Highland Captive

by Hannah Howell

  Aimil nearly flew off the bed when he touched her bare legs. Parlan took quick advantage of her sensitivity there, his hands and lips moving over her greedily, leaving no spot upon her long, slim legs untouched. The pleasure grew so intense Aimil thought he would kill her with it. His large calloused hands both caressed her legs and held them steady so that he could kiss her, lick her, and nibble her. When he finally made his slow way up her body, his hand slipping between her thighs, Aimil was too frenzied to do more than twitch when he touched her so intimately.

  Feeling that faint sign of rejection, Parlan lifted his head from her breasts only to hear her make a sound much like a purr and to see her open for his touch. “God, so lovely. Ye are melting for me.” He moved his mouth greedily over her breasts as he stroked her and probed her secrets. “Aye, lass,” he groaned against her throat, “let your sweetness flow. I mean to taste it soon. Nae this night but soon.”

  “Please, please,” she moaned, having no idea for what she begged but only certain that he could give her what her body now craved.

  “I must hurt ye the first time but t’will pass,” he rasped as he readied himself to possess her.

  She did not really hear him but moved her hips against his in a way that made him shudder. He took her with one hard thrust in the hope that quicker was better. Feeling the shield of her innocence rend before his charge, he savored the proof that he was the first, even as he flinched in sympathy with the pain he had caused her.

  Aimil shuddered beneath the onslaught, but the sharp pain was gone as quickly as it had come. All she could think of was that there was more. She moved her hands to his taut buttocks as her legs clasped him tightly, urging him to move with both actions.

  “Oh,” she sighed, her whole body shuddering with delight as he moved with slow, measured strokes. “So fine. ‘Tis so nice.”

  “Nice? Sweet Mary, ‘tis heaven. Move with me, sweeting. Aye,” he gasped when she parried his next thrust. “That is the way of it.” He encircled her hips with his arm to press her closer as he brushed fevered kisses over her face. “Aye, take it all. Take me in deep, lassie. God, ‘tis sweet.”

  After kissing her hungrily, he watched her as his motions grew fiercer. He was barely able to appreciate the way her body convulsed with her release when his own seized him. A hoarse cry of exultation escaped him as he drove deeply within her to spill his seed, a gift of passion that her body accepted with trembling greed. She continued to shake and to squirm slightly with lingering pleasure after he collapsed upon her. Parlan found her subtle movements arousing, despite how sated he felt.

  Aimil felt as if she drifted down from the clouds slowly and was amazed that she was still alive. That something extraordinary had happened was evident by her furious heartbeat and her gasping breaths. Her whole body tingled, yet she felt heavy and langorous. It had been all she had hoped for and more. She realized once was not enough. Since her maidenhead was now lost, she decided it would matter little if he did it again. She found herself hoping that he would.

  Easing himself away from her slightly, Parlan grinned at her. “There now, didnae I say I would give ye pleasure?”

  It struck her that he looked very much like a small boy who had found the bean in the twelfth-night cake. She felt sure that his experience with women allowed him to know exactly what he had stirred in her. Aimil sincerely doubted she was the only one to gain such pleasure in his arms. There was no way she was going to pronounce him bean-king and add to his already lofty opinion of himself, not when he was supposed to think her there solely because of their bargain. She gazed at her fingernails with an air of boredom.

  “I have never suffered such a lack of entertainment in all my short life,” she drawled.

  Parlan roared with laughter, not in the least insulted for he knew of the pleasure he had given her. He held her close as he laughed, and she soon joined in for it was a contagious sound. Aimil also knew that she had not fooled him.

  As their laughter died away, she was seized by a feeling of deep exhaustion. A great deal had happened to her in the past twenty-four hours, indeed, in the last week. Her body had clearly decided that, if she did not have enough sense to rest, it would take the decision out of her hands.

  Parlan sensed the sudden laxness in her and raised himself up on his elbows to look at her with a crooked grin, knowing she needed to rest but wanting her again. “Are ye betrothed, Aimil?” he asked, feeling a strong need to know if some man had a claim to her.

