Highlander's Stolen Wife: A Medieval Scottish Historical Romance Book

by Alisa Adams

  “He was always strong my laddie, Mary. He will not succumb to this. I ken it. Ye must have faith.”

  Mary looked into the older woman’s deep blue eyes. They reminded her of Alastair. She barely managed a smile.

  “I will never forget what ye have done for my son, Mary.”

  “The fever still holds him, My Lady… Oh, sorry, Muireall.” They had started to call each other by their first names from the moment they shared the room with Alastair. It meant bright blue sea. Mary could understand why her parents had named her so. The Lady of the clan was a formidable force. Like the sea, she could be soft and calm, turning into a powerful current when something displeased her, or her bidding was not followed to the letter.

  “I ken, but ye must ken that without ye, he would be dead already.” She placed her hand on her son’s forehead. A frown materialized on her brow. “Mary, I think the fever’s broken.”

  Murtagh nearly fell off his chair as he stumbled to his feet. “Praise the Laird. Does it mean my brother will make it?”

  “It seems so,” said Mary, feeling the tears slide down her cheeks. “Murtagh, go and find Mungo. We need tea… and, yes, a broth of sorts. He will need sustenance to build up his strength.” She heard the excitement in her voice, infecting the others. Like a bull on the loose, the heavy clansman bounded out of the door, shouting at the top of his lungs that Alastair was well again.

  When Mary looked up, she saw that the Lady of the clan was crying too. The two women leaned over Alastair’s prostate body and hugged.

  “Now, that’s a sight I never expected to see – my maîther embracing a Sassenach. Am I in heaven?”

  Both women snapped their heads in the direction of the feeble voice that sounded like a rasping whisper. “Alastair,” they cried in unison.

  He chuckled. “Gave ye a bit of a fright, did I?” His expression hardened. “Hamish?”

  “He’s dead, son. Not before he got ye with his sword while ye were holding him up.”

  “I had hoped it would never have come to that.”

  “Ye had no choice. He insulted yer betrothed and yer honor.”

  “Aye, Ma, I ken.” He tried to sit up, but he was still too weak.

  “Alastair, remain still. The lads are getting ye some broth and tea. When they get back, I will have them bring some fresh bandages and new bedding. We need to air this chamber properly.”

  “My, my, blossom, ye sure have those two malingering galoots running about for ye. I thought ye lost the wager and not Murtagh. I sometimes worry what I got myself into by getting betrothed to ye.” He coughed. Even talking was vexing.

  “Shush. You need to keep your strength up. No more talking.”

  “Listen to yer ladylove, son. She’s the one who nursed ye better. Come to think of it, she’s the one who saved ye life. A fine physician she is.”

  “By God, it is true. My son has come back from the dead. Praise God for his benevolence,” barked out the Laird, storming into the room with Murtagh and Mungo in his wake. Like an avalanche, he advanced on the bed, sitting down and almost hurling its occupants off it with his huge bulk. He lifted his son up like he was a swaddling babe and pressed him against his drum of a chest.

  “My Laird, you cannot manhandle him like that. Now, get off the bed and let us give him some pottage and medicine,” chided Mary harshly.

  Mungo and Murtagh exchanged nervous glances. No one ever spoke to the Laird of the clan like that.

  “Yer treating my boy like a weakling. The lad’s done enough sleeping. It’s time he went about his duties now that he is awake. He will have his food in the Great Hall with his father. Not in this stinking room.” Dropping his son like a sack of grain, he stood up and continued giving more orders.

  “Roderick Henry, Laird of the Clan Macleod Wallis, I will hear no more of ye ranting. Ye are behaving like a great big oaf. Now, get out of here before I have to throw ye out. Yer talents for shouting and molesting the sick are not needed here. Go find some poor kitchen lady or a clansman to vent yer lunacy on. Out with ye, now.”

  Mary had to stifle a giggle when she saw the Laird’s face turn purple with rage and embarrassment at having been reproached by his wife in front of the others. “Ye—”

  “One more word out of ye, Roderick Henry, and I will thrash yer bahookie.” Alastair’s mother placed her hands on her hips while she continued to glower at her husband. With a bovine grunt, he turned and stalked out of the room. Murtagh and Mungo shrank away when he passed them.

