would guess that it was not for Elfking alone that she had decided to accept Parlan’s deal.

  He sighed, regretting his harsh words. “I do understand. I ken weel what Elfking means to ye but what of honor?”

  “Honor.” She set down the brush and turned to look at her brother. “Honor says I should cling to my chastity, save it for my husband who will be Rory Fergueson, a man I dinnae even like. Elfking is but a horse yet he is worth ten of Rory. Where is the honor in losing the best while clinging to something for the worst?”

  “If t’was for my sake, t’would be understood but not to save a horse.”

  “Those who ken me weel ken that there is a difference between ye in my heart. To save ye, I would give up Elfking. To save something Rory Fergueson will tear from me in but a blinking and with nary a thought to me, I willnae do. I cannae. I dinnae want to.”

  He closed his eyes for he knew there was no argument to sway her. Having made it clear he did not want murder on his hands, Parlan MacGuin had searched and found the only other weakness Aimil really had. When Leith opened his eyes, Aimil had donned her shirt and stood by his bed, looking at him anxiously, tears streaking her pale face.

  “Will ye turn from me, Leith?”

  Lifting the bedcovers slightly, he patted the space beside him. She hastily filled it, huddling next to him and resting her cheek upon his chest. When his arm, heavy with weakness, curled around her shoulders, she closed her eyes with relief. Although she had no intention of turning from her decision, she had feared what it would cost her in her relationship with her brother.

  “Brat, I think ye could whore yourself bowlegged and I would still love ye.” He smiled weakly when she gave a watery giggle. “God, if only I wasnae so weak,” he cursed. “I have been a poor protector for ye.”

  “Nay. Odds have been against us from the start. Ye cannae fight a whole clan. Even if you were in full health, ye wouldnae be able to help me, Leith. If ye tried to put a stop to things, they would simply lock ye out of the way.”

  “Aye, I fear what ye say is true. Are ye afraid, sweeting? He is a man about whom many a dark tale is told.”

  “‘Tis odd but nay.” She told him of the incident concerning Alex. “Ye see? The fearsome Black Parlan doesnae hold with the abuse of women. I cannae say the same for Rory Fergueson.” She noticed that Leith could not either but was not really surprised. “What is the worst that can happen to me?”

  “Why, ye will be dishonored and,” Leith paused, blinked and continued slowly, “possibly unweddable.”

  “That isnae a verra great loss to my mind.” She decided to be honest. “I hope for that, pray for it. Aye, I act partly with that firmly in mind. Ye never can tell. I may even enjoy myself. ‘Tis said he is a great lover.”

  “‘Tis hard to ken if they mean his skill or the size of his staff,” Leith muttered. “I heard some ladies, if ye can term them such, their morals being loose, speaking about the Black Parlan last time I was at court.” He frowned as he recalled that convers
ation.

  “What did they say about him?” she pressed when he had been quiet long enough to try her curiosity.

  “That he is verra weel built. The wenches put it a wee bit less delicately. Called him quite the stallion.”

  “Oh.” Aimil frowned. “Do ye mean that he could hurt me? I mean hurt me simply by doing what is natural?”

  “Nay, lass. If what ye said is true, that he doesnae hold with the abuse of women, then he will be careful with ye for he will ken that ye are untouched. A woman’s body can shape itself to fit most any man. ‘Tis not the size of the horse that matters but the ride it gives.”

  “I think, nay, I truly feel that it willnae be so bad. In truth”—she took a deep breath to brace herself for her confession—“my body has already taken notice of his good looks and fine form. To be plain, I desire him greatly. Would it be so verra bad if I took the pleasure with him that I ken weel Rory Fergueson willnae give me? Is it wrong to do something to please myself before I must sacrifice so much to please others?”

  “Nay,” he replied. “Ye deserve some pleasure and I fear ye have the right of it when ye say Rory will give ye none. I only wish it could be done without shaming ye. The rules are set firm, and the Black Parlan kens weel that he forces ye to shame yourself by making this bargain. For that, I will kill the man when I get the chance.”

