The Taming of a Highlander

by Elisa Braden

  A strange, pulsing wave moved through her.

  “’Tis selfish, I ken. To take my pleasure with ye, to demand yer love and expect ye to take me as yer own. I might leave ye with bairns. I might break yer wee heart. Selfish, aye. I’m a blackhearted bastard. I’ve nae excuses.”

  Her own heart clenched so hard, she covered it with her palm.

  “By God, I’ve sacrificed everythin’ for nothin’. And I want one bluidy thing for myself. One precious thing.”

  “Broderick?”

  “Mayhap ye prefer Rannoch. Too bad.”

  “I—I don’t.”

  “Ye’re my wife,” he snarled as though he didn’t hear her. “Ye’ll sleep in my bed. Ye’ll take my cock into yer body and grow my bairns in yer womb.” His voice was pure gravel, his breathing harsh. He still hadn’t turned to look at her. “Ye’ll resign yerself to lovin’ only me, and nae for two or three years, lass. Forever. Do ye ken?”

  It took her several deep breaths to speak. “This is … quite the reversal.”

  “Aye, well. If God expects a man to be honorable, He shouldnae send the devil to break him.”

  Her chest ached. “Broderick, I’m so confused.”

  Finally, he turned. His eye was pure fire. “Nah. Ye ken just fine.” He opened one of his fists, revealing the handkerchief Rannoch had given her.

  “Th-that was … Rannoch only offered it because I was distraught.” She scowled, remembering why. “After you assured me my affections were unwanted and foolish. And commonplace. Let us not forget that.”

  He tossed the scrap of linen away and came toward her. “I must leave for Edinburgh.”

  Reeling at the sudden change of topic, she shook her head. “Edinburgh? Whatever for?”

  “Lockhart is there. I have reports from two contacts that his sister has returned to their townhouse, and his business partner has amassed a large sum of money. I must find him before he launches his next attack.”

  Her stomach sank. Her arms went limp. “When do you leave?”

  “We. Ye’re comin’ with me.”

  As she struggled to absorb the abrupt shift in her husband, he moved close and lowered his towering frame into a crouch, bracing his hands on the arms of her chair. It put his face roughly level with hers. Her knees brushed his abdomen.

  “I’m not certain that’s a good idea,” she said softly.

  “Nah, it’s not. But I must keep ye with me, else go mad.”

  “No, I meant you shouldn’t go. What do you plan to do once you find him?”

  He shrugged.

  “Broderick,” she breathed. “If you kill him, they will put you back into that prison. They might hang you.”

  “Aye, they might. But it must be done.”

  She clutched her blanket harder, her fingers strangling the wool.

  “Bringin’ ye with me changes my plans a wee bit,” he continued calmly. “I’ll have to recruit Campbell and Alexander to come, too. A half-dozen stout men besides. Mayhap more. Ye’ll be safe, so long as ye mind what I tell ye.”

  “I cannot let you do this.” Already, the thought of him returning to the place where he’d received his scars sent clawing urgency through her. She grasped one of his hands, squeezing his fingers hard enough to bruise. “I will not lose you that way.”

  “Who says I’ll be caught, lass?”

  The pressure inside her eased marginally. A frown tugged.

  The beginnings of a smile curved his mouth. “The first time they tossed me into the Bridewell, I didnae see Lockhart comin’. He stayed well hidden. I couldnae anticipate his attack, nor predict what he might do next. Matters are altogether different now.” His thumb stroked the back of her hand. “This time, he’d do well to fear me.”

  “Please.” She squeezed her eyes closed and clenched her teeth against a welling cry. “Broderick. I can’t lose you.”

  “Have some faith in yer husband.”

  “Husband.” She shook her head. “Suddenly, you want me as your wife.”

  “Oh, I do. Enough to make the devil blush.”

  She opened her eyes. “Yet, you claimed only hours ago that what we have is far from rare—”

  “Aye. All pure rubbish.”

  “Rubbish? Broderick, you’ve tried more than once to rid yourself of me.”

  “To protect ye.”

  “From Lockhart?”