  She tried to open her eyes to look at him but gave up. “Since the cradle. I am to be wed at summer’s end.”

  “To whom?”

  “To Rory Fergueson. I am going to sleep now.”

  The quickness with which she fell asleep momentarily surprised Parlan out of his reaction to the name of her betrothed. He nudged her but got no reaction. She lay sprawled on her back much as if she had been felled by a blow. Shaking his head and grinning, he lay back down to think about her betrothal for a moment, the feelings his surprise had briefly quelled rushing to the fore.

  If there was one man in the world he could truly say he hated, it was Rory Fergueson. The man had no redeeming qualities at all. He had no proof but he was sure that Rory was responsible for the brutal way Parlan’s cousin Morna, had died. Rory Fergueson was vicious, sly, a liar, and a cheat. Each time the MacGuins had raided the Ferguesons, Parlan had hoped to find Rory within his sword’s reach, but the man had always eluded him. Fondling the lush hair tangled around Aimil’s face, Parlan knew he could not let her fall into that man’s hands. Getting up, he donned his robe and strode off to Leith Mengue’s chambers.

  Leith glared at the man who had awakened him and had just come from taking Aimil’s virtue. “What do ye want?”

  “Is Aimil betrothed to Rory Fergueson?”

  “Aye, since the cradle,” Leith answered, curious over the agitation he sensed in the larger man, “though I had forgotten the matter until the day we were captured. The wedding plans were being set and that caused me to recall the arrangement.”

  “Doesnae Lachlan ken the sort of man Rory Fergueson is?”

  “I cannae think he hasnae heard the rumors. ‘Tis an old arrangement that cannae be broken because of rumor. Of course,” he added coldly, “Rory might weel break the betrothal now that ye have stolen Aimil’s honor. Few men want to wed another’s leavings.”

  “Stolen her honor I may have, laddie, but I havenae hurt her in the doing of it. Rory Fergueson will kill her.”

  The charge was made with such conviction that all of Leith’s thoughts of Parlan’s crimes fled. “Do ye have proof to back your charge?”

  “Nay, curse it. Five years back he and my cousin Morna, were lovers. She thought he would wed her, told me of her hopes, for she had been a virgin when he had taken her. Then her hopes changed. She became afeard of the man though she wouldnae tell me why. When she told me she was ending the affair, I was pleased for I had never liked it, but she wasnae a verra comely lass and I felt she ought to have her moment.”

  “What happened?” Leith prodded when Parlan fell into a brooding silence.

  “The next morn she was found dead. If it wasnae for the ring and dress she wore, we wouldnae have kenned who she was she was beaten so badly. She had been used so harshly the women who treated her said she was torn up inside. I have no proof but each thing I have learned of the man since then tells me t’was him, and I have studied him verra closely. The man has left a long, bloodied trail of women who are too afraid to speak against him or who are dead, leaving no proof ‘tis Rory doing the killing. The beast covers his tracks weel. I must have proof and then I can cut him down wherever and whenever I find him.”

  Leith did not question Parlan’s conviction of Rory’s guilt. “All I can do is speak to my father. He is the law.”

  “It isnae enough.”

  “What ye have done this night just might be.” Leith did not really want to think that Parlan might have done Aimil a favor.

  “Na
y. T’will depend upon how badly Rory wants her or what is to be gained through the marriage.”

  “I cannae give ye an answer to either of those.”

  Parlan swore and ran his hand through his hair, unable to conceal his agitation. “I cannae allow this marriage.”

  “Ye cannae allow it?” Leith glared at the man. “Ye are a MacGuin nae a Mengue. ‘Tisnae your place to allow or to disallow.”

  “Aye, but ‘tis I who hold her now.”

  “She is to be ransomed. T’was said ye would send word to my father on the morrow.”

  “Ransoming can be a difficult business,” Parlan drawled, quickly putting together a plan. “A lot of haggling may need doing. Could take a verra long time.”

  “Rory may wait.” Leith found himself uncomfortably allied with Parlan to stop Aimil’s marriage to Rory.

  “Aye, and he might weel expose himself as the depraved bastard he is. Surely your father would stop the marriage then?”