  Aimil shivered. She hated the coldness in her brother’s voice. Nevertheless, she offered no argument. Parlan MacGuin would have dishonored her whether she had been given a choice or not. She did not see it as dishonor but others would. Because of that, Leith would feel he was honor bound to make the man pay dearly. That she chose to go to Parlan made no difference.

  Malcolm entered at that instant after a soft rap upon the door. “The laird wants his answer now, lass.”

  She sat up slowly. “Does he now? Weel, mayhaps he can wait a bit more. Could give the big ox some much needed humility.”

  “It isnae wise to make the laird wait,” Malcolm said as he barely restrained a grin, “nor to try his patience.”

  “He sore tries mine,” she grumbled, rising to don her hose. “I dinnae ken what he needs me for. Surely a lusty wench with more flesh upon her bones would serve him better. I think the fool’s great size doesnae extend to his brain.” The last thing she wished to reveal was how Parlan’s desire for her thrilled her even as it puzzled her.

  Looking at Leith, Malcolm received only a crooked grin. The girl plainly did not see how appealing she was to a man. Malcolm wondered if her total lack of vanity was part of her draw for Parlan. The laird had certainly known his fair share of vain women.

  Answering Leith’s signal, Malcolm edged closer to the bed while Aimil continued to ready herself.

  “Can ye nae talk the man out of this? She is a maid of good birth and doesnae deserve the shame he will bring her.” While Leith sympathized with Aimil’s reasons, he could not resist trying to stop her, even if obtusely.

  “I tried but ‘tisnae any use. The laird has the heat on him. Aye, I have ne’er seen it so strong. He will have her before she leaves here. This bargain is only to make the having come sooner for he feels she wouldnae be verra easy to seduce though ‘tis a skill he has refined weel.”

  “Nay, she would laugh at sweet words and warm looks. She sees them as foolishness and falseness.”

  “So they ofttimes are. He willnae hurt her. Even though he sometimes doesnae like the woman, he treats her gently. He doesnae hold with treating the lasses rough. Ye ken as weel as I do that many another man would have tossed her down and had at her before now, hostage for ransom or not. ‘Tis seen as a right, a right won by capture.”

  “Aye, ‘tis true, but I will still kill Parlan for the shame he deals her.”

  “Ye can try. Aye, he kens ye will when ye get all your strength back. It matters not. As I said, he has the heat upon him.”

  Deciding she had dawdled enough, Aimil moved to take her leave of her brother. Malcolm went to wait by the door, allowing the siblings a moment of privacy. She bent to kiss Leith on the cheek, glad to feel that, although still a touch warm, he had already lost most of the searing heat of fever.

  “Dinnae fash yourself,” she murmured. “If it is too big, I will lop a bit off.” She smiled with relief when he chuckled softly.

  “I willnae worry. My mind is set upon making him pay for this. ‘Tis all I can do for now. I am not one to fret over that which cannae be changed.” He patted her hand. “Have no hesitation about coming to me to talk if ye feel the need to. Ye ken that there is little ye cannae talk of with me.”

  Leith watched her go with Malcolm and sighed. He had meant what he had said. To lie there seething would be an exercise in futility, and he was not a man to indulge in that. He would save his anger for when he was well and free. Then he would put his anger into action. Although he was sure he would be awake all night wondering how Aimil fared in the hands of their captor, if she would find the pleasure she sought or only abuse and shame, his body ruled, forcing him into the healing folds of a deep sleep.

  It was not easy for Aimil to quell her nervousness when Malcolm left her alone with Parlan. She may have chosen to come to him, but what she now faced was new, unknown, therefore frightening. As she sought to restore her calm, she studied his quarters. Heavy drapes kept out the chill, and a large fire aided while also controlling the damp that too often plagued a keep. The furnishings were simple but strongly hewn. Rich carpets kept the cold from one’s feet. The focal point of the room was the massive oak bed, high and enclosed with rich velvet hangings, drawn back at the moment. It was somewhat barbaric in appearance.

