Highlander Brawn (2 page)

Chapter Three

Campbell let out a litany of curses when he reached his men in the bailey, scaring off a number of Comyn clan members and putting a few wary glances on his kinsmen.

He should have known better. How could he think to steal up to the lass’s room and not be followed? He should have known something was amiss when he kissed her for so long and without interruption. Her brother probably hoped for such an incident. Scheming bastard.

But Reed hadn’t. He’d thought only with his cock and now he’d have a wife.

Come to think of it, the sneaky little lass had probably been up to it too. She wanted to spread her thighs for him, to ensnare him. She’d even followed him to the garderobe, intent on making sure the deed was done.

His blood boiled. He wanted to punch something, someone.

“What’s wrong, my laird?” one of his men finally had the nerve to ask.

“I shall be wed.”

“To who?” another asked, incredulous.

“Comyn’s sister.”

A few men sighed and others sniggered.

“She is a beautiful lass,” one of the older retainers said, nostalgia creeping into his voice as he no doubt remembered his own love.

“She’s a conniving she-devil,” Reed muttered. “Put the horses in the stables but dinna plan on being here long. Once the deed is done, we leave immediately.”

His men looked at him oddly, perhaps wondering why there would be no feasting and merrymaking. But to hell with that! Reed was not going to celebrate an unwanted marriage. He wasn’t going to lie down like a beaten dog. He’d marry her for honor’s sake. He’d marry her because he’d pledged to an alliance with her brother. But damn if he would do anything more. Except…

He’d have to consummate the marriage.

Well, he’d give her a taste of how good he was, take her to the edge and back, and then he’d avoid her, punish her for tricking him. She’d be begging him on bended knee for more and he’d shun her.

With another growl at nothing, he stomped back toward the keep and the great hall. Best to get this farce of a marriage done with. He wanted to go home, to be on his own ground.

When he entered the great hall, he did not expect what he saw.

His bride stood with a dagger in each hand and a glare that nearly had him running for cover. Her auburn hair looked afire atop her head since the curls had come unbound from her ribbons.

“I suppose those daggers are meant for me, lass?” he said.

Drostan stood to the side, wearing an expression of pure amusement.

“Aye. Dinna come any closer.” Her eyes sparked with irritation.

“Too late. Ye’re to be my wife.”

Her glare deepened and Reed was struck with the sudden need to kiss the anger from her. To take the knives out of her hands and slit her gown from breast to hem. To examine every inch of her soft skin with his tongue and to thrust his cock deep into her mouth.

She smiled at him then but in her eyes there was mischief. He could not trust her. “And maybe your widow as well.”

He laughed at that, and definitely caught a few snickers from those watching. “Well, if ye are to be a widow then best we wed. Now.”

The clan priest stood beside Laird Comyn, a wary expression on his features.

“Do ye so look forward to your own death, my laird?” The woman uncrossed her arms and twirled the knives in her hands.

She was very good at it. Damn good. Frighteningly good. A tremor of unease passed through him. What the hell was he doing? Who the hell was she? But at the same time, his cock reacted to her, swelling, lengthening. He liked that she was so confident, so skilled. As much as he didn’t care to admit it, she would be a good asset to their clan. She could protect the people, she could protect their children.

He groaned. He did not want to think about children now.

“Only to what comes after the wedding.” He winked in her direction and was pleased to see crimson coloring her cheeks.

“If ye get that far,” she muttered.

A stern look and gesture from her brother had the lass putting her knives back into the loops at her hips. She was a warrior come to her wedding. It only made him smile broader.

He stepped closer and clasped arms with her brother, who then placed the lass’s hand in Reed’s. Her hand was small, rough, her fingers delicate in contrast to the calluses on her palm.

Reed looked down at her, disappointed in the situation but also oddly proud to have her as his lifelong companion.

“Ye are beautiful.” The words came out softly and utterly on their own. He’d not meant to say anything to her.

