Wildly Romantic: A Multi-Genre Collection

by Lana Williams

  "A man does not leave the battlefield for such matters." Dugan's eyebrows pinched together. "Why would you allow such a thing?"

  "As you stated earlier, this is nothing more than our cousins and the McNeil's, arguing over some cows wandering onto McNeil lands."

  Dugan slid his gaze across the expanse of land toward the other clan's domain. "On your brother's orders, I am to travel to see the McNeil at daybreak. I will take the two with me on my return."

  "As long as you do so," replied Conor.

  "The matter with the McNeil will affect you, Conor." Dugan told him, and looked toward his tent. "How do you feel about Miss Westcott?"

  Dugan’s comment took him aback. He and Dugan were close. As cousins, they grew up together and shared much over the years. Women included. He did not intend to share Victoria.

  He decided to be honest. "She is like none I've been with. I find I cannot get my fill of her," he replied. "I may take Victoria with me upon my return and move into my own keep with her."

  "Marry her?" Dugan asked.

  Conor narrowed his eyes at the man before him. "Why do you ask?"

  After digging in his pouch, Dugan brought out a parchment. Conor recognized Calum's seal upon it. What did his brother plan?

  "It's a betrothal request between you and the McNeil lass, Lisbeth."

  Air left his lungs. Being the second in line to lord over the McDougall clan, it seemed his duty finally came and claimed him. Conor could only stare at the parchment; not wanting to believe the time had arrived. He looked back toward his tent. "Dugan, can you delay?"

  "Yes, but for how long?"

  "Just another day, I must think on this. I must accept it."

  "There is more," Dugan told him, placing his hand on Conor's shoulder in a show of support. "Calum intends to marry off Miss Westcott."

  "To whom?"

  Dugan's amber eyes met his. "To me."

  Chapter Twelve

  Where had Conor gone? Victoria sat on the cot, her legs up against her chest. She'd been there for hours, not daring to go outside, except once in a dash to relieve herself, returning without delay.

  She could not stroll about in her current attire. She'd not thought to bring something less colorful along and now she was forced to remain inside Conor's tent until his return.

  Finally, the tent flap lifted and Conor entered, his eyes immediately searching for her. He held two bowls of food and a cloth bundle, which he placed on a small table.

  Victoria's stomach grumbled and she scrambled over to where he stood. Conor took her by the shoulders and looked down at her. "I apologize for not listening to you earlier."

  Her eyebrows lifted and then she lowered them and stepped back with a shrug. "Will you listen to me now?"

  "Aye." Conor looked to the food. "While we eat."

  They sat. He opened the cloth and took out bread, which he tore apart, and placed a large chunk in her bowl.

  She sopped up the broth with a piece of bread and began to eat. Surprisingly, the food was actually delicious.

  "Did you mean to tell me Calum plans to give you to Dugan?" Conor's eyes met her gaze without expression.

  "Yes and to tell you that I am not going to marry anyone. I am returning to England." She lifted her chin in challenge. "I am not part of your clan; your brother cannot force me to marry against my will."

  "He can," Conor said, and then took a breath. "He plans for me to marry, as well."

  The air left her chest and Victoria could only stare straight ahead. Was this really their destiny? Her marriage to Darien Turner was a sad disappointment. Although she never aspired to a fairytale ending, she wanted more out of a marriage than a man who bedded maids openly and treated her wish disdain. She did not plan to experience a loveless marriage again.

  "You may not have a choice, but I do." Victoria pushed away from the table. "I will escape at the first opportunity." She stomped over to where Conor sat and placed her hands on both sides of his face.

  "Is this what you want Conor? Do you want to be in a marriage with someone that you don't love? Care for at least?"

  He did not reply. Instead, he studied her face as if seeking an answer to the question in her features.

  "I refuse, Conor. I was already in one loveless marriage and would rather die than marry a man I do not care for."

  "You were married? When, and to whom?"

  It was time for him to learn who she truly was. "I am not Victoria Westcott, Conor."

