Heart of a Warlock [Celtic Series Book 3]

by Lyn Armstrong

  Alayne turned to see the sheriff’s face redden with agitation.

  “I do not want to see your corset. Undo that too.”

  Alayne unlaced her linen corset. Her breasts spilled forward when she released them from the confines.

  The cool, damp air stiffened her nipples and a blush tainted her cheeks.

  The sheriff grabbed the bars. He stared at her breasts, his uneven stained teeth showing beneath the leer.

  “Come closer,” he commanded.

  She shook her head.

  “Come closer or you will eat nothing today.”

  “First, give me the ale.”

  She stared at him with stubborn determination.

  Grumbling, he picked up the cup and handed it to her through the bars.

  She edged closer and snatched the cup. Stepping away, she gulped down the liquid, soothing her dry throat. When the last drop fell into her mouth, she threw the cup at him, but he dodged it and laughed.

  “Now come closer, I want to feel your breasts,” he urged.

  “The food first.”

  “Nae, your breasts.”

  “Food.”

  “Breasts!”

  Alayne remained. She was so hungry and the smell of cooked spices had her salivating.

  He picked up the trencher and moved to leave.

  “Wait,” she said, her arm reaching out.

  Lowering her eyes, she continued, “You may touch me.”

  He chuckled under his breath and replaced the trencher on the floor near the bars.

  Alayne stepped closer to the bars, both her breasts poked through on either side.

  The sheriff reached to touch them, but before his hand could connect with Alayne’s flesh, she whacked his tender sacs with her fist. He fell to the ground, his hands over his groin, moaning in agony.

  Smiling, she laced up her corset and kirtle. “That will stop you from visiting my sister this eve.”

  She reached through the bars and grabbed the food. By the time the sheriff recovered, she had eaten most of the beef stew and bread.

  He used the bars to heave himself up, his face scowling. “I will make certain the ax is blunt when I hack at your neck!”

  Her smile faded and she gulped.

  “On the morrow, I will be back.” He shook his leg to the side and awkwardly walked up the stairs.

  Alayne sat on the floor and tilted the last of the stew in the bowl to her lips. The thick texture along with the spices gave her stomach the substance she craved. But it was not enough. On the morrow, she would be just as ravenous as she was before she ate. She knew this was the sheriff’s intent. To keep her hungry so she would succumb to his base cravings.

  Thoughts of Callum’s gentle caresses and soothing words gave her bittersweet memories. Even though he would hate her right now, she still loved him. And perhaps for a time, she liked to think he held feelings for her. That was, until she betrayed him.

  Sighing, she rested her head on the smelly floor and curled up, hoping her dreams would take her far away from the sheriff, the dungeon and the horror of her life.

  The next day went by with no one to talk to and little activity or food. She almost looked forward to the sheriff’s visit, although, she dreaded what next he would demand of her.

  Being hungry was something she truly hated. When she was in charge of the supplies for the keep, she always made sure there was plenty of food not only for her sister and castle servants, but also for the townsfolk to see them through the Highland winters. Even when she was blind, looking after Laird Tremayne, she made sure there was plenty of food in the cottage.

  Her stomach rumbled again and she placed her hand over it.

  Footsteps on the stairway announced someone was coming. Alayne stood, using the wall for support.

  The sheriff entered and hobbled to the bars, a trencher in his hands.

  Rising on the tips of her toes, Alayne studied the contents of a wooden bowl. A steaming meat pie topped with chicken pieces and slivers of almonds made her stale mouth water with longing. The soothing aroma of hot food filled her being, causing her stomach to betray her determination not to succumb to the sheriff.

  “I have extra fine morsels for you today,” he gloated.

  With all her inner strength, she turned her back and crossed her arms.

  “I will not be your whore.”

  “What a shame,” he crooned. “The cook made an especially delicious pastry of fruit and marinated dates.

  Alayne peeked over her shoulder.

  He picked up a piece of chicken and popped it into his mouth.