“Beauty is merely skin deep, my laird.” She frowned and turned toward the priest. “Good thing I’ll be a widow soon, so ye shan’t have to see me when I’m old and wrinkled.”

He chuckled. Her fiery spirit was most welcome.

The priest cleared his throat. “Shall we proceed to the circle of stones?”

“Why?” Reed asked. “Shouldna we just get on with it?”

“’Tis tradition,” Sorcha muttered, her face suddenly pink.

Reed glanced at Drostan, who merely nodded and led the way out of the keep. They walked into the woods and up the mountain until they came to a circle of stones, sacred runes etched into the columns.

“’Tis where my brother met his wife. In our clan, the stones bind two people together.” Sorcha suddenly turned toward her brother. “Drostan, I willna consummate the union upon the stone.”

Reed was horrified at the idea. “I’m nay going to make love to my wife in front of ye bunch of heathens.” If he had to marry Sorcha, her nude body would be for his eyes only.

“Ye willna have to consummate your marriage on the stone. ’Tis only necessary that the laird of Comyn do so. Ye are nay the laird, and so a blood-joining will do,” Drostan replied.

Reed let out an audible breath. If he was going to be forced to marry, the least he demanded was privacy.

Drostan laughed. “Not man enough, are ye?”

Reed growled under his breath, but before he could punch the arse in the mouth, Sorcha spoke up. “Enough. Come now, Campbell, let us be done with it.”

The idea of grasping Sorcha’s thighs as he plunged deep made his cock hard. Had Drostan really taken his wife upon the stone? Reed was man enough. He simply didn’t like to share.

Moments later, the ceremony began. Which, aside from a brief flash of panic when Reed was asked to slit his palm and blend his blood with Sorcha’s, went relatively smoothly.

And he was still alive.

“We must depart.” He spoke loudly before facing Drostan. “My thanks for your assistance,” he said mockingly.

His comment made the other laird’s smile broader. “I should be thanking ye. I dinna think we’d ever see Sorcha wed. And now our alliance is all the more stable. She’ll see ye dead in your bed should ye go against it.” He chuckled.

Reed grunted.

“I am not ready to leave,” Sorcha said. Her long fingers played with the daggers at her hips.

“Your threats of bodily harm do not scare me, lass. We shall leave now.”

“My things—”

“I’ll have your maid pack them and send them shortly,” Drostan replied. “Go now to your new home. With your husband.”

She glared at both men and then stalked down the mountain.

Drostan thumped Reed on the back. “Good luck, man. She’s a feisty one.”

“A she-devil,” Reed muttered.

Drostan belted out a laugh and clapped his hands. “That she is! And all yours. Be wary of her knives, she’s a bit…short-tempered and quick to act before thinking.”

“I’ll be sure to keep my vitals protected.”

“Take care of her.”

“
That
I can promise.”

* * * * *

Sorcha avoided her husband the entire ride to his keep. Every time he glanced at her, she looked away. When he moved his mount closer, she urged hers with force to step forward. They might be married now but that did not mean anything. She wasn’t going to be the docile wife most Highlanders wanted. She was going to be herself. And she wasn’t going to forgive him for her current situation either.

By the time they arrived at the stairs to the keep, the clansmen had all gathered in the bailey, sending her curious glances.

Her new husband tried to help her dismount but she batted away his hands and jumped down alone. She didn’t need a man to help her get off a horse. She stood tall, her chin jutting forward and a barely tamped fury shadowing her as she gazed at the Campbell clan. Just a few weeks ago, these people were her enemies.

Despite her brother and Campbell’s agreement to an alliance and the marriage sealing the deal, it didn’t mean the people would forget an age-old feud.

As if to bolster that thought, an older man stepped forward from the crowd and sneered at her. “What’s
she
doing here?”

“Lady Sorcha is my wife. Ye will refer to her with respect,” Campbell said calmly, an edge of ice to his tone.

Gasps went up in the crowd.

“We were not aware ye would wed, my laird,” the same older man said, a note of challenge in his voice.