  His eyes widened slightly but he waited, seeming to hold his breath.

  "I am actually Victoria Turner. You killed my husband, Lord Turner when you raided the house in England."

  She held her breath as she waited for his response. Conor stood and paced away from her, his head bent in thought. He turned back to her, his expression searching. "Did you love him?"

  Not the response she expected. "No, my husband was a cruel man who mistreated me."

  He came to her and wrapped his arms around her. "I don't know what to say to you. I find I can't apologize."

  "I understand your reasons for the raid and do not wish to speak of it right now. Tell me you'll help me go home. Please Conor, let me go, return me to my family." She placed her forehead on his chest. "I admit, I have strong feelings for you. I don't expect the sentiment to be returned, but respect how I feel about you enough to allow me to go. Maybe someday I will find happiness elsewhere."

  They remained in each other’s arms for a long moment. Victoria looked up at him and for the first time since meeting him, Conor looked to be distraught. "I cannot go against my brother's wishes. He raised my sister and I. Calum rose to the challenge of laird at a young age, when our father perished not long after our mother." He took a breath; she laid her ear against his chest, enjoying his solid comfort. "I admire Calum. His decisions are always with thoughts of what is best for the clan."

  Victoria lifted her face and he lowered his, taking her breath away with gentle kisses, lips traveling from one end of her mouth to the other. He continued to kiss her, his arms not moving while he savored her lips. She opened her eyes and saw his were closed, squeezed tight.

  It became clear. Although reluctant to let her go, Conor would not go against his brother's wishes.

  She slid her hands up his back and kissed him hard. Victoria pulled back. "I'm sorry, I must go then."

  "It's not possible Victoria." His face was contorted, as if in pain. "Stay with me tonight. We will discuss what we can do about your situation in the morning, perhaps you can remain in the household."

  Her body screamed yes, but she hesitated. Was she willing to once again find paradise in his arms, only to be torn away?

  Her options were limited at the moment. She lifted to her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him down to her. "All right, I will stay with you tonight. But I will not remain as your whore, I will not stop attempting to escape."

  "And I will do what I can to stop you." He pushed her blouse down, and her skirts followed, while she struggled to remove his clothing as well. Soon both were nude.

  Conor went to the cot and took the furs off, placing them onto the ground. He then took her hand and led her down to lay with him. He brought her against him, his hand sliding up and down her body, from her back to her bottom. His heated breath across her skin soothed as he held her without speaking.

  She slid her palms up Conor's back. The contrast of the smooth skin over his hard, muscular body enthralled her. He tasted delicious; Victoria traced kisses across his chest, flicking her tongue over his nipple when she reached it. His breath quickened and he arched into her mouth. She swirled her tongue over and around it, delighted at how responsive he was to her.

  His cock pulsed against her stomach and she reached down to caress it. Conor pushed into her hand and she wrapped her fingers around the thick shaft, allowing it to glide down the length of him.

  "Ah." Conor gasped, and lifted her face to him, taking her mouth with his in an ardent assault of l
ips and teeth. At once his hands were all over her, his body taut, hardened by tension.

  She released his cock and cupped his hard buttocks, her nails scoring lightly across them.

  Unlike their previous times together Conor did not hurry in taking her. Instead he held her and pressed kisses to her face and throat, each one separate and slow. Then his hands slid down her chest to knead her breasts, he bent to kiss each one.

  With one knee pressed between her legs, he positioned himself between them. Once settled, he lifted to his elbows and looked down at her. "Why do I feel I cannot let you go?" He asked, his brows drawn. "I find it impossible to think of you with Dugan or any other."

  Victoria did not reply, not wishing to break the spell his admission brought. Instead she maintained eye contact and slid her hand down his ripped stomach and then reached between them and took him in hand again.

  Conor closed his eyes and let a breath out. "Guide me to you."

  She placed his hardness against her entrance, and he pushed into her with one fluid motion.

