Highland Obsession (39 page)

“I am.” He smiled at her. “Warm for you, Sorcha.”

They finished undressing each other, and Alan kissed her again.

He
was
warm. His body was like an oven, and she pressed herself into it, stealing his warmth onto her own cool skin. And when he entered her, she gasped as his heat speared through her.

He gazed down at her as he began to move inside her body.

“Look at me,” he said in a low voice.

She opened her eyes and stared at him, allowing her love for him to pour out of her. In return she opened herself up to his offering of love, taking everything he had to give. As if, before this moment, they were empty vessels and now they were filling each other with care, trust, affection . . . and love.

She would remember this moment, perhaps even more than the moment the priest had bound them together. Because while God had accepted them as one on their wedding day, it had taken Sorcha and her husband a little longer to understand their joining.

She now knew it would be forever. Nothing could part them now.

She arched up into him. He penetrated her so deeply, and she squeezed so tightly around him, his shaft seemed to stroke her everywhere. She came, a sweet piercing orgasm that made her gasp and cling to him even tighter. And just as her peak receded, Alan’s body began to quiver. He thrust hard, and she cried out as she felt him pulse deep inside her, releasing his seed against the mouth of her womb.

A new tremble began in her core and then spread until she shook all over. Alan lowered himself beside her and pulled her close.

“Cold again?” he murmured. “So soon?”

“N-n-no,” she managed, trying to keep her teeth from chattering.

“What then,
mo chridhe
?”

“I—I’m happy,” she whispered. “So happy.”

He pulled her closer, and she pressed herself against him. Finally, when she could speak again, she asked, “Do you think we created a child?”

“There’s no telling,” he said, a smile in his voice. “We’ll just have to keep trying until we’re sure.”

“Ooh,” she murmured, her words muffled against his body. “Can we try again right now?”

Alan’s chest vibrated as he laughed. “I said on our wedding night my wife was wanton.”

“Did I ever deny it?”

He chuckled again. “You tried.”

“That I did,” she admitted softly, and then she frowned. “I can’t seem to remember why.”

In one smooth motion, he turned her so she lay on her back and he hovered over her.

Smiling as their love pulsed around and through them, they both had their wicked way with each other. Again.

EPILOGUE

 

 

 

 

 

S
orcha knelt in her little garden, plucking tiny weeds from the newly sprouted herbs she’d planted. In the distance, she could hear the noise of hammering and stones clacking. Alan was up the rise, supervising the progress of their new home.

A new sound emerged—the unmistakable clomp of a horse’s hooves. Shading her eyes from the sun, she looked up to see Cam approaching on horseback, looking dashing in his traveling clothes.

Sorcha rose, brushing the dirt from her hands. She glanced up to see Alan striding down the hill to greet him.

Cam stopped at the cottage, dismounted, and tied the tethers to a post before turning to her, removing his English hat. She allowed herself a secret smile to see that he still refused to ride in a wig.

As she approached, he held out a gloved hand, and she took it, squeezing the buttery leather.

“You said you weren’t leaving till next week.”

“I’m ready to go, Sorcha. The rebellion is over. Alan is prepared to watch over my lands while I’m gone. Everything is in order.”

There was a sadness to his smile that made her heart pang. Now that the rising had been quashed and all was peaceful once again in the Highlands, he was returning to England, to look for, in his words, “a proper wife.” And hopefully a love like Sorcha and Alan had found.

“I’ll miss you,” she whispered.

“As will I.” Alan strode up to them and took his position beside her.

“And I will miss you both,” Cam said.

Sorcha glanced at Alan, and he nodded almost imperceptibly. “Cam . . .” He cleared his throat. “Sorcha and I . . . well, we have something to tell you . . .”

Alan seemed almost embarrassed, and Sorcha couldn’t help the grin that spread her lips wide. “I’m—”

Cam laughed and squeezed her hand harder. “With child?”

She gasped. “Yes—in the spring. But how could you know?”

“You’re glowing, my dear.” He leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I’m happy for you. Happy for you both.”

“Oh, Cam.”

She began to sniff, blinking back tears, and Alan rolled his eyes heavenward. “She’s become a veritable waterfall since we discovered her condition.”

“Oh, stop.” She swiped the back of her hand over her eyes.

“Be well, dearest Sorcha,” Cam said in a quiet voice, handing her a handkerchief. “Don’t cry too much, all right?”

She nodded, blinking to clear her blurred vision. “I’ll try,” she said on a choked laugh.

Alan clapped Cam on the back. “Come home soon, my friend.”

“I—we—hoped you’d be home in time to be the child’s godfather.” Sorcha dabbed the handkerchief over her watery eyes.

Cam sucked in a breath, and his lips twisted a tiny bit, belying his outwardly smooth appearance. “I’d be honored,” he said with a tilt of his head. “I’ll endeavor to return in time.”

