Raising Hell in the Highlands: A Time Travel Romance (A Timeless Love Book 2)

by Abbie Zanders

  Adrenalin coursed through his veins, his senses sharp and alert. The echoes of her howls in his ears, the sight of her arse, blossoming such a pretty red beneath his hand, had the blood boiling in his cock. He flipped her over, petting her with a softer hand, fascinated by her bare sex.

  “So smooth. So soft.” It was a hoarse whisper as his hands stroked her with wonder.

  She stopped struggling.

  Her scent hit him then, heady and potent, and Lachlan could no longer restrain himself. Pushing her back onto the ground, he kneeled between her legs, spreading them wider so he could look down at her bare, glistening sex. She wrapped her legs around his neck again, but this time, it was not an attempt to best him or to flee. This time it was an urgent demand. She fisted her hands in his hair, raising her hips toward him as she pulled at his head.

  He’d never had a woman so eager for his intimate kiss. Alas, it was not something a proper lass would allow. The one and only time he had attempted such a bold act, he was rebuffed and treated with disgust. But this was no proper lass. This was Aislinn. She was a warrior, and an angel. And she wanted this. Almost as much as he did.

  Lachlan lowered his head and buried his face in her sex. Perhaps she would not notice his lack of skill if he was ardent enough.

  “Wait!” He heard the harsh plea and his heart fell until she uttered her next words. “I want to taste you too...”

  Using her powerful legs, she guided him onto his back. Secure in the knowledge that she would not deny him, he allowed her to lead. She turned and stretched, pushing at his trews, urging him to lift his hips. Unable to do anything but obey, he did. In one moment, he felt the cool night air upon his heated flesh. In the next, she was straddling his face with her sex and scalding his manhood with her hot little mouth.

  He was beyond thought; the woman was straight out of his darkest and most sinful fantasies, yet he could find nothing but pure bliss in her touch.

  To pleasure and be pleasured in this way was beyond his wildest dreams. He was intoxicated by the taste and scent of her, as aware of her desperate desire as he was of his own. His tongue danced with the dangling ring before dipping deep into her honeyed center, insane with hunger for more.

  She rode his face with wild abandon; he gripped her hips, holding her to him while she pulled and stroked his cock. The weight of her splayed across his stomach, her heat soaking into him, warming him down to his very soul. Her hard nipples and the rings adorning them stroked against the skin of his abdomen as she sucked hard at him, pumping him with one hand while she squeezed his testicles with the other. Silken tresses teased his inner thighs, an erotic tickle that had his balls aching for release.

  There was nothing he could do to stop the seed from rising in his shaft. As much as he wanted to spill into that wicked mouth, he had to warn her. If he didn’t, she might never agree to do this again, and that was simply unacceptable. He would not willingly give this up for a few brief moments of selfish pleasure. With great effort, he forced the words out against her sex.

  “Aislinn, angel, I’m goin’ te ... so hard!”

  Instead of pulling away, however, she redoubled her efforts. She gripped him harder, stroked him faster. She groaned, the vibrations rippling down his shaft even as she rode him more frantically, a fresh wave of sweet cream spilling across his tongue. Could it be that the thought of him finding release actually aroused her?

  All doubts were erased when the first pulse ripped through him. She moaned and took him so deep he could actually feel the constriction of her throat muscles around him as she swallowed. It was mimicked by the clenching of her sheath as her powerful thighs squeezed around his head. The strength of her orgasm had her seizing and shuddering, and still, he came.

  When she had wrung every last drop of spend from him, she licked him like a contented cat. Her body, limp and languid, draped over him. She offered no resistance when he reached down and turned her around, drawing her up onto his chest. Her head burrowed into his neck.

  There were no words. When his heart slowed to a normal rhythm and he was able to breathe freely again, he simply wrapped his arms around her and held her until she stopped trembling. Then he carried her back to the keep.

  He didn’t bother taking her to the guest room.