  His gaze, still burning oddly in the low firelight, heated her cheeks as it traced over her face, lowered to her throat and then her bosom. “Aye. Him. But truthfully, lass? More from me.” His voice thickened to a rasp. “I’m nae the man I once was. Everybody mistakes that. They think I still have light in the dark places, ye ken? Mayhap if I did, I’d be worthy of ye. I’d be able to love ye easy. Soft. God knows ye deserve it, mo chridhe.”

  She grasped his hand in both of hers and brought it to her lips. Kissed his knuckles over and over. “I didn’t fall in love with a soft man. I fell in love with you.” Tears wetted her fingers and his. “Now, I concede I made a cake of myself over you, but please stop calling me a mockery.”

  A rusty laugh burst from him. He shook his head. “The term is mo chridhe. ’Tis Gaelic.”

  “Oh.” She sniffed. “What does it mean?”

  “My heart.”

  A shower of tingles dappled her skin. “Oh.” She drew his hand to her chest and held it over her own heart. “Broderick?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You really want me?”

  “If ye’re feelin’ fine, I could show ye.”

  “No, I mean …” Looking down at where she clutched his fingers, she gathered her courage. “You mentioned forever.” She raised her eyes and let him heat her with the fire in his. “That’s a long time.”

  His nose flared. His arm curved around her back and slid her close. “Not long enough.”

  He said it with such ferocity, she almost believed him. Her heart wanted to. It leapt and twirled. It danced like the daftest ninny.

  “Now, for the past wee bit, ye’ve been sleepin’ elsewhere. There’ll be nae more of that.” He unfastened the hooks at the back of her gown then scooped her up from the chair and transferred her to the bed as easily as he might move a pillow. “Yer place is with me.”

  Breathless and more than a little warm, Kate threw aside her blankets and propped herself up on her elbows. “Broderick, perhaps—”

  “Earlier, I said things that wounded ye. ’Tis natural ye’ll be vexed for a time.” He straightened to remove his waistcoat. “But if ye ever seek comfort with Rannoch again, I’ll make him swallow those teeth he’s so proud of.”

  “No, that’s not—”

  “Then, I’ll break his ribs. And his fingers. All of ’em.” He drew his shirt off over his head with a quick motion.

  Thought ceased. Aching heat surged. She’d nearly forgotten how magnificent he was.

  “I’ll win yer heart again, mo chridhe.” He dispensed with his boots, trousers, and drawers. “I’ll make ye glad ye’re mine.”

  He already had. His nakedness lit her on fire. Good heavens, how was it possible she had taken him into her body? He was massive, his manhood thick as her wrist, long, hard, presently swollen with heavy, pulsing veins, and rising proudly from his groin.

  While she studied his scarred body with utter fascination, he gently undressed her—first her gown, then her petticoats and corset. He left her shift in place but removed her stockings to carefully examine her legs, arms, and hips for bruising. By the time he drew back the coverlet and sheet to tuck her in and lie down beside her, she was aching everywhere. Immediately, she reached for him.

  “Are ye comfortable, lass?” He gathered her close, sharing his heat.

  “Hmm.” She nuzzled his neck, absorbing the cooling scent of him like a balm for her battered spirit. “A bit warm, I think. Perhaps you should remove my shift.”

  His breath caught as she wriggled her hips and widened her legs to allow his hardn
ess to settle between her thighs. He grunted. “Ye’ve had a rough night. Mayhap ye’d rather sleep.”

  She used his thick, muscular neck to drag herself higher and closer, plastering her bosoms against the hard ridges of his chest. Her nipples ached, tight and needy. Her thighs wanted his hands. Her melting center wanted his tongue. Every part of her wanted every part of him.

  Had he bruised her feelings? Yes. But he’d also saved her. And most importantly, he wanted her. She hadn’t realized quite how perfectly that missing piece would fit the yawning crags of her emptiness.

  “I shall sleep better naked,” she purred.

  He huffed—nearly a laugh—then groaned as she ran her thumbs across his nipples. “Christ on the cross. Will ye leave me no control, my bonnie Kate?”

  She nibbled his chin, licked a bead of sweat from his throat. “None whatever. Are you certain you wish to keep such a brazen wife?”