  He wrapped her legs up around his waist, lifting her so he knelt between them. With his hands on her hips, his eyes locked on her, he pumped in and out, his movements quick and hard.

  Victoria fought not to lose control when he tapped deep a special place inside her, threatening to send her to oblivion faster than ever before. She could only hold onto his arms and stare into the grey depths of his long-lashed eyes.

  Each of his features perfect to her; she slid her gaze up from the cleft at his chin, to his full lips and sculpted nose. He'd closed his eyes now, lashes fanning down over his strong cheekbones.

  His hands held her hips tighter and Conor began to thrust faster, soft grunts escaping his lips.

  Victoria cried out, no longer able to hold back. She pushed up against him when her walls constricted around his hardness.

  He continued pumping with vigor, his face now contorting with the exertion.

  "Ahhh!" Conor called out, and he too, lost control.

  His arms encircled her and he kissed her face and slipped out of her. Victoria held on to him fighting the urge to cry once again, but a soft sniffle escaped.

  Worried eyes met hers. "Do not cry Victoria, I do not want to be the cause of your tears."

  "I'm sorry," she replied and pushed her face into his neck. "I will not weep."

  In the nest of furs against his heated strong body, Victoria furrowed deeper against him, enjoying the feeling of protection it brought. Never had she felt so close to someone and so secure than at the moment. Fleeting as it was. "This will be our last time together Conor. I cannot continue to allow this to happen between us."

  He cupped her chin and lifted her face, his serious eyes locked to her. "There is something I must do." His lips pressed tight, eyebrows drawn; Conor stood and began to dress. Without speaking, he hurried from the tent, while Victoria sat in the center of the furs and wondered where he went.

  Moments later, hooves sounded and Victoria grabbed her clothes to jerk them on.

  Just as she reached the entrance, Conor returned to the tent. He wrapped her in the furs and lifted her from the floor. With a grim set to his jaw, he carried her to the tent's entrance.

  "Where are we going?"

  Every bit the hardened Highlander again, he did not reply, but threw Victoria upon the horse, then mounted behind her. He guided the steed to a wagon and called out.

  "Dugan."

  Furs moved, and the Scot rose up, rubbing his eyes. He gawked at them, his eyebrows hitched. "What are you doing?"

  "Tear the missive to the McNeil to pieces," Conor told him. "I am riding to the nearest village where I will marry Miss Westcott."

  Not waiting for a reply, Conor urged the horse to a gallop.

  Victoria remained silent, cocooned in the warmth of the furs between Conor's arms her mind awhirl.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "Where are we going?" Victoria asked Conor attempting to peer into the darkness but did not make out anything.

  "Just wait," was the only reply he gave her, his eyes trained ahead.

  They finally reached what looked to be a small farmhouse. Conor slowed the horse and guided it to the rear of the dwelling.

  He lowered himself, and then assisted Victoria down from the horse.

  "Conor, I know you are not going to disobey your brother. So I demand you tell me what you intend." She struggled out from the furs and attempted to straighten her attire once again wishing she'd thought to bring a change of clothing. "Have you gone mad?"

  Conor laughed and pulled her to him, kissing her fully before releasing a startled Victoria. "Perhaps I have. I've decided you are right, I have avoided marriage because I do not want to spend the rest of my life with someone I don't love."

  Victoria nodded. "So you are taking me to my brother?"

  "No." He went to his knees before her and took her hands in his. "Marry me, Victoria. I believe I am falling in love with you."

  "You cannot be serious," she looked around the small courtyard, her heart leaping in joy. It could not be true. She studied Conor's face in an attempt to gage if he spoke the truth.

  "Marry me," Conor repeated.

  Tears sprung to her eyes and she cupped his face with her hands. "I accept. However, I fear I'm ahead of you. I am already in love with you Conor McDougall."

  Conor stood and embraced her. "Perhaps not too far ahead, Miss Westcott."

  He tipped her chin up to her, and they kissed until her knees threatened to give out.

