The Highlander's Claim (Highland Romance)

by Jessica Knight

  He purses his lips and looks down at the ground, the anger on his face just a moment ago melting away. But I can see the tension on his face as plain as the clouds in the sky above us. He cuts a glance at me, and I can see by his expression that I am not going to like what he has to say.

  “Malcolm?” I press. “What is it?”

  “Seems that your father is on his way to Caldryn House,” he says.

  “As you expected he would,” I say. “So, what does that mean? What is to become of me?”

  “I’m sending riders with word to your father,” he says. “We’re offering to return you in exchange for peace.”

  I stare at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed for a moment. Hearing him talk about me as if I am nothing more than a piece on some game board, to be used and discarded when it is convenient, is upsetting to me. But more than that, it is confusing. There is a knot of thought and emotion in my mind I cannot even begin to untangle. Things that seemed so clear to me just a day or two past have suddenly become opaque.

  When I first woke up here, with no idea where I was or who Malcolm was at the time, my only thought was to get back to Caldryn House. To get back to my family − such as it is. When I first woke up in Malcolm’s bed, alone and hurt, my first thought was to get somewhere safe and known to me.

  But the last couple of days have shifted my thinking. I no longer feel alone or unsafe here. And Malcolm’s company has been − enjoyable. To say the least. In my short time with him, I have felt things I never believed myself capable of − and I am not just speaking of what we did last night. Being so near to Malcolm has reminded me of how I felt all those years ago. He has stirred my heart and my mind in ways no man ever has before.

  And now he is sending me away.

  “What is it?” he asks. “I thought you would be more excited to be getting back to your silk gowns and feather mattresses.”

  “I − am. Of course I am,” I reply softly. “It is just…”

  I let my voice trail away, and as Malcolm looks at me, I feel my heart swell. I do not know what he wants me to say. But then, I do not know what I intended to say either. We both knew this was going to happen. There was no other way this could have ended, and to think otherwise is a fiction. And if there is one thing I have never been, it is a woman who deludes herself.

  Some fictions are necessary for a woman of my station to maintain, of course. I must always maintain that air of nobility that seems so necessary to my uncle and even to my father. I must never give in to the whims of emotion or let myself be carried away by them. I must value logic and reason above all matters of the heart, I must always be a proper lady, and hold myself at a distance from those beneath my station. And of course, I must always act in ways that reflect favorably upon our House.

  But over the last couple of days with Malcolm, I have found it easier to let my guard down. I have found it easier to simply be who I am. He does not seem inclined to judge me harshly when I seek counsel from my heart, rather than my mind. He does not seem to care whether I am a proper lady or not. And when he looks at me, it is as if he sees me − not my station, not my position within my house or the trappings that go with it. He seems to genuinely see me, and I get the sense that I, with all of my faults and flaws, am enough.

  It seems ridiculous to even contemplate. I have known this man but for a scant handful of days. But as I have thought about it, I realize the flowering of my feelings now are the result of seeds that were planted ten years ago by a boy who captured my imagination. By a boy who captured my heart. And I would be lying to myself if I said knowing he can trade me away like this, even though I understand the necessity − did not still hurt.

  I cannot blame him for what has to be done, but at the same time, I cannot control what it is I feel. I do not know what it is I feel for Malcolm exactly. All I know is that I do feel something.

  “Nothing,” I finally manage to utter. “I − understand. Your strategy is sound.”

  He sighs. “We must have peace.”

  “I understand, Malcolm. And I do not wish to have your people killed because of me,” I go on. “In your place, I would do the same.”

  “Then why do you look so troubled?”

  I try to dispel the myriad thoughts rampaging through my mind. I cannot explain to him what I am thinking or what is causing my upset when I do not fully understand it myself. I have no genuine cause to be so upset. And yet I am, all the same.

  Malcolm looks as upset as I feel. But in his eyes, I also see a grim determination. I see that as the Clan Chief, he knows he has to do this for the good of his people, but I see the reluctance in his face. His internal conflict is easy for me to see. I suppose that he too knows the burden I shoulder for the good of my family. Perhaps he too, understands the need to maintain fictions as well.