  He stripped off her shift with a frantic sweep. “Bluidy hell,” he gritted, rolling her onto her back and running callused palms over her naked breasts. “Ye’re so damned beautiful.” His thumbs circled her nipples, the pressure firm and dragging. “Look how ye are. Pink as a summer berry. Ripe and sweet for me.”

  She arched into the waves of sparking pleasure he drew with repeated passes of his fingers and palms. Firelight painted him black and gold as he lowered his head to capture one tip in his mouth.

  Distantly, she heard wind howling at the window, fire snapping in the hearth. She saw the coppery red of MacPherson wool and the wadded white of her shift on the foot of the bed.

  But all she felt was his mouth. His teeth. His strength and hardness and heat. She wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her fingers into the lush black of his hair. Pleasure rushed in upon her from all directions. His tongue swirling, his fingers squeezing, his weight pressing. And his hard stalk riding between their bodies, the tip seeking her center.

  “Broderick,” she panted as he moved his mouth to her other breast. “I want to touch you.”

  He ignored her, continuing his suckling and nibbling and stroking as if it were the only task he’d ever felt obligated to complete.

  “Dear God,” she moaned, grinding her hips to try to force the tip of his shaft to lodge where it belonged. “This is madness. I want to be on top.”

  More suckling, deeper and harder this time. Another nibble, rougher and sharper. The ping of sensation sizzled down to her core.

  She gasped. “Broderick! I demand to be on top.”

  He squeezed one of her nipples with near-painful pressure.

  She arched. Her sheath rippled and seized. Pleasure exploded so suddenly, all she could do was writhe and scream and grit her teeth like she’d been struck by lightning. The waves battered her, and still, he wouldn’t let up.

  Her body gripped and wept, empty of what it most wanted.

  In the storm, she grew frantic. She clawed at his shoulders. Her heels dug into his back. “Need you,” she begged. “Let me … on top. Need you.”

  Firmly, he gripped her thigh. Pushed her leg up. Then, he pushed himself up, sitting back on his heels and gripping her hips, sliding her up onto his thighs while her arms spread wide to grip the blanket.

  “What are you doing?” she murmured, marveling at the stark tension in his chest, arms, and face. His eye burned with obsessive lust. Sweat coated him. Between her widespread thighs, his manhood arched upward along his belly. Flushed and dark, it glistened on the rounded tip. He gripped the massive stalk hard—harder than she’d imagined might be pleasurable—stroked several times and forced the tip down to touch her where she most needed him. Damp and blunt, it kissed the jewel at her center. First gently. Then firmly.

  Waves of intense sensation rippled outward, stoking her need once again. She shook her head. Begged him to come inside her. He didn’t reply. Didn’t stop. Just played with her body like a great, beastly lion playing with its helpless prey.

  “Broderick,” she growled. “Enough. I cannot … please … I need you.”

  The first time they’d lain together, he’d been similarly unrelenting. He’d pleasured her until she’d begged. He’d taken her to heights she hadn’t imagined then forced her higher. Like a man possessed, he did the same now.

  He stared down at where his body caressed hers, swirling and pleasuring and making her shamefully wet. And he didn’t seem to hear her pleas.

  She tried to rise on her elbows, to reach for him, but he grasped her thighs and spread them wider, pulled her higher. Then, he slid his thumb down through her folds, gathering moisture. He placed his thumb in his mouth, closing his eye and groaning.

  She nearly peaked at the sight of his pleasure. “Good God,” she sobbed. “I don’t know how you do this to me.”

  He did it again. And again. Then he painted her nipples with her own juices. And she did peak again. Her belly rippled and writhed as her core convulsed for want of being filled.

  Just as she began to relax, he tucked the head of his cock against her greedy opening and pushed. Oh, she remembered this. The impossible stretch. The aching fullness. The incredulity that her body could take his inside. But just as before, she wanted him so badly, nothing mattered but the urgency. The mad desire to merge with him. To bring him ease. Pleasure. Contentment. To drain his body of its seed, which belonged to her.

  Only her.

  She watched his face as he watched himself entering her. Rapt. Savage. He couldn’t disguise what he felt in this moment, for nothing remained of his usual control. She felt it in the grip of his hands and the urgency of his thrusts. After the first few, they went from slow and steady to hard. Fast. The rhythm stuttered as his body jerked, seemingly in the grip of ferocious forces.

