My Highland Prisoner: A Highlander Erotic Romance (2 page)

Staring him straight in the eyes, Ailsa let some of the tension leak from her body; but, she did not relinquish her hold on the broadsword or the letter. “Ailsa Dunn.”

The man’s smile was devastating, as Ailsa stepped aside and let him enter her home. He turned and looked over his shoulder at her, something mysterious dancing in the depths of his eyes. “Finlay Sheach.”

***

“Where are
Erroll and Bryson?” Ailsa asked as she strode into the kitchen, hair pulled back and pinned in a messy bun.

Glenda looked up from the dough she was kneading and gave her an assessing look. Ailsa tried not to blush, as the woman who had raised her looked her up and down.

Ailsa knew what she saw. She saw a woman in a brandy-colored, long-sleeved dress with white flowers and leaves sewn into the ends of the sleeves and bottom edges. The dress had been one of her stepmother's old dresses. After a good dusting and a few alterations here and there, it looked quite modern. When she added the new, white flower pattern, it made it look very pretty, as well. Glenda saw a woman who was trying to tempt a man, even though perhaps Ailsa didn’t know herself.

“Out with Finlay, helping to gather the crops,” Glenda finally replied, as she smirked and turned back to her dough, kneading with renewed vigor.

Ailsa turned in a swirl of brandy skirts and white flowers and marched out of the kitchen. Her soft footsteps echoed lightly on the cobbled floor, as she made her way to the back of the castle. As she walked, she nodded to any servants she passed. She turned a corner and pushed open the heavy oak door to the outside. Fresh autumn air with only the beginnings of winter’s cold hit her and made her wrap herself tightly in her shawl.

Finlay had been with Castle Dunn for the better part of a month; yet, she did not fully trust him. While he seemed like a stalwart and trustworthy man, Ailsa constantly reminded herself that he had also been a criminal. Whether her father, a criminal himself, had vetted him or not didn’t matter, since he still was not here to protect them.

Stepping out of the house, Ailsa let her eyes roam over the fields of fresh plants and the workers diligently harvesting them. She had been in the fields not too long ago, working beside her people. Managing the living expenses had kept her locked in her room and bent over her desk more recently. The fresh air felt good, even if it was slightly chilled.

“Erroll! Bryson!” Ailsa called out, as she stepped to the edge of the field and cupped her hands over her eyes to see past the workers to her brothers with their dark brown hair.

Two heads popped up simultaneously and a man who was bent over straightened back to his full height. Ailsa sucked in a breath and tried not to take a staggering step back, as something unknown hit her. It was just like the first time she’d seen him all those days ago. Heat curled around her and butterflies danced in her stomach. Ailsa felt her heartbeat speed up, as her breath came out in little pants. It was instinctive, a reaction that she could control about as well as the highland skies.

Finlay stood a few dozen yards away. Sweat glistened off his naked chest, while he held a scythe in one hand. His bronzed skin dripped with sweat from his strenuous activities. Ailsa couldn’t help but think about what other activities would garner the same amount of sweat.

A blush crept up into her cheeks, as she remembered the conversations she’d overheard almost a decade ago between two maids. Despite ten years having passed, the conversations were still fresh in her mind, haunting her dreams with visions of what could be. The maids had discussed men they were having dalliances with, how well-endowed the men were, and how well the men pleased them.

Ailsa had learned about the pleasures of licking, sucking, and even biting certain places on both the male and female body. She learned that the first time a woman welcomed a man to her bed, it would hurt, but if the man knew what he was doing it would begin to feel very good. She’d learned far more than she’d ever learned from Glenda, her father, or even her stepmother. Womanhood and welcoming a man into one’s bed had never been a topic that anyone had brought up and Ailsa had never been comfortable discussing the topic.

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn’t hear her brothers running to her or even take note of where they were until her legs were suddenly engulfed in the twin’s hugs. She jumped back in surprise and said, “Goodness! Donna scare me like that!”

“Sorra! We donna mean it.” The boys chirped in harmony, as two pairs of hazel eyes stared up at her in quiet apology.

Smiling down at her brothers, Ailsa ruffled their hair playfully. “I will forgive ye both this once. Now go inside and prepare for supper.”

Ailsa watched them hurry inside the back of the castle and slam the door behind them, she winced at the sound. With a long sigh, she turned back to see Finlay striding purposely towards her. He still had the scythe gripped tightly in one hand. For a moment, apprehension stole over her or maybe it was anticipation. The sky behind Finlay was changing colors with the setting sun, painting it with splashes of reds, yellows, and oranges. It made Finlay look like a great lion seeking out its next prey.

A shiver slid down her spine, as his warm, brown eyes wracked her body. She felt like she was prey and he was truly a lion.

“Good evenin’, lass,” Finlay’s voice washed over her. It was raspy with a hint of something wicked. Again, an image of a warm fire and a storm outside came to her, except this time she could see herself stretched out on a sheepskin rug in front of the fire with Finlay on top of her, doing things that the maids had described.

Ailsa’s cheeks flamed bright red and felt hot.

“And a good eve to ye, Finlay,” her voice was just a touch breathless, as if she’d had half her oxygen cut off. “Will ye be joinin’ us for sup?”

“Aye, lass. If ye will ‘ave me, I would be more than happy to join you.”

Something in the way he said the words sparked a fire inside of her. Her hazel eyes clashed with his warm, brown ones, as Ailsa tried to regain her footing in the situation. She still did not know Finlay. She did not know why he had chosen her father’s lands to work on or why he strived so hard to be kind to her brothers and her. She didn’t even know why he had stayed so long. Finlay was a mystery to her. He was a secret that she wanted to unravel, even though she had learned the hard way that secrets were not always good and the truth was, more often than not, the better course.