  Quickly she turned her gaze to the man who leaned against a bed post with an indolence she knew was false. He wore a heavy robe and, she suspected, little else. The lingering wetness of his long hair told her he had recently bathed. She did not know whether to be flattered by his efforts on her behalf or piqued that he was so confident that she would come to him.

  “I had begun to wonder if ye had decided to gift me with your horse.”

  “When pigs crow the coming day.”

  He grinned. “Have ye made a close study of all that is impossible?”

  Shrugging, she eyed him intently. “I dinnae suppose ye may have changed your mind.”

  “Nay. I was determined to have ye as soon as I kenned ye werenae a child too young for the having.”

  Inwardly, she sighed with relief. “Leith will kill ye for this.”

  “I would think less of him if he didnae try. ‘Tis the reason I will try not to kill him when he makes the attempt.”

  Even though she suspected his confidence in his ability was well-founded, his arrogance annoyed her. “He could weel kill ye.”

  “That is a chance. A slim one though.”

  “I think ye have far too high an opinion of yourself.”

  Her last word ended on a squeak as he scooped her up in his arms and gently deposited her on the bed. It astounded her that such a large man could move with such silent speed. When he partially covered her body with his own, she shivered slightly. His large, strong body made her feel very small and very fragile, yet she was not really afraid. Instead, she felt the desire she craved to taste eke into her veins.

  “Dinnae be afeard of me, sweeting. I mean only to pleasure ye,” he whispered, brushing soft kisses over her cheeks.

  “Pleasure yourself, ye mean,” she grumbled, but felt an odd tingling where his lips touched her skin.

  “Aye, but ye as weel, Aimil. Just relax and give yourself over to me.”

  “I will give ye naught.” She hoped he believed her protests for she had no wish to let him know she was there for reasons other than his bargain.

  “Oh, ye will, Aimil Mengue.” He trailed kisses down her nose to her mouth. “Aye, ye will.”

  When his lips brushed and nibbled at hers, she almost sighed. It was very nice, conjuring up a pleasant warmth within her. Soon her mouth itched for something more, and she felt her hands creeping to
his broad shoulders. When his tongue probed for entry, her eyes flew open in surprise for she was unsure of what he was doing.

  “Part your lips for me, sweeting. I crave the honey of your mouth.”

  “There is none there. My teeth are rotted and oozing.”

  Parlan laughed softly. “Such a liar ye are, Aimil Mengue. Part your lips.”

  Another shiver tore through her when his tongue eased between her lips to caress the inside of her mouth. Each kiss grew hungrier. He paused briefly between each, letting her catch her breath while teasing her slim throat with gentle kisses. She burrowed her hands into his thick hair even as her body arched, seeking his. The slow warmth that had begun in her started to grow. Tender noises of pleasure escaped her as she succumbed to the heady persuasion of his kisses. The sudden removal of her shift broke through the fog he had created in her mind.

  “Nay,” she protested in a soft, husky voice, trying to cover her breasts with her oddly limp arms, embarrassment dimming her growing passion.

  “Aye,” he growled as he gently tugged her arms away to gaze at her breasts with ill-concealed hunger. “So lovely.”

  Her body bucked slightly when his tongue flickered over each taut nipple. Pure white heat shot straight to her loins. As his hands cupped and fondled the soft flesh, his kisses touching their every curve, she returned her hands to his hair. She pressed his head closer when his mouth closed over one hard, aching tip to draw upon it slowly. A litany of pleasure’s sounds escaped her throat, but she was too caught up in delight to restrain them. She ran her hands over the warm skin of his back. The way he groaned and trembled slightly only heightened her pleasure. She was glad when he tore off his robe for now she could touch even more of him.

  As he heatedly spread kisses over her satiny midriff, Parlan reveled in her response. She was fire beneath his hands, far more than he had dared hope for. When he began to remove her hose, his hands touched the warm silken skin of her thighs and before he bent to kiss her there, he found that he had barely skimmed the surface of her passion.