  “Right, ye two get to work. Murtagh, open the windows. Ye, Mungo, bring the broth and the tea. Mary will feed her betrothed while I arrange for some fresh bed linen. Is that all ye need, Mary?” asked the Lady kindly.

  Mary nodded. “Good, we all have our tasks. Get to it.”

  “You look like a ray of sunshine.”

  “Now, that’s something I haven’t seen in ages. I have almost forgotten what it looks like.” Alastair slid his legs off the bed and planted his feet on the ground.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I am getting out of here. I have been cooped up in this chamber for weeks. I am not staying in here another moment longer.” He started to lift his weight off the bed.

  “Stop, Alastair. You are not strong enough. It has only been barely a week since the fever broke. And the slash on your tummy – I don’t know if the stitching is strong enough to withstand you moving.”

  “Well, it better be because I am going for a swim in the loch. Despite all of ye washing me, I reek like a caged bear.” Before Mary could protest further, he was on his feet and marching around the room in his breeks in search of his plaid.

  “Swimming! Now that is definitely out of the question.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Water and thread don’t go well together. You might infect the wound and—”

  Alastair raised his hand. “Look, it’s fine,” he said, pointing at his midriff.

  His healing properties were astounding. What should have taken weeks had healed nearly as much in half the time. The welt was still an inflamed reddish color, but it was well on the mend. While he dressed, she ogled his body greedily. The pasty hue of sickness on his skin had been replaced by its habitual healthy tint. She realized at that moment, she had never really seen him fully in the nude yet. Both of their tumbles had taken place under a blanket in the dark. And when she had washed him while he was ill, she had always made sure to respect his modesty by not staring at him too closely. It had been a near-impossible challenge, but Mary’s love for him had made it possible.

  “Come on, lass. I want to see yer bookie go all pink because of the cold water.” Alastair slapped her there for good measure and stamped out of the chamber.

  “Where do ye think ye are going?” asked his mother when he emerged onto the gallery.

  “I am off for a stroll. The birds in the trees are making me jealous of their song. I have been confined in that room for far too long.”

  “That’s my boy. When ye get back, there are a few things I need to discuss with ye. We need to plan yer wedding for one,” said the Laird, sitting at the elevated table at the end of the hall. He took no notice of his wife’s hostile stare.

  “Did Mary allow this?” probed his mother further.

  “I am my own man. I do not need my betrothed to tell me when I can go for a walk on my own lands.”

  “Ye do if she is the one who nursed ye better. If it wasn’t for her, you’d—”

  “Be dead. Aye, Maîther. And I’ll be dead if I spend another moment up there.” He planted a kiss on his mother’s forehead. “Now, let a man do what he has to do. Come on, Mary. Stop footering about. There’s a loch waiting for us.”

  Mary shrugged when she saw the lady’s questioning gaze. “I suppose it might do him good. He seems strong enough.”

  “If ye say so, Mary – don’t exert yerself, son.”

  Alastair wasn’t listening. He was already on his way to the main entrance of th
e keep. Mary had trouble keeping up with him. The fortitude of the man astounded her. Like his father, he was unstoppable.

  Their stroll took them away from the castle and town. Alastair showed no fatigue. He had not stopped talking about his home, regaling Mary with stories of old. There were so many traditions, myths, and legends. Mary listened to none of it. All she could do was keep a watchful eye on him. In that moment, she wished that either Mungo or Murtagh were with them to help her in case he collapsed.

  “Why are we walking this way? Couldn’t we have entered the loch from the castle grounds?” asked Mary, breaking him in mid oratory flow. He was just about to tell her the tale of the monster that lived in one of the lochs.

  “Now that would not have been a walk now, would it?” He scanned his environ. “This’ll do.” Without another word, his plaid dropped off his body, followed by his undergarments. Mary’s eyes snapped open as she turned away from this naked man. “There’s no need to blush, blossom. I ken that ye have never seen it, but ye sure have felt it.” Sniggering, he darted forward toward the water. “Get yer thòns out. I want ye in the lake.”