“Neither was I, Bothan, but it happened. Ye will treat her with the deference deserving of your lady.”

The man grumbled and tucked himself back into the crowd. No one else stepped forward to complain about her being there and Sorcha gave thanks for that. It was humiliating to be on the end of someone’s hatred and scorn.

She was glad Campbell had supported her, demanded respect, but at the same time, she didn’t want him to fight her battles for her. She’d have to figure out how to win over the Campbell people herself.

Chapter Four

“This is…” Campbell opened the door to a masculine, barren bedchamber.

“Yours?”

“Aye.” He nodded and stepped all the way in. “And now also yours.”

She moved through the doorway, taking in the simple furnishings, lack of bed curtain and the stark shutters against the stone walls. “I am not to have my own chamber?”

“No.”

Sorcha gazed at her new husband with concern. “Why?”

“The laird and lady have always shared a chamber within our clan.”

She raised one eyebrow in challenge. “Perhaps now is the time to start a new tradition.”

Her husband stepped closer to her and Sorcha had to force away the need to retreat. She would meet him head-on with whatever he brought.

“Ye dinna want to continue what we started?” He traced a seductive path up her arm, tickling her prickled flesh before swirling a delicate circle on her collarbone. “Now it is my right.”

Her body reacted immediately—nipples hardened, cunny tingling—all of her begging for more of his illicit touch. His seduction. His kisses. But her mind rebelled. Doing so would go against her vow to never surrender to him again.

She pulled her gaze from his and forced herself to take a step backward. “No, I dinna want that.”
His
gaze drifted to her breasts, where her nipples proudly displayed otherwise.

The man had the audacity to grin. “Are ye certain of that, lass?”

She gritted her teeth. “Aye.”

“Then one kiss willna hurt.”

Before she could protest, he closed the gap between them and his lips claimed hers.

Her arms flailed to the side in an attempt to balance herself, but Reed’s strong embrace wrapped around her waist and held her steady against his hard length.

She kept her lips pressed firmly together, refusing to kiss him back. Kept her eyes wide open—staring into his wicked, challenge-filled face. But he teased the seam of her lips with his tongue, tugged at her lower lip with his teeth.

With a growl of frustration, she relented, throwing her arms around his neck, closing her eyes and opening her mouth to his invading tongue. He answered her growl with a grunt of satisfaction and a grind of his rigid cock against her pelvis.

She wanted to punch him but instead tugged on his hair.

His hands roamed along her lower back then lower, roughly squeezing her arse. She wanted to protest but in truth she liked his rough handling. Liked the way his hard cock rubbed against the delicate juncture of her thighs. Sparks of pleasure shot through her limbs. Her cunny was wet. Wanting, demanding.

“Do ye take it back, then?” His words slid seductively against her lips as he nipped at the swollen flesh. She didn’t know what he was talking about. She nodded just to get him to stop talking and continue kissing her.

But then she was being lifted into the air. She wrapped her legs around his waist to anchor herself, but that was a bad idea since his cock rubbed more intimately against her. Her thoughts were all jumbled, her world spinning with so many conflicting emotions.

They were headed toward the bed. “What are ye doing?”

“Making love to my wife.” He answered so matter-of-factly, as if she were the silly one for not realizing as much. “Ye said that ye took it back. Ye want me. Ye desire me.”

He’d tricked her! She pushed against his shoulders and took her legs down from around his waist, scrambling for purchase, but he lifted her higher so she was a foot away from the floor.

“Ye won’t get far, Sorcha. I aim to pleasure my wife and when I’ve a mind to do something, I see it done.”

Hearing the conviction in his voice, she knew she had but one resource. She reached for the knife at her hip, only to feel the loop was empty.

“Took care of those for ye already. Nice and safe over there.” He pointed to the chest by the door, both of her knives sitting so peacefully on top.

When had he disarmed her? Fury built rapidly inside her. “How dare ye take my weapons!”