  “When will the exchange take place?” I ask.

  “I don’t know yet. We have to wait for word from your father. Might be a couple of days yet,” he replies and then grins. “Missin’ your silk gowns, are you?”

  The smile on my face likely looks as false as it feels. I look down at the ground and say nothing. When I finally raise my head, I see that Malcolm’s own smile has slipped, and there is a pained expression on his face.

  “Come, let me get you fed,” he says, trying to look more cheerful than he sounds.

  Together, we turn and walk into the house, neither of us looking particularly pleased at the moment.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Catherine

  I sit by the edge of the stream, watching the water rush by. I toss a small stick into the crystal clear waters and watch as it floats along the swiftly moving current. The woods around me are filled with the birdsong, and the sound of them flitting from branch to branch overhead, their feathers and the leaves on the branches rustling. The sun has made a rare appearance, filtering down through the thick canopy overhead, and sparkles off the water.

  Breakfast had been a quiet affair, neither of us seeming to have much to say. The light and free banter between us dried up as our thoughts about what must happen weighed heavily on the both of us. And I know it must happen. I simply do not like that it must.

  I knew there was something different about Malcolm from the day I met him. I knew there was something special that resonated deeply within me. That is why it stung me so badly that I never saw him again. But having him fall back into my life − I can neither adequately understand, nor convey the emotions it has stirred up within me.

  All I know is that although I know I must return to my father to prevent the slaughter of the Scottish people, there is a large part of me that would prefer to stay here. With Malcolm. He is a good man, and he has a good heart − qualities I know my uncle would deny any Scot possesses. But I have seen more heart and honor among the Scots than in either my uncle or my brother.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  I look up to see Malcolm standing over me, a gentle smile on his face. I shake my head and turn my eyes back to the stream.

  “No, of course not,” I reply.

  He sits down beside me, and we sit in silence for a few long moments. There is a tension filling the silence, the weight of the unspoken words suffocating. But then Malcolm begins to speak.

  “Just after I got back, my father, brother, and a few others went to meet with your uncle to talk terms of peace,” he begins, his Scottish brogue filled with sadness and anger in equal parts. “Your uncle slaughtered them all. Left them dead in a clearing like animal carcasses. I found them. Buried them. This was just before I found you.”

  A profound sadness for Malcolm fills my heart. And with that sadness comes an understanding of Malcolm’s anger. At least, in part. I can never fully understand the tragedy of finding your family butchered. My mind immediately flashes back to all the times I’ve seeing my uncle and brother coming back to Caldryn House, their armor and tunics covered in blood, and I feel my stomach churn in revulsion at the memories.

  “I - I am so sorry, Mal
colm. I had no idea,” I say softly. “I cannot imagine how that must feel.”

  He looks down at the ground, a look of grief mixed with weariness painted upon his face. My heart goes out to him, and all I want to do is reach out to comfort him.

  “I know you didn’t know. And I only tell you this, so you understand why I have to find a way to make peace with your family,” he states. “As much as I don’t want it to be this way, I don’t want any more of my people to lose their fathers. Their brothers. God above knows they’ve lost enough of them as it is.”

  His voice is thick with emotion as he picks at the grass beneath him. I see shades of the little boy he used to be in his face, but they seem to be fleeting. Rather than that brash and cheeky boy he was, Malcolm simply looks − lost. The expression quickly fades though and is replaced by one of steely determination.

  “What I hate most about this is that not only did I lose my family,” he starts. “But now I have to lose you − and I’ve been waiting to get back to you for a lot of years now.”

  His declaration is as bold as it is surprising. Certainly Malcolm must have known that he and I could never truly be together. Not in the way he seems to be suggesting. Duty to my family would prevent me from following my heart. It is a fact that causes no small amount of pain for me even though I have known from the start, there is no future for Malcolm and I.