  It was a magnificent summer’s day in the Highlands. Crystal clear and a little fresh. The sun languished majestically in the sky, kissing the mountaintops with sunbeam generosity. Its rays, like indolent and unhurried promises, flickered and tickled the world in a symphony with no sound. While the sun outdid everything else with the power of its light, the sea lake responded with hushed rushes and even more silent retreats.

  For one more moment, Mary let the vista captivate her. She looked to the magical countryside behind her that flowed toward the shoreline in unhurried undulations with grassy and wispy heads. The vastness and beauty of her surroundings told her everything she needed to know. There were very few other places in the world that could boast the same magic as Loch Torridon.

  When she heard a splash, she turned to face the blue expanse before her. Seeing Alastair laugh, she couldn’t help a smile appear on her face. Resigning herself to the inevitable, she stripped off her clothes. There was not much, just her plaid and smock. As it was summer, she had eschewed the vest and coat. She smiled as the sea breeze caressed her body, immediately stiffening her nipples that finally found freedom from the confines of her garments. Her dark hair flickered this way and that, randomly, like a flag in the wind. When one errant strand tickled her nose, she giggled.

  “Come on, Mary. It’s wonderful,” yelled Alastair.

  She walked toward the waiting loch. Mary hesitated before she took a few more steps. “Ooh.” The water was cold. Another gasp passed her lips as the sea claimed her more and more. The cold water felt both amazingly good and uninvitingly cold. Swimming in the sea was so different to the quiet placidness of an inland lake. An ocean lays claim to a person with each wave, forcing her further until she had no choice but to succumb to its embrace.

  Already hips deep in the sea, the element that could be both harmonious and angry cooled her skin, ridding her of the last vestiges of doubt and worry about the man she loved. She felt a deep yearning inside of her. It burned her in places that had only announced themselves when she lay in coitus with Alastair. Seeing his manhood for the first time had done something to her. Mary realized that seeing and feeling it were two completely different things.

  “Ye are bonnie, Mary. Get in here before I attack ye. Now that would split the stitches.” Alastair gestured in a come-hither motion with his hand.

  Mary took a deep breath. One, two and three heartbeats passed, a few more steps and another gasp passed her lips. Already, the icy-fresh water rose to her waistline. Two more steps and the underside of her full breasts slapped against the weak surf. She should have jumped right in; it would have been a lot less painful, a simple release from the sweet icy cold torment.

  Mary spent a second watching her taut nipples as if she had never seen them do that before. She brushed her fingers against them. The light caresses sent a jolt of warmth all over her body. She marveled at how her groin heated up in protest against the elements. It just felt so good to be in touch with her body. To be watched by the man she loved. He had fallen silent as if in the presence of a deity. Seeing the expression of serene wonderment on his face melted her heart. It was the right decision not to dive right in, she decided.

  Mary exhaled as another small wave slapped against her body. She took a deep breath and dove into the next upsurge. The impact of the water was immediate. Like a million icy needles, it pierced her skin. When Mary shot through the surface, she cried out, “This is delightful, Alastair.”

  Swimming on her back, she saw that there was not a cloud in the empyrean expanse above her, just the odd seagull flying endlessly overhead. She relaxed her body, releasing herself to the cold sea and the rhythmic motion of her breath and heart. Like a piece of driftwood lost from a floundering ship after a storm, she coasted over the waves in idyll harmony.

  When she felt his arms wrap around her, the cold somehow vanished. His naked body felt like a harbor would to a ship and its crew returning home after a long voyage. At that moment, all of her trepidation and fatigue from the past weeks slipped from her, disappearing into the water. She rested her head against him, relishing in the way his hands coasted her body.

  “Ye are the most beautiful woman, Mary.”

  His husky voice was so inviting that she had to turn and face him. With a snarl, Alastair’s lips crushed hers. He devoured her mouth with his tongue. Alastair groaned in delight when she responded with just as much passion and need. They remained like that for what seemed like an eternity, releasing all their pent-up desire that had accumulated over the weeks. It was angry as the sea when the squall rode the waves into a frenzy.