  "My brother will not be happy." She smiled up at him.

  "Aye, neither will mine." Conor shrugged. "But they will have to accept our decision."

  A lamplight flickered on in the house, and Victoria looked at Conor. "Who lives here?"

  "A friend, he is a priest. He is quite staunch in his beliefs, actually. Therefore, I am sure he will marry us upon finding us in a compromising position in his stables." He scooped her up and ran toward the stables behind the house.

  Victoria laughed. "I love you, Conor."

  "Take your clothes off immediately and show me how much."

  A hoarse voice sounded. "Who goes there?"

  Victoria gasped at what they were about to do, as she tore her clothing off watching Conor do the same.

  They fell onto the furs and hay, a tangle of limbs. Conor covered her body with his, kissing her until she began to respond.

  "Conor I could do without the sight of your naked arse this night," A man stood at the barns entrance. "What on earth are you doing?"

  "Malcolm, how fare thee?" Conor lifted from her and Victoria grabbed the furs to cover herself, her face heating with embarrassment at what they'd done.

  The priest a man with a kind face didn't seem perturbed at the least. He moved toward the naked Conor and shook his hand. "You could have just knocked and I would have allowed you in."

  "In the same bed without being married?" Conor asked.

  The Priest looked to Victoria who attempted a weak smile. "No, but it won't take but a few minutes to take care of that. I normally wouldn't unless the banners were read but I realize these are not normal circumstances. Get dressed and meet me inside." He shook his head and headed back to his house mumbling. "I never thought to see the day someone moved Conor McDougall to do something rash."

  "Conor are you sure about this?" Victoria asked Conor who lay down beside her once again.

  "More than sure," he said taking her hand and bringing it to his engorged cock.

  They made love and eventually headed to where the priest waited to marry them.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "Your Englishman is here."

  Cailyn McDougall jerked her attention away from her brawling brothers to her cousin Dugan, who leaned halfway out the window, his gaze locked on what transpired below.

  She darted to where Dugan stood and attempted to shove him aside, but he refused to budge. "It's Captain Westcott."

  "Oh, God!" This time she succeeded in
moving Dugan and peered down. The rider who approached, surrounded by her clansmen was clearly Jamie Westcott.

  A loud crash sounded. Bringing her attention back inside the room. Her brothers tumbled over a large settee, two of its legs now flattened. Surely they should have tired by now. "Stop it!" She screamed at them, and was promptly ignored.

  She had to prevent Jamie from entering right now. Her already angered brothers would in all likelihood kill him. Cailyn hiked up her skirts and rounded the men, who now had hands wrapped around each other’s throats, while their wives attempted in vain to pull them apart. Hopefully they'd not notice her absence right away.

  Cailyn dashed down the wide stairwell of Somerset Keep, her childhood home and through the great room out to the courtyard. At the open expansive wooden door, she attempted to catch her breath cursing the tight corset she wore. Once outside, with her hand over her brow, Cailyn shaded her eyes against the bright sunlight and squinted at the approaching party of men.

  With four escorts and many more of her clansmen around them, the infamous privateer Captain Jamie Westcott's immense steed lumbered toward the keep. His wind-tussled auburn hair glistened, as did his green eyes when they met hers.

  Her already thundering heart drummed faster under his regard. Cailyn motioned him with both arms to hurry and dismount, while glancing over her shoulder toward the keep.

  His brows scrunched together, he dismounted and stood next to his horse, holding the reins.

  "Hurry, Jamie, I must speak to you before my brothers come downstairs." Cailyn grabbed the reins from his hands and tossed them to one of his men. She then looked to a clansman, who watched with interest. "Captain Westcott is a friend of the family. Six of you can remain until the laird orders different. The rest of you return to whatever you were doing." The men gawked but did as she bid.

  Threading her arm through his, she tugged Jamie toward the keep. "Can you please walk faster?" she begged, now panting with the exertion of attempting to breathe against the tight contraption around her waist.