  It is a fact I have been choosing to ignore for the last couple of days. I have chosen to live in this moment, with Malcolm. I have chosen to enjoy and cherish each moment we spend together, reveling in the feelings he has inspired within me along with the thoughts of what could be. I suppose I do enjoy entertaining whimsical fictions more than I care to admit. But if my time with Malcolm is growing shorter, then I choose to make the most of what remains.

  Without a word, I stand and turn to him. Pulling my dress up, I lower myself down, straddling his waist. I slip my arms around the back of his neck, my eyes locked onto his. I hear the slight hitch in his breath and immediately feel him growing harder beneath me. I grind myself against him, a small moan passing my lips as the sensations course through me.

  “Catherine, I don’t −”

  I cut him off by pressing my mouth to his, parting his lips with my tongue. A voice in the back of my mind is whispering urgently, telling me this is not the behavior of a proper lady, that I should refrain from soiling my reputation any further than I already have. I shut the voice up ruthlessly, refusing to give into it. This is my life, and if I am forced to marry somebody I do not love and spend my life steeped in unhappiness, I feel compelled to seize what happiness I can, where I can.

  Malcolm’s kiss is hesitant at first, but he quickly warms to it. Our tongues dash together, and his hands roam my body. The heat between my legs grows quickly, and my thighs are soon slick with my juices. Malcolm’s rigid staff grinds against my swollen bud, and I gasp with the intensity of the sensations burning within me.

  I writhe in his lap, rubbing myself against his thick shaft, my passion and lust growing into an inferno. Malcolm gently pushes me to a standing position. Kneeling before me, he pushes my dress up, his fingertips leaving trails of fire smoldering upon my thighs. I grip the hem of my dress and hold it up as Malcolm leans forward, and I cry out when his tongue caresses my sensitive nub.

  I grip his hair with my free hand, yanking it hard as he laps at the tender center of me. My body trembles, and I gasp with pleasure, goosebumps marching across my skin as he flicks his tongue over my swollen lips then slips it inside of me. He picks my leg up and settles it down over his broad shoulder, plunging his tongue even deeper into me.

  My breath comes fast and stuttering as I close my eyes and lean my head back, reveling in the feelings that grip me. The sunlight warms my skin, but it is nothing compared to the heat burning in my core as Malcolm eagerly strokes my flower with his tongue. The rush of sensation is overwhelming, and when he slides two fingers inside of me, ministering to me with both his mouth and his hand, it becomes too much.

  The cry bursts from my throat as my body seizes up. Every muscle inside of me locks up at once, and I can’t draw a breath. For a long moment, I cannot seem to make any part of my body move. But then my breath explodes from my mouth with a loud whooshing sound, and my body seems to turn to water all at once. My legs buckle then give out, and I have a momentary feeling of weightlessness as I fall before I feel Malcolm’s big, strong hands catching me.

  I lay back in his arms, a strange smile on my face, and an even stranger giggle trickling out of my throat. I have never felt this way before. My body hums with an energy I have never experienced − not even when I have pleasured myself with my own hand. My climaxes have never felt so powerful that I have been left breathless and boneless like this.

  “Are you okay, love?” Malcolm smiles down at me.

  “I am not sure,” I laugh softly. “My body does not seem to be working right now.”

  He laughs and strokes my hair. Slowly, I begin to regain feeling in my body, and my breath returns to something close to normal. I sit up and look over at Malcolm, feeling the fire between my legs return, burning hotter. His eyes are filled with raw desire, and he looks at me like I am the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen before. Between that and the fact that my juices glisten on his lips, I feel the most intense longing I have ever felt and fear that if I do not feel him inside of me immediately, I might explode with the anticipation.

  “Take your breeches off,” I command. “Now.”

  A flirtatious smile touches his lips, but he does as I say. He gets to his feet and slides his tunic off before pushing his breeches down. He kicks them aside and stands before me, completely naked, and I gasp as I take him in fully for the first time. Malcolm’s staff is rigid and long, and I reach out, taking it in my hand.