  “I cannae say,” Leith reluctantly admitted. “Since she first showed signs of womanhood, he has been blind to her existence. I was meaning to speak to him on the marriage, but your brother captured Aimil and me. Rory’s uncle, James, and my father were like brothers. They both wanted the families joined in marriage. James died twa years back naming Rory as his heir. That could make my father all the firmer in his decision.”

  “God, a promise to a dear friend now dead. They are the hardest to change. Does Aimil favor Rory?” Parlan asked.

  “Nay, she says she doesnae even like him. T’was why I meant to speak to my father. The way things stand between Aimil and my father, however, it could make him push all the harder for the marriage.” Leith spoke with weariness weighting his voice for he did not have the strength to wrestle with such problems.

  “Why? What did the girl do to turn Lachlan against her?”

  “She grew up. Aye, ye may weel look puzzled but there isnae any other explanation. She was his favorite. He took the pair of us everywhere. Then, one night she wore a new gown that revealed her budding woman’s figure and he has turned a cold side to her ever since. None of us kens why, and my father offers no answers.”

  “There must be a way,” Parlan growled as he started toward the door.

  “Weel, I will be verra glad to hear of it if ye find it.”

  “If there isnae another way, I will wed the cursed wench myself,” he snapped, and left abruptly, leaving Leith staring after him in stunned surprise.

  Chapter Five

  Lagan entered Parlan’s chambers after a terse “Enter” had answered his knock. He shut the door and looked at the bed with raised brows for Aimil still slept there. It was rare that a woman was in Parlan’s bed come the morning. Parlan would take his fill of the woman and then sleep alone. It was a habit Lagan could not recall the man breaking before without having had too much drink. Lagan leaned against the bed post and eyed Parlan who was shaving.

  “Shouldnae ye at least give the poor lass a pillow for her head?”

  Drying off his face, Parlan strode to the side of the bed. “I have put her head on a pillow three times, but she moves off it.”

  “Strange she didnae wake when ye did so.”

  “I think the bed could collapse about her and she would sleep through it. I even put her shirt on after I awoke and she never even blinked.”

  “Sure she still lives?” Lagan teased.

  Parlan grinned. “Aye, though I did wonder at first. Never seen a person sleep so sound. Only able to rouse her once during the night”—he ignored Lagan’s mockingly sympathetic noise—“and she was certainly with me in body but, after she fell asleep again so quickly and so deeply, I began to think she never really woke up. I will be curious to see if she remembers the incident.”

  “Ye dinnae think something ails her, do ye?”

  “I never thought on that. I will ask her brother,” Parlan said even as he strode from the room.

  While he was gone, Lagan studied the girl. She was flat on her back with her legs and arms flung out. Her long fingers were lightly curled toward her upturned palms in a soft childlike gesture. Nearly obscured by her mass of hair which seemed to fill each empty space on the bed, her face was turned sideways. Lagan had reached the decision that she really was quite lovely when Parlan returned.

  “When he could stop laughing, Leith said she does this when she has overworked herself.”

  “Ah. Weel, she certainly had a busy day yesterday. I have never seen a woman sleep in such a position.”

  “Nay?” Parlan frowned in thought. “I have never noticed.”

  “Ye need to sleep with them to notice how they sleep,” Lagan drawled. “Once ye are done ye send them on their way.”

  Not really sure why he had not done the same with Aimil, Parlan made no comment. “Weel? What is odd about the way she sleeps?”

  “Aside from the fact that she looks as if she was dealt a sound blow to the jaw? Women tend to sleep on their sides, curled up a wee bit.”

  Shrugging, Parlan began to dress, murmuring, “She is betrothed.”

  “I am little surprised by that news. Are ye saying there will be an enraged fiancé coming to face you?”

  “Nay, I doubt this man will come to face me though I would sore like it if he did. She is to wed Rory Fergueson at summer’s end.”

  Lagan whistled softly, aware of Parlan’s hatred for the man. “Pity. He will break the spirit of the lass.”