  Alayne opened her mouth as if it was she who ate the delectable morsel.

  He smiled and licked the brown gravy off his fingers.

  She turned to face him, anger rising. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “It pleases me to see you in here. The great Lady Alayne who used to walk these halls with grace and arrogance when it should have been a man controlling the castle and the wealth.”

  “You mean, Sir Rutger and yourself.”

  His knowing smile answered her. “I am aroused by your submission, your disgrace. This is where you belong.”

  “No amount of food will make me lay with you.”

  His boisterous laugh bounced off the stone walls. “Let us have an accord. You take off all your clothes and touch yourself and I will stay on the other side of the bars.”

  “Nae. I will not.”

  His voice lowered, his insipid brown eyes glared at her.

  “I have been considering whether or not your sister helped you murder Sir Rutger. Perhaps she…”

  “If I undress, how can I trust you not to come in?” she asked, nervously wringing her hands together.

  He grinned. “You have my word.”

  Alayne crossed her arms, peering at the short man from the corner of her eye. “You think me a fool?”

  He dropped the bowl to the floor and the ale sloshed over the edge of the cup. “Do you care for your sister?”

  “Aye,” she replied in a small voice.

  “Then undress and touch yourself … real … slow.”

  Alayne glared at the sheriff with resentment gnawing her insides.

  Without a choice, she flicked her cloak to lay on the middle of the floor and slowly undressed. Her garments pooled around her bare feet. She covered her breasts and stood still.

  “Lie down and open your legs wide.”

  Alayne gritted her teeth. Mortification flooded her cheeks, warming them.

  “Do it!”

  Lowering herself onto the cloak, she lay down and dropped her knees open, her womanhood exposed to the sheriff’s perusal. Her hands glided down her waist, her fingers parting her inner lips.

  “Aye, that’s a good lass. Show me everything. I want to see it all.” She looked to the side to see the sheriff lift his kilt. With one hand on the bars and the other on his erection, he watched her.

  Alayne closed her eyes. Humiliation filled her being. Why did she end up in these situations all the time? Maybe if she thought of something else, she could pretend she was not lying on a dirty floor having a disgusting old man watch her being intimate with herself.

  Thoughts drifted into her mind of Callum’s naked body standing in the moonlight, his lean torso and impressive manhood solid and firm. His thick blond hair skimmed his shoulders, gently swaying in the breeze while his sensual lips smiled at her, beckoning her to take her fill of his body. A body created for the Gods. The glow of his eyes called to her, urging her to touch him, stroke his magnificence.

  Alayne groaned, the image of Callum along with her probing fingers aroused her body to respond.

  “Alayne, I want to love you all eve long,” he said, his voice, thick and rich.

  Callum walked over to her, his graceful movements were of a wolf stalking its prey. She lay on a soft bed, the white bed-curtains fluttered in the breeze around her. On all fours, he climbed across the bed, his face only inches from hers…

&
nbsp; “Take me, I am yours my love,” she whispered aloud. Her skin called to the heat of his masculine body, the underlying power of lust being held within, waiting to unleash the moment he entered her.

  “What the hell are you doing?” his voice changed.

  Why was he angry?

  “What are you doing?” Callum raged.

  Confusion sliced through her heart.

  “Lady Alayne, get off the floor, now!”

  Her eyes fluttered opened and she stopped touching herself, praying all the while that Callum remained in her fantasy, and not here in real life.

  Turning her head, she looked around her knees to see Callum standing beside the composed sheriff. They mirrored each other’s stance with their arms across their chest. Except Callum had fury in his eyes while the sheriff smiled ruefully, enjoying her embarrassment.

  Rising to her feet, she bent down and threw the cloak over her shoulders, covering her body. If only she could slip in between the cracks to hide.

  “What … what are you doing here?”

  His eyes seemed to burn into hers.

  “I have been sent to judge your innocence,” he answered, distaste dripping from the last word.