He leaned forward to kiss Sorcha again. He and Alan exchanged a brief hug; then he turned and strode to his horse. He mounted and reined the horse toward them. “Goodbye,” he said, touching the brim of his hat.

“Goodbye,” Sorcha said breathlessly. She doubted he even heard her as he turned and rode away.

Alan’s hand slipped into hers as Cam disappeared behind a clump of juniper trees. “It won’t be the same here without him.”

“No,” she agreed. “I hope he finds what he’s looking for.”

“He will,” Alan murmured. “He’s a man of dedication and passion. He won’t accept anything less.”

Sorcha merely nodded. Still, she’d never stop worrying for him. Not until he found that woman who understood him, who completed him. She took a deep breath.

Alan touched a hand to her stomach, and concern deepened his sapphire eyes. “How are you,
mo chridhe
?”

“Better,” she said. “It feels good to be outside.”

His voice lowered. “May I have the honor of taking you . . . inside?”

She smiled. Alan made her feel so desired. Even through the awful sickness she’d suffered for the past few weeks. This new, sometimes frightening, experience of her pregnancy had brought them closer, if possible.

She placed her hand over his, and both of them pressed gently against the new life they’d created that was growing inside her.

“You may, Alan MacDonald. You may have the honor of taking me . . . whenever and wherever you please.”

Dawn Halliday
has degrees in Computer Science and Education, and before she became a full-time writer, she held various jobs from bookselling to teaching inner-city children to acting in soap operas. When she isn’t locked in her office reading or writing, you can find her playing video games or posing as a baseball mom in California, where she lives with her husband and three children. You can learn more about Dawn Halliday on her Web site at
www.dawnhalliday.com
.

The Earl of Camdonn’s saga continues
in Dawn Halliday’s next passionate tale . . .
HIGHLAND
HIGHLAND SURRENDER

COMING FROM SIGNET ECLIPSE
IN APRIL 2010

 

 

 

 

Turn the page for a sneak peek . . .

C
am urged his horse to a canter. Ears pricked, the animal willingly obliged, sensing its rider’s eagerness. From the gentle hills of Hampshire to the craggy mountains of the Highlands, Cam had followed behind the two black lacquered carriages rumbling sedately toward Camdonn Castle. Today, however, on the final leg of the journey, he’d stopped to greet one of his tenants, and the carriages had drawn ahead.

He must catch up to them—since they had left England, he’d clung to a vision of leading his bride-to-be and her uncle through the gates of Camdonn Castle. He wanted to make it clear that he was back to stay this time, and he intended to keep his primary home here. He planned to finally become the leader his Highlanders needed. A rider had gone ahead this morning to bear the news that they would arrive this afternoon—and Cam had indulged in imagining the staff lined up along the road leading through the castle gates, smiling and cheering as they welcomed him home.

Only a few miles to go—they now rode through the pass in the forested mountains bordering the southern side of Loch Shiel. Cam took a deep breath, and the sweet, fresh smells of pine and heather—of
home
—washed through him. From somewhere in the brush, a male capercallie tapped and gurgled an aria in an attempt to lure a mate. Cam hoped Elizabeth would grow to love the Highlands as quickly as he had.

He thought she might. Lady Elizabeth was young, titled, and rich. A proper, innocent English lass, and a perfect wife, politically speaking, for Cam. Even better, though she was beautiful and alluring and would be no hardship to bed, she didn’t rouse him to all-consuming lust, a state Cam had promised to avoid at all costs.

He hardly knew her, but that didn’t matter. Cam had gone to England in search of someone precisely like Elizabeth. He was glad his quest hadn’t taken too long. He’d been in England for only five months, but already he ached for home—for his Highland castle.

His horse rounded a bend in the wide path, and a faint commotion ahead drew Cam from his thoughts. Cam frowned and leaned forward in the saddle, straining his ears. Men shouting? Suddenly, the crack of a gunshot resonated through the air, and Cam’s horse surged into a gallop.

What the hell? Cam gave the animal its head as another gunshot sent a flock of birds bursting from the branches of a nearby pine.

Within moments, the road opened into a clearing, where men on horseback surrounded the larger, gold-trimmed carriage—the one bearing Elizabeth and her uncle. The men all wore black, and scarves covered the lower halves of their faces. The second vehicle carrying the servants in the duke’s employ was nowhere to be seen.

Cam’s lips twisted in fury.
Highwaymen
.

As Cam thundered closer, the sole man on foot yanked Lady Elizabeth from the carriage. She didn’t make a sound, nor did she fight back. The poor girl was petrified with fear.

Protective rage swelled in Cam’s chest, and he yanked his pistol from his belt. “Let her go, damn you,” he bellowed, heedless of the fact she’d hear his foul language.