  Hands shaking and heart pounding, he dared not ask permission lest she deny him. Aislinn’s arms were wrapped around his neck, her soft body held tightly to his chest.

  “You must be very strong to carry me like this,” she murmured, her voice thick and sensual.

  A beam of silvery moonlight played across her features. A glance down revealed that her eyes were closed, her expression one of satisfaction and serenity. His grip unconsciously tightened, afraid of letting her go.

  “Ye are wee,” he breathed huskily. “’Tis no great feat.” She was like warm silk in his arms; he carried her easily.

  “Big enough to take you on,” she murmured, sending little puffs of breath across his skin.

  “Aye,” he agreed. She was a worthy partner indeed. Beautiful and intelligent, a skilled warrioress with a passion rivaling his own.

  He laid her gently upon his bed, as gently as a man like him could. When she didn’t release him, but instead pulled him down onto her, he wanted to shout out in thanks and triumph.

  “Make love to me, Lachlan,” she purred, her hand skimming between them, searching for and finding his manhood. Though only minutes earlier he had spent himself, her touch had him hard and aching again. His fingers dipped down into her sex, finding her swollen and slick. No woman had ever been so ready for him.

  “Aye,” he answered. As if he was capable of denying her.

  “Be gentle at first, okay?” she asked, so quietly he barely heard it over the heated blood rushing through his body. Yet she might have screamed it in his ear for the effect it had. His fingers dipped inside her again, searching.

  And finding.

  “Aislinn,” he breathed, awestruck by the proof that this intensely passionate, sexual creature was unbreached.

  “It’s okay, Lachlan,” she encouraged softly, her hands making petty strokes along his shoulders, his back. Though he had come within a hair’s breadth of viciously ripping through her maidenhead, she was soothing him.

  “Ye are an innocent,” he said roughly.

  To his surprise, she laughed softly. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before. Hellion, demon spawn, -”

  Lachlan stopped her painful words with a brush of his lips over hers. “Ye are nothing less than an angel te me, Aislinn. An angel out of my wildest dreams.”

  No one had ever said kinder words to her. Tears welled in her eyes. “Make love to me, Lachlan,” she repeated. “Please.”

  The honorable part of him knew that he should give her pleasure without stealing her innocence. That he should hold her and stroke her until she was so satisfied that penetration didn’t matter. But another part of him could not forego this chance to claim her, to be the first and only man to ever receive this gift from her. Before he could think on it too much, before his honorable conscience could reason with his primal male, he plunged deep and true, capturing her soft cries with his mouth.

  Chapter 8

  “Tell me about these,” he said quietly, flicking one of her nipple rings lightly with his fingers. She moaned softly, snuggling closer against him. After his breaching, he spent the next several hours making slow, passionate love to her. He made certain that her first (and second, third, and fourth) times were memorable and wrought as much pleasure as humanly possible.

  “What do you want to know?” she murmured sleepily. He loved the sated, sensual tone of her voice.

  “What is their purpose?”

  “Purpose?” she echoed, drawing herself up on one elbow as she considered his question. “Pride, I guess. At least at first. The guys in my unit dared me to.”

  He tensed, the thought of Aislinn being around other males creating an unpleasant, clawing sensation deep in his chest
. She must have felt it, because a moment later she was stroking him there, calming him almost instantly.

  “Relax. It wasn’t like that. We were all soldiers, nothing more. They were damn good men, and we made one hell of a team. After a particularly bad mission, we went out and got drunk. It turned into a classic case of one-upmanship – who could handle more pain. For every piercing I got, they each had to get one too.”

  Lachlan winced at that, instinctively squeezing his legs together, making Aislinn chuckle. “Yeah, that’s what they thought, too. It only hurts for a little bit, though. Then it’s sensitive as hell.”

  To prove her point, she leaned over his chest and lightly bit his nipple. Lachlan sucked in a breath as she gave him a couple of soothing licks and blew cold air over the tips. “See? They say it’s even more erotic down there. At least it is for me.”