He chuckled and tossed her onto the bed, quickly climbing on all fours to hover above her. His thighs pressed to the outside of her hips, his arms on either side of her head. He gazed down at her, a roguish grin covering his surprisingly soft lips. “Och, no need to get angry, wife. Was simply saving my own arse from your foul temper and swift hands.”

She gasped. As much as she wanted to put him out, she didn’t like the idea of him thinking she was foul tempered. In fact, she wanted him to think her sweet, and that was so very unlike her.

“I am not foul tempered.” She humphed, narrowing her brows and realizing too late that such an expression proved she was indeed what she denied.

“Ye are. And I aim to punish you for it.”

Without warning, he flipped her onto her belly. His hands stroked down her back, coming to rest on her buttocks. She opened her mouth to issue a derogatory curse, only for him to pull her up and capture her lips in a carnal kiss, his cock touching deliciously against the dip of her arse.

She kissed him back hungrily, all thoughts of cursing and yelling flitting from her mind. Then he wasn’t kissing her on the lips anymore. He licked her neck then pulled her gown from her shoulders and gently bit at the flesh there.

The bed shifted as he stood, and then he grasped her ankles and pulled her toward him, her skirts rising slowly up her legs as he did so. The cold air hit her skin like a slap.

And then his hand struck the flesh of her bare buttocks. It wasn’t a gentle slap. But it wasn’t meant to hurt either. She trembled as she hissed. She wanted him to do it again.

“Ye are going to like being punished by me, lass.” He leaned over her, his mouth hot against her, his tongue hotter as he traced the shell of her ear before sucking at the tender lobe.

She hung on his every word, hoping she would indeed like her punishment. Thus far, she was holding her breath. Wanton thoughts and pleasure stroked her insides.

He caressed her buttocks, massaging the flesh, sliding a finger down the crack of her arse. She gasped, wondering what he meant to do, when another stinging slap cracked the air.

This time she moaned and pushed her arse toward him, all but begging for more. He chuckled and rubbed the spot he’d struck.

“Do ye want me to do it again?” His voice was husky, guttural. Sensual. Every word vibrated her insides.

“Aye.”

But instead of spanking her, he blew hotly on her tingling arse cheeks. He kissed her flesh and she panted, licked her lips. Sorcha was unsure of what was going to happen and waited with bated breath for more of the same.

He gripped both of her cheeks hard, spreading them wide. She should feel embarrassed being so exposed to him, but she didn’t. If anything his brazen acts only made her wetter. Her cream dripped from her cunny, wetting her nether lips.

“So beautiful and pink,” he mumbled. She could feel his soft lips on her flesh as he spoke.

She whimpered, a sound she’d never thought to hear from her mouth. Then she cried out in truth as he licked from her pearl to her star and slapped her arse at the same time. It was fast, intended to leave her wanting more, and want more she did.

“Dinna stop,” she said, her words muffled by the fist she’d brought to her mouth.

“Dinna stop what? This?” Again, his tongue flicked her bud before swiping up to end with a swirl against her star as he slapped her other cheek.

She moaned aloud, her buttocks thrusting up into the air.

“Ye are a feisty, wanton lass. And your cream tastes like honey and wine.” His words were wicked and made her want to hear more.

They also made her want to try being wicked. If they were married now, she had no need to pretend and he was obviously interested in such brazen acts. Her curiosity was piqued. “Taste me again, husband,” she demanded.

Reed gripped her hips. His thumbs massaged her cheeks so that her arse crack opened and closed. “Where shall I taste ye?”

“Everywhere,” she whispered, still unsure.

“Dinna lose your boldness now, lass. I find I like your demands.”

“Taste my… Taste my cunny.” She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling slightly foolish and waiting to hear his laughter, but instead there was nothing but a male’s satisfied grunt.

And then there was pleasure. His tongue whipped along the length of her cunny, over her folds and swirled against her bud. His fingers dipped into the tight cavern of her woman’s sheath while he suckled at her sensitive flesh. He probed her insides, sliding in and out and touching a spot deep within that had her gasping and writhing.