  “Dear Gods,” she whispered, her hand covering her mouth.

  Her fate was doomed.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Thirteen

  “The keys.” Callum held out his hand without looking at the sheriff. His gaze fixed on Alayne’s trembling form.

  The sheriff stuttered, “I—I do not think it is wise to…”

  “Give me the keys and leave us,” Callum demanded, his tone firm and unrestrained.

  The keys jingled as they dropped into his palm.

  “As you wish, Laird Roberts.” The sheriff turned and left.

  Callum did not move until they were alone.

  Taking a key, he unlocked the iron door and approached the prisoner. Her wavy red hair covered her lowered face, masking her eyes from him.

  He resisted the urge to shake her. All the way to Mawrth castle, he tripped over a gamut of emotions, mixed between fury at her betrayal and agony that she was on trial for murder, he worried what he would say when he finally saw her. Shock surged through him when he came down to the dungeon to find her pleasuring herself in front of another man.

  “I expected to find you pleading for your life. Instead I find you using your body like a … like a harlot.”

  She looked up, her eyes blazing with hatred. “You do not know what I have been through.”

  “Nae, I do not know anything about you,” he spat. “If you are so intent on fucking every man you meet, then I will give you the satisfaction you crave.”

  Instead of moving away from his fury as he expected any sane woman would do, she stepped closer, granting him a hostile glare.

  “You could not satisfy me with a hundred nights.” Alayne said, then looked surprised with her newfound boldness.

  He swallowed hard, fury burning his throat.

  “Perhaps you have had a hundred knights between those sweet thighs, but I will not be one so easily forgotten.”

  His hands shook unlacing his breeches. Whether it was from anger or sexual tension, he did not know.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, staring at his manhood.

  “I am giving you what you want.” Grabbing her shoulders, he swiveled her around and bent her over. Grasping the black cloak, he flicked the garment over her naked backside and stood between her legs. Taking his rigid flesh in his hand, he guided himself to rub between her moist lips, teasing her protruding nub until he heard a low moan beneath her breath.

  The sweet nectar smoothed over his ridge shaft. Up and down, he glided between her lips, nudging her bud by his sensitive tip.

  Alayne did not pull away. He half expected her to rise and slap him, but she remained where he had placed her, vulnerable to his ministrations. The musky smell of her sex filled him with arousal, urging his blood to rush through his body. He wanted her more than any woman he knew. Being inside her was glorious, but he would not enter her until he knew she wanted him.

  Resting his tip at her entrance, he commanded, “Take my cock!”

  She wiggled slightly, but did not push onto him.

  Sweat trickled down the valley of his chest, dampening his tunic. “Take it!”

  In one swift movement, she pressed her body against his, sinking him all the way into her warm passage. God’s wounds, she felt sensational.

  Backward and forward, she moved herself upon him, the sound of her breathing mingled with low moans. “Aye, you like this. You like to have a man inside you.”

  A sheen of perspiration covered her backside, glistening upon her ivory skin.

  “Nae,” she replied breathlessly, almost inaudibly. “Just you.”

  A surge of possession filled his body and he grabbed her hips and pushed into her hard, taking her as his woman.

  His heavy sacks swayed every time he sunk deeper into her—her body driving him beyond a siege.

  Her creamy buttocks stood firm, tempting him to plunge into her forbidden place. Pulling out of her, he held her still and slapped his slippery cock against her tight hole, rimming the edges of her buttocks.

  “Do you want me to fuck you here?” he asked, his breathing labored.

  Turning her red face to him, she growled, “Aye, fuck it!”

  He smiled, his heart pumping in his ears.

  Slowly, he pushed his shaft inside the yielding passage. His cock massaged by her inner muscles. With his hands on her hips, he guided her into a leisurely, erotic rhythm.

  Dear Gods, this woman was incredible.

  She pressed against him, quickening the pace. Her groans sounded like the sweetest of torture, her pleasure mounting. His own was so close.