  “That bastard will break more than that. He will kill her in the end. I cannae let that happen. Aye”—he held up a hand when Lagan began to speak—“I ken the problems. Her brother and I chewed them over verra weel last night.”

  “I would have thought all that lad would wish to say to ye is how and when he is going to kill ye.”

  “Aye, but he is a practical lad and nae hotheaded. He also cares for his sister and doesnae want this marriage. For that goal, we have formed an alliance. I have given much thought on how to make the ransoming take a long time. I shall ask for coin, only coin and a lot of it.”

  “There is a fair shortage of that. Aye, it could take a long time, a verra long time for it to be gathered. During which time?”

  “I cannae be sure. T’will give the lad time to speak with his father and Rory Fergueson time to expose himself for the beast that he is.”

  “Depending on how strongly he wants the girl or the marriage he could come after ye.”

  “God’s teeth, I hope he does, but the man is a low coward. He scampers into a hole at the first scent of danger. He kens that I willnae risk outlawry by killing him without just cause.” He looked down at the sleeping Aimil. “I cannae knowingly hand him a lass, not when I ken what he does to them.”

  “I feel the same, Parlan, but ye arenae her laird and ye cannae hold her forever. She is a Mengue.”

  “I have no real quarrel with the Mengues. Weel, not until now.” He flashed a grin at Lagan who laughed and shook his head. “I could mend that and keep her from Rory Fergueson at the same time,” he continued slowly. “I could wed the lass.”

  “Dinnae tell me ye love the lass?”

  “Nay, but, at least thus far, I like her and there hasnae been a woman I could say that about for more years than I care to ponder. She is of good family and nae hard to look upon. She was a virgin. I will have Old Meg take note of it before I decide to take that route. I will have none question it.”

  “It seems a drastic step to take.”

  “I must wed someday and I have met no other I even wanted to consider. I am eight and twenty, and many another my age has been wed a few years with a family started. In truth, the decision may already be made for I may have already begun my family.”

  “Jesu,” Lagan whispered, shocked, for Parlan had always been as careful as a man could be in preventing such a thing. “I am not sure that was verra wise,” he ventured after a moment.

  “I wasnae concerned with wisdom. Nay, I didnae have a thought in my head save to go the full length. ‘Tis anot
her reason the idea of wedding her came into my head. For months now I have found little pleasure with the ladies and wenches.”

  “But ye found it here?”

  “Aye. Tenfold. I will wait though to see if it wanes.”

  “It could be that she was untouched. Being the first can make a man feel verra possessive.”

  “I ken that. ‘Tis another reason I will wait to see. I am not so old I must rush to wed and I willnae tie myself to a lass who neither interests me nor pleasures me. I will suffer no empty marriage. Have ye seen Artair?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

  “Aye, I saw his back as he rode out of the gates with three men for escort.”

  “Do ye ken where he hies to?”

  “Aberdeen. I think he means to hole up there until he feels your temper has cooled.”

  “‘Tis best. Curse it, I have failed with that lad.”

  “Nay, he has failed by his own doing. He is but twenty. He may yet get set upon a straighter course. Many a youth has seemed lost only to turn to the better as age sharpens their wits. The lady stirs.”

  Aimil’s eyes opened suddenly giving both men a start. She was not awake yet, however. The heaviness of her exhaustion still clouded her mind and weighted her limbs. She looked about in sleepy confusion.

  “What are ye doing in my chambers?” she demanded in a voice husky with sleep.

  “These are my chambers,” Parlan corrected with a soft laugh.

  Rubbing the sleep from her eyes in a childlike gesture, she looked around again. “Oh. What am I doing in your chambers?”

  “Ah, how quickly they forget,” Parlan mourned, casting a laughing glance at a grinning Lagan.

  Bright color flooded her cheeks as memories of the night rushed into her mind. “‘Tis easy to forget the little things in life.”

  Lagan clamped a hand over his mouth but it did not stifle all of his laughter, and Parlan sighed. “Ye wound me sorely, mistress.”

  “I doubt much can pierce that thick hide,” she grumbled, then grimaced over the small discomfort her introduction to passion had left her with. “T’would it be possible for me to have a bath?”