  “Take me now, Alastair.” The force in her voice surprised her. It had not been a begging tone. She had commanded him to have his way with her. Knowing this made her feel special, wanted and loved. “Let’s get out of the water. I need to see you.”

  There was this small sultry hunger constantly burning inside of her. Taking a deep breath, Mary plunged into the water. Alastair followed suit. They swam with all the force life gave them, so great was their need for the other. Shivering lightly, they stepped out of the sea that tried to coax them back with small swirls of frothy bubbles around their feet. They raced each other to their waiting plaids. Immediately, Mary started to arrange them on the grassy surface. Alastair just stood there, awestruck by her nakedness.

  Her skin was as pink as he had imagined it to be after the cold of the water. He admired the way her breasts moved when she bent down to flatten a corner of the fabric with her dainty hands. When he got a glimpse of the soft curls of her sex, Alastair thought that the fever had come back to torment him. His body reacted spontaneously and without any inhibition.

  When she turned around, Mary’s eyes were the size of plates. At last, she saw him fully naked and standing still for the first time. Alastair was even more magnificent than what her furtive glances had already shown her. His hairy chest was the size of a barrel, but flawlessly molded like on a statue of a Greek god. The scars crisscrossing his physique added to his allure, giving him a savage air. Letting her gaze drop a little, Mary licked her lips when she saw the pecks on his abdomen. A moment of sadness overcame her when she saw the sutures – it was brief. Moving down, she inhaled deeply. Before her stood his erection that towered toward her in an attempt to claim her.

  “Oh, my God.” For a heartbeat, Mary was afraid of the thing between his legs.

  “Blossom, I need ye,” he croaked out.

  On staggering feet, Alastair stumbled forward. With the determination of a man possessed by a beast, he pulled her toward him. His need was so great for his women. Alastair growled into her mouth when he kissed her. His hands already roamed over her body. Mary was no less violent in her plundering. She rubbed against him and held his buttocks with strong hands.

  “Oh, Alastair.” Mary closed her eyes and shuddered with delight as he pressed his lips to her
nipples and suckled on them. The circling motion of his tongue and the sucking of his mouth held her in a vice. She stood naked and exposed in front of Loch Torridon, delighting in his expert ministrations. She mewed when his hands moved up and down her flanks, caressing and grabbing along the way.

  “You’re so beautiful, blossom and your taste…” Alastair made his point with a loud slurp as he ran his tongue from her right breast to the left one.

  Mary could never have expected what he did next. Her eyes snapped open when she felt him kiss his way lower. Her mind screamed, Stop, stop; it is not for that. However, her actions contradicted her thoughts as she added pressure to his head by pushing him even more onto her lush onyx-colored curls.

  Mary felt self-conscious at having the most intimate part of her body so openly exposed to his gaze and caresses. Redness eddied over her skin when she saw him looking at her sex, stroking it with his eyes. She tried to cover herself with her hands, but he stopped her.

  “It’s all right, blossom. I want to see ye, feel ye, be one with ye and…”

  “Oh, my God!” gushed passed her lips when he started to kiss her there. Her head dipped lower. Not once did she take her eyes off his. The erotic intent was imprinted in the milk-colored watery pools with the blue islands with the diluted black dots.

  Mary’s magical musk assaulted Alastair’s nostrils like a heavy winter storm. He inhaled her scent, driving it up his nose until it fried his brain, inducing him to become even more demanding. “Yer honeypot has the sweetest nectar I have ever tasted, blossom.” He was maniacal with wanting.

  “Argh, Alastair.” Mary moved about on the spot as the now familiar sensation of climax caressed her sex and breasts with careful fingers. Individual bursts of pleasure shot up from in-between her legs, twirling, racing and intermingling until she yelled out his name like a holy incantation. Mary’s fingers dug into his thick red hair and interlocked there as if they were the rungs of life itself. She hit the point of no return when deep groans complemented her flight in a cavernous cacophony.