  He must hold out.

  Think of something else.

  A low-pitched scream escaped her lips. She grinded against his hips and Callum knew she found her glorious explosion. With an animalistic roar that rumbled from his chest, he released his passion inside of her, allowing his body to express the ultimate masculinity.

  After he had finished, she straightened and the black cloak dropped between their bodies. He wrapped his arms around her, his hands cradling each of her full breasts, their breathing slowed.

  The provocative smell of her neck beckoned him to kiss it. Pushing her red locks aside, he licked the soft skin beneath her ear. The salty taste welcomed him as if he was returning home after a long journey.

  She trembled in his arms and soon it increased to shaking.

  Was she crying?

  He turned her around to find tears streaking her flushed face.

  The raw emotion he held in was like a noose around his neck, choking off his words. How could he explain his feelings to her when even he did not understand them? Despite everything—he had to possess her. She was in his blood and he could not eat or sleep unless she was near.

  However, opening up to Alayne was something he would never do. Could never do. Instead he remained silent, her quiet weeping cutting through his heart.

  Alayne pushed him away.

  “Just leave, Callum!” she cried.

  “Alayne…”

  “Leave!” she yelled, her voice cracking with sobs. Crossing her arms, she turned her back to him.

  Adjusting his breeches, he walked out of the cell. The key grated in the lock, the sound creating an undeniable distance between them. He held on to a bar and looked at her slender form.

  If only he could he tell her how he felt, but he had been betrayed too many times to take the risk. Now she was on trial for murder and his head did not know whether she did it or not. But his heart argued—she could not possibly be a murderer. Not Alayne.

  Sighing, he turned and left the dungeons.

  Come the morrow, he would find out at the trial.

  Sitting cross-legged on the stone floor, Alayne wiped her tears. She was angry with Callum for making her feel when all
she wanted to do was accept her fate beneath the executioner’s axe. How did he find her? Why was he here as her judge? Out of all the nobles, the regent picked one that she had lied to and betrayed. She was amazed he did not immediately order her to the chopping block, convinced of her guilt.

  Then he came to her cell and gave her body one last pleasure. And what pleasure it had been. She smiled fleetingly at the new memories. A tingling sensation prickled her skin. Making her feel when she did not want to.

  “Bastard!”

  Grunting noises from the stairway rumbled through the cell. It sounded like men were having a hard time with something. Rubbing her eyes, she pushed to her feet.

  Three soldiers hobbled down the last stairs carrying a bed. The bed from her personal chamber; a bed she had not seen in over a year. Two servants hustled in after them and one opened the cell. They quickly swept the rushes and laid fresh straw while the soldiers situated the bed in a corner. A kitchen lad carried in a wooden tub, then proceeded to fill it with steaming water. A platter of fruit and assortment of dishes sat on a small table.

  “Who … who ordered all this?” she asked one of the soldiers.

  The stout man dropped on the bed a silver gown with blue jewels embroidered on the neckline, and pulled out a white box from under his arm. “Laird Roberts, milady.”

  Alayne nodded and could not swallow the lump in her throat. She walked over to the bed and ran her fingers along the smooth material of the exquisite gown. Would this be the last dress she wore before dying? Her gaze went to the mysterious box and she sat on the bed next to it. Placing the box on her lap, she lifted the lid and could not help but laugh. Inside was a pair of soft silver slippers with a note.

  I thought it was time you had a pair of your own.

  “Damn him for being thoughtful when I need to hate him.”

  Rising, she looked down at her filthy clothes. She missed the comforts of a bed and being clean. The grime of the cell felt like a second skin, one she was eager to peel off.

  The kitchen lad left with the servants, giving her privacy. She undressed and cautiously stepped into the tub.

  The warm water caressed every inch of skin as she lowered herself.

  “Why did he have to be so kind?” Alayne grumbled. She had to loathe him, to stay angry with him and life. It was the only strength she had left to face her trial.