  The friction of his body pumping deep inside hers built a fiery pressure. She looked down at her flagrantly hard, red nipples, her white belly undulating and shivering with tension, her slick thighs spread wide around him.

  She watched with sheer erotic pleasure his big, scarred body invading hers. Taking hers. Loving hers.

  “Come for me,” he rasped, his eye now focused upon her face. He looked maddened. Desperate. “Let me feel ye, mo chridhe.”

  Like a flame to kindling, his words sparked an explosion. The pressure flared out and convulsed inward. Repeated. Repeated. Her cries echoed amidst the wind and fire. Ecstasy burst open, cascading all around her in shades of copper, gold, and black.

  “Good lass,” he whispered. He stroked her belly. Caressed her breast, which heaved with her exertions. Then, he scooped her up until she sat astride him, filled so deeply, she could scarcely breathe.

  With arms as limp as spent blooms, she clung to him and mewled in vague distress. Pleasure like this shouldn’t be possible. She still rippled around him, unable to stop her body from continuing to milk his.

  “Hold on to me, ye ken?”

  She nodded, helplessly kissing his throat and shoulder and jaw. Bristles scraped her lips, making them tingle.

  His arms tightened. He lifted her, withdrawing a few inches and returning with a forceful thrust.

  She gasped.

  He did it twice more before the rhythm quickened. Faster. Faster. His hips worked her at a galloping pace. Because of his angle, each pass dragged across her pleasure-swollen nub, and another impossible peak loomed.

  “Broderick,” she sobbed. “I can’t … again. Oh, God.”

  But she did. He stiffened, rammed deep, and roared his pleasure, flooding her with his seed. His groans rumbled through her as he spasmodically thrust and released. Thrust and released. Thrust and released. The scalding joy of his peak tipped her body into another of her own. This one was long and less sharp but no less satisfying.

  By God, her husband was brilliant.

  Someday, she would ask where he’d learned to perform such bewitching sorcery, but for now, she could only cling. Breathe. Savor his arms around her and his harsh breaths in her ear.

  He stroked her
back and smoothed her curls for a long while before his ragged voice rumbled, “M’lady demanded to be on top. I do hope m’lady is pleased.”

  Startled, she burst out laughing. The giggles took her by storm.

  “Ah, now ye’ve done it, my bonnie Kate.” He grinned down at her, stroking her cheek with the tenderest expression. Inside, she felt him begin to harden again. “We’ll never get any sleep now.”

  Hours later, Kate awakened from a deep slumber. The room was still dark, the only light a faint glow from the coals remaining in the fireplace. Wind howled. Rain pelted the windows in long bursts. Her bed was soft and too warm, but she felt oddly chilled, as though she’d had a nightmare. Blankets covered her. She was naked, but they were piled ridiculously thick.

  Slowly, she blinked. A chuffing sound came from her right. A grunt. A soft, queer grate like grinding teeth. Groggily, she brushed her mass of hair from her eyes and shoved at the copious blankets so she could turn over.

  There, at the edge of the bed, lay her husband. She could just make out the line of his shoulder, the white of his massive body amidst deep shadow. His back was to her. Broad and rippling with tension, it bore the marks of lashes he’d taken in prison. Like her, he was naked. Unlike her, he had no blankets. And he was shivering, his body quaking in bursts like the ones driving rain against the windows.

  The grinding came again. His teeth, she realized. He grunted. Huddled tighter.

  Instantly, she began tugging several of her blankets free. Why had he piled them upon her? Good heavens, he must be freezing. Frantic, she crawled to him and threw the blankets across his body.

  The grinding stopped.

  It wasn’t enough. She must get him warm now. She slid a hand down his arm. God. His skin was ice. “Broderick,” she murmured in his ear. “Turn on your back, my darling.”

  He didn’t awaken, but somehow, he did seem to hear her. His face angled toward her.

  Heart seizing with concern, she crawled atop him, flattening her body across his and tugging several more blankets over them both. Feeling his face with her hands, she traced his scars. Nuzzled his throat and kissed his jaw. “You mustn’t do this again,” she whispered, scarcely aware of what she was saying. “When you are cold, I shall warm you. Your place is with me. Not there. Here.”