“Of course, Finlay,” Ailsa said, as she inclined her head and slowly pivoted on a heel to head back to the castle. Suddenly, the part of her that her father always hated, the part that was wild, reckless, and unladylike appeared. Before she could stop herself, she turned her head towards Finlay, batted her eyes, and said, “I would love to ‘ave ye.”

***

Ailsa skipped supper that night. In fact, she avoided meals where she might run into Finlay at all costs. It occurred to her, somewhere between leaving him shirtless in the field and readying herself for their supper, that she was a gently bred woman. Her father raised her to be the wife of a laird, the wife of a powerful man in a powerful position. And while, at present, there were no suitors knocking down her door, Ailsa was more than certain that there would be.

If she gave herself to Finlay and allowed him to shed her virginal blood and hang their bloodied sheet out as a symbol of their union, then what would she be? Ailsa would not lie to herself or deny the attraction she felt towards Finlay. It was a thing that lived and breathed inside of her, after all; but, she also would not let it rule her. She would not be handfasted to a field hand and become the wife of someone lower than her station.

It was not just for her sake, but also for her brothers’ sakes. It was for the sake of her people, for her father, and for her home. She had a right--a duty to them.

So, Ailsa stayed away from Finlay. She stayed away from his warm eyes and deep, throaty voice. Only the stories her brothers regaled her with kept her tied to the man. They told her how he taught them swordplay, taught them to plant, and taught them to hunt. These were things her father should have taught them, but never did.

***

Ailsa shivered by her desk and pulled her shawl tighter around her. Winter was approaching, but thankfully the crops had already been harvested and traded. They’d earned enough coin to see them past the winter and well into the spring. She knew it was all because of Finlay, since he’d shown the workers newer and better ways to harvest. The man was filled with surprises, a bevy of secrets.

A knock on her bedroom door drew her away from her musings. Ailsa rose from her desk and padded to the door. She was barefoot, since they’d been able to buy new animal skins for part of the room and Alisa loved the feel of the fur between her naked toes. She also loved the smell of the peat smoke coming from her fireplace and the bales of lavender Glenda had recently hung for her. There were still no tapestries on the wall, save one to cover the window; but, for once, things were going well. Ailsa was just happy for that small miracle.

“Glenda, ‘ave ye no' gone to--”

Ailsa froze. The words were cut off in her throat, as she looked at Finlay, dressed in a linen shirt and resting against her doorframe. The man looked dangerous and something more, silhouetted by the small light from her room.

“I’m sorra, Finlay. ‘Tis vera late, and unless ye--” Ailsa began, unsure of how to approach the situation.

“Why ‘ave ye been avoiding me, lass?” Finlay asked. His brow was raised, as he questioned her; yet, he made no move to enter her room or leave.

Worry, anger, and desire warred inside of Ailsa, as she tried to think of a way to answer him. “I ‘ave no’ been--”

“Dinna lie to me, Ailsa. I dinna take kindly to liars.”
His voice was deadly soft with a hint of censure. It made Ailsa wish she had the broadsword from the first time she’d met him. Without it she felt naked. In fact--

Ailsa gasped, as she tugged her shawl firmly around her. She had forgotten that she was only in a simple, cotton shift that came mid-thigh and was very thin. She had yet to unpack her winter nightgown and thought she could wear her summer one for one more night. How she loathed that decision now.

Finlay eyed her up and down, lingering on her thighs and the space between them. Ailsa blushed seven shades of red, as she squeezed her thighs together and tried to ignore the heat and butterflies taking over her body.

“I…” Ailsa paused and took a deep breath before continuing, “I think ye better leave.”

“Is that what ye really want, lass?”

“Aye,”
she said, but
the word burned like a harsh branding on her tongue. She had to force it out, knowing it was the right thing to say. They were from different worlds after all. Her feelings for him were irrelevant, especially when compared with her feelings for her family and her people. She would always do what was best for them, even at the risk of sacrificing her own happiness.

“Liar.”

Hard lips descended on her own before Ailsa could protest. Suddenly, she was pushed back into the room and the door closed behind them. Strong arms wrapped around her waist and hands bunched the fabric of her light shift, stroking over her hips and dragging her closer.

Ailsa knew she should call out for help or push him away. She knew she should have screamed, too; but, deep down, the same part that felt heat and butterflies whenever she was around Finlay wanted this. It was so much more than the maids had described and so much more than Ailsa had ever imaged.

Wet heat slid into her mouth in the shape of Finlay’s tongue. His tongue dueled with her own, stroking playfully, then luring her over into the cavern of his mouth. A game ensued, one that Ailsa didn’t fully understand, but one that Finlay was a master of.

Playful strokes turned into powerful licks and soft bites on her lips. He was teasing her, baiting her with the real passion and pleasure she craved. It made her desperate to discover what was behind the forceful thrusts of his tongue into her mouth and the soft bites and soothing nibbles on her lips.

On its own accord, Ailsa’s hand slid up Finlay’s arm, tracing his muscles and memorizing their shape. Then, she stroked over his biceps and around the hair at his nape. Perhaps it was some sort of animalistic instinct, one that recognized the lion in Finlay and wanted to be with him; but, whatever it was, Ailsa’s hand locked in his hair and she shifted closer to him. She lifted high on her tip toes and stroked his tongue with just as much force as he’d showed her. Then, she bit his lip and followed it up with a soft kiss to take the sting away.