  Aislinn draped her thigh over his. “I know whatever you were doing down there felt absolutely amazing.”

  Lachlan cupped her behind possessively and responded with a wholly masculine grunt that reflected both pleasure and smug satisfaction.

  “And yer markings?” he asked, tracing the Celtic knots with the pads of his fingers.

  “They’re more complicated,” she said. “Those, I did for no one but me. I can’t even tell you why, exactly. Just that I was stationed in the U.K. and had some time to kill. I walked into an ink shop and was looking through some designs, and these – I don’t know, this is going to sound really weird – they meant something to me. After I got them, I didn’t feel quite so alone. For some reason, they make me feel like I am connected with something bigger than myself, if that makes any sense.”

  “Aye, it does,” he said, tucking her close. “Do ye not ken what they mean?”

  “Not with any degree of accuracy, no.”

  “Then I will tell ye,” he said. “The symbols ye chose are both ancient and powerful. The series of knots here are as complex as any as I have ever seen. The knot itself is a symbol of continuity – no beginning and no end. ‘Tis a symbol of life, of nature, and of love.”

  “Now, the fact that ye have not one but several variations is significant, for the shape further defines the meaning. This one here – ye see how it is an oval? That represents life and the eternal cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. Triangular knots – like these – represent unity with the world around us. Some believe it te be earth, sky and sea, but others say it is specific te the Holy Trinity – Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. And the square ones – they are symbols of love. The unbroken lines symbolize love and faithfulness.”

  “They make ye feel a part of the world around ye, Aislinn, because ye are. Yer heart and soul ken it, even if yer head does no’.”

  She looked at him with something like awe. “How do you know all this?”

  “Because,” he smiled, “’tis my heritage ye are wearing.” He patted her softly on the behind. “Come,” he said, easing out of bed. “There is something I’ve been wanting te show ye.”

  Dressed in nothing but Lachlan’s shirt – which extended well past her knees – Lachlan held her hand and led her through the quiet, deserted corridors of his home. Neither of them spoke, walking along on silent feet until Lachlan finally stopped before a large oak door. Whatever lay beyond had not been part of Malcolm’s tour; Aislinn was certain she would have remembered this door, with its beautiful, intricate carvings.

  With a quick kiss, Lachlan fished out a key and fitted it into the lock. The huge door swung open easily and quietly upon well-oiled hinges.

  Aislinn sucked in a breath as Lachlan made his way around the room lighting the torch lamps secured in wrought sconces upon the wall.

  “This is the portrait hall of the Brodie clan,” he told her.

  Aislinn looked around in awe, studying each painted portrait, all hung in regal frames around the room. Of big, handsome men with familiar auburn hair and luminous green eyes. Of women and children around them. Lachlan moved with her, watching her carefully.

  “This is you,” she breathed, bringing her hands up to a family portrait. Lachlan looked around Rory’s age or so, but even then there was no mistaking the familiar tilt of his jaw or the eyes that seemed to see right down into her soul. He stood proudly between what must have been his parents, surrounded by five devilish looking boys at various ages.

  “Aye,” he said. “’My father consigned a new portrait every time our family expanded. That is the last one.”

  “But there are only six of you,” she said, counting. “That’s Malcolm, that’s Conall. Simon. Aengus. Bowen. Wait – where’s Gavin?”

  “There is no family portrait containing Gavin,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with sadness. “Our mother died in childbirth, and my Da could no’ bear te have one done without her.”

  “Oh, Lachlan. I’m so very sorry,” Aislinn said, laying her hand upon his forearm.

  “’Twas a long time ago,” he said, though some pain, he realized, never completely went away. “’Tis both a mon’s finest blessing and his biggest curse te get his wife with child. Many of our women die upon the birthing bed. But my mother had already given my Da six strapping, hale lads without issue. No one expected...”