He stopped abruptly and she let out a loud groan of surprise.

“I want to see all of ye.” The way he spoke made her entire being shudder. He sounded so…hungry.

She pushed up onto her elbows only to find his arms snaking around her middle as he pulled her to standing, her backside flush against him. He caressed her belly and up toward her breasts, where he squeezed and pinched her nipples through her gown.

He kissed the side of her neck and she tilted her head to give him better access. She arched her back, wanting to feel more of his rigid cock against her. He was warm, hard and she never wanted this moment to end.

Even if she’d planned to never surrender again. She would do so just this once. Show him how much pleasure she could bring him. Be the bold wife he wanted and then deny him forevermore.

With an expertise she could only surmise came from seducing many, many women, Reed undid the laces of her dress, the fabric pooling at her feet. She kicked it aside. His hands were all over her again, scrunching her chemise up around her hips and raking it down in the front so her breasts spilled from the top.

His teeth scraped her neck, her chin, and then he forced her to turn so his lips collided with hers. He kissed her hungrily, demanding, passionate, her musk fresh on his lips. And she gave him back everything he gave her. Measure for measure, lick for lick, suck for suck. She was going to be the best he’d ever made love to. She gripped his
leine
shirt and yanked it from where it was tucked into his kilt, splayed her hands across his muscled abdomen.

“Ye are entirely too clothed, my laird.” Her bold gaze met his piercing one.

He took a step back. Whipped off his belt and tore his shirt from his chest. His kilt fell in a pile of colors to his feet. He stood before her, nude except for his boots. Muscles rippled across the expanse of his chest and abdomen. His arms were contoured, his legs shaped like a god’s. Then she stared at his middle. His cock was long, hard, thick. She’d not seen one that size before.

A moment of panic seized her. But she recalled her goal to be the brazen woman. She would be good at lovemaking, for Reed—despite having had just one clumsy encounter before him. But how hard could it be? She would simply follow his lead. Follow her own curiosity. Which she did then.

Sorcha reached out and grasped his cock at the base. She smoothed upward, brushed her thumb over the tip and licked her lips. She wanted to taste him as he’d tasted her.

She dropped to her knees, gazed up at her husband for a moment to ask his permission, but the heady stare he returned to her said enough. His lips parted, his eyes widened and he hissed as her tongue flicked the head of his cock.

His flesh was soft, warm and salty. She licked again, gripping the base. She opened her mouth wider and sucked him inside.

She could feel him tremble, hear his guttural moans, and his reaction to her sucking his cock spurred her further.

But he wouldn’t allow her to finish. He threaded his hands beneath her armpits and yanked her up, tossing her onto her back on the bed. He loomed above her, his cock bobbing just above the apex of her thighs.

“Ye should not have done that. I wanted to go slow…but God’s teeth, your mouth has taken away my control.” He spread her thighs wide, yanked her knees up around his waist and rubbed his solid length along the crease of her sex.

She clenched her jaw at the pleasure. “Take me,” she said through her teeth.

With a groan, he thrust deep inside her, his eyes widening when he did not hit any barrier, but he said nothing. His cock filled her, stretched her. She scraped her nails along his chest, delighting in the sensation of his thickness pulsing inside her. Her cunny muscles clenched, sucking him in farther, and she canted her hips up, trying to gain more of his flesh.

“Ye’re a vixen,” he ground out, a drip of sweat trickling from his temple and down his cheek.

His pace was fast, his hands everywhere, tugging at her nipples, rubbing the sensitive bud that fired searing-hot pleasure through her. He bent over her as he thrust deep and quick, taking her nipple into his mouth and sucking hard. His fingers dug into her arse and she knew in the morning she would have bruises, but she cared not. The pleasure was overwhelming. She could not catch her breath and her heart beat so fast she thought it would burst.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, her ankles hooking at the small of his back. He was not the only one who could illicit such sweet pain. She tangled her fingers in his hair, yanking hard, and bit down on the flesh of his neck. Hard enough to sting but not to draw blood.