  Malcolm’s hand closes around mine, making me squeeze his manhood tight. Then he starts to move my hand up and down his thick shaft. I squeeze him harder, and then he takes his hands away, letting me stroke him. Malcolm moans as I pump my fist up and down his length. Leaning forward, I slide my tongue across the tip of his cock and feel him shudder.

  I flick my tongue along the underside of his organ, teasing the underside of his tip. Malcolm groans, and I feel his fingers intertwined in my hair. As I take him all the way into my mouth, he yanks my hair hard, and I feel his body stiffen. Malcolm’s breath quickens, and I feel him swelling in my mouth. I tighten my grip on his staff, working him with my hand and mouth at the same time.

  I give him a salacious smile as I continue stroking and licking him, enjoying the feeling of power and control I have over this man. I feel him shuddering, and on his face is an expression of anticipation. He is hanging on my every movement, and when I flick my tongue over the tip of his cock, he moans, swaying on his feet.

  Still gripping my hair like his life depends upon him not letting go, his breathing grows ragged. Malcolm grows impossibly hard in my mouth, and then he suddenly staggers backward, slipping himself out of my mouth. Lust and desire smolder in his eyes. He takes a moment to gather himself, then gives me a wide smile.

  “Where did you learn that?” he gasps.

  I give him a demure smile. “My handmaidens are far more free with their bodies than I am,” I say. “And they like to talk. A lot.”

  “Remind me to thank them for that.”

  My cheeks flush red, and a shy giggle bursts from my throat. I then watch as Malcolm sits down and pulls me over to him, making me straddle his lap. I lock my legs around his waist as he reaches down between us and takes his staff in his hand, making me moan as he rubs it against my bud. The heat inside of me is burning as bright as my desire. I need to have him inside of me right now.

  Malcolm parts my slick folds with the head of his cock, and I gasp as he slides himself in. Taking hold of my hips, he resettles me, and I lower myself, taking him into my wetness, inch by thick and glorious inch. When he is fully sheathed inside of me, I pause, letting my body adjust to having him fi
lling me so completely.

  Being as inexperienced with men as I am, the pain I felt the first time Malcolm entered me scared me. But that pain quickly melded with a rush of pleasure that was incredible. The pinch of pain I feel makes the pleasure that much more vibrant. It fills me with a bright, hot line of fire that runs from the top of my head to the tip of my toes.

  Slowly, I start to raise and lower myself, moaning in pleasure as he hits that spot deep within me that touches off explosions of pleasure. I feel Malcolm’s hands slide down my back. He cups my backside and squeezes it tight, encouraging me to move faster. I rise and fall harder and faster, crying out as I impale myself upon his staff.

  Our mouths crash together, and Malcolm forces his tongue past my lips. Our kiss is hard and filled with a primal need that is coursing through the both of us. I hear the sound of flesh meeting flesh and throw my head back a moment later, crying out as I feel the sting in my backside. But soon after that, the rush of pleasure is overwhelming and makes me tremble.

  “Do it again,” I command.

  I hear the slap and feel the hand-sized burn on my bottom as I thrust myself up and down on him, taking him deep into the center of me. He unlaces my dress and pushes it down my shoulders, letting my breasts spill out into his hands. He cups them, leaning forward to lick and suck on my stiff nipples, then draws a yelp from me when he gives one a firm nip with his teeth.

  He kisses me again, helping to bounce me up and down on his length, driving himself into me even harder. But then I let out a squeal as he slips his arms around my waist and spins me over onto my back. I keep my legs locked around his waist, relishing the feel of his weight on top of me. Malcolm kisses me hard, nearly stealing the breath from my lungs.

  He raises up, bracing himself on his forearms above me. Malcolm smiles down at me, his eyes shining bright with his desire. He rolls his hips, sliding himself deep into me, and I call out, my screams echoing through the woods around us. I draw in a sharp breath as he drives himself into my wetness.