  He was quiet for a long time. Aislinn slid her arms around him, holding him, offering the only comfort she could. Lachlan was awed by the warmth that spread through him. He could actually feel the ragged edges of his soul beginning to knit together.

  “My Da, he dinnae last much longer. Within half a year, he was gone, too. ‘Twas a rare bond they shared, heart and soul. My Da simply could no’ go on without her. She was everything te him.”

  “She was a beautiful woman.”

  “Aye, she was, in heart as well as her bonnie face. She was a wee thing, like ye, but every bit as strong as a mon on the inside. A true Brodie, she was,” he said proudly. He ran a few silken tendrils of her hair through his fingers. “I think she would have liked ye, Aislinn.”

  He glanced down at her when he heard her soft intake of breath, but she turned her head away. Needing to see the look in her eyes, he cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, applying gentle pressure until she met his gaze. He was stunned when he saw them glistening with unshed tears.

  “Lass?” he questioned softly.

  She blinked rapidly. “It’s just... well, I’m not exactly the type of girl most guys would bring home to meet Mom, you know?”

  There was that hint of vulnerability again, the one that made him want to gather her up in his arms and ensure that nothing ever put tears in those beguiling eyes again. But as he leaned over to do just that, Aislinn took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest and clearing her throat. “So, how old were you when she passed?”

  Surprisingly, her withdrawal stung. Had she not just felt compelled to comfort him when she sensed his sorrow? Why was he not permitted to do the same for her?

  Feeling rather cheated, he refrained from crushing her to his chest. Instead, he took her hand in his and returned his gaze to the portrait, vowing to tear down those walls she had built around herself. She would come to trust him.

  “Eleven summers and half.”

  “Wait – does that mean you became the laird of Dubhain at the age of twelve?”

  “I had uncles te help me, but aye.”

  “You were so young.”

  “As the eldest son, ‘twas my great honor and duty,” he said simply, without resentment or anger or any of the other things he might have added.

  “And I thought I’d had to grow up fast,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Tell me,” he coaxed.

  She opened her mouth, then shook her head. “Another time, maybe. I think I’d just like to go back to bed now.”

  Lachlan nodded, hiding his disappointment. As much as he wanted answers, the lass needed her rest. He locked up the hall and escorted her back toward the private chambers. When she made to turn into the guest chamber, he tightened his grip on her hand and led her to his.

/>   Thankfully, she did not protest.

  * * *

  “What did ye find?” Lachlan asked, glancing out the window into the southeast courtyard where Aislinn was sparring with Rory and several of the other lads. She was wearing breeches, but as a compromise, she had agreed to bind her torso and wear a tunic that extended beyond the curves of her shapely behind. As an added concession, she braided her hair and tucked it beneath the tunic. There was still no mistaking her as anything but a female, but she drew much less attention this way.

  It was Conall who answered first. “Several people who knew the missing lass said they share similarities in terms of features.”

  “But?” Lachlan prompted, hearing the word not spoken.

  “But they also said that she was as meek and quiet as a newborn kitten.”

  “That does no’ sound like our Aislinn,” Malcolm said. The possessive word flowed easily from his lips, earning a dark scowl from Lachlan. As far as he was concerned, Aislinn was his, but there was no denying that all of his brothers had become fond of her, as had many of the castle staff, and the younglings.

  As if on cue, her musical laughter wafted through the window, affectionate taunts at the young lads who could not get close enough to land a single strike. One yelped as she landed a blow to his backside with the flat side of the wooden sword, but Lachlan knew the only thing even slightly stung was the lad’s pride. As deadly as she was, he also knew she would never harm an innocent, especially not a child.

  Gavin’s face grew dark. “Many believe the lass planned her own disappearance. ‘Twas rumored that her Da beat her regularly. A few even suggested that we would be doing the lass a favor if we stopped asking questions and let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “What did they say her name was, this missing lass?”