Sins of the Highlander (A Highland Erotic Romance) (12 page)

The laird waved his hand at the door and Gilbert sauntered in, clapping his hands, a subtle sneer turning the corners of his thin lips. “Bravo, Lady Aileen. What a display of affection. One can only hope that you will one day champion for me so passionately.”

With swimming vision, she stared at his cruel face. Dark, cold eyes, a long, straight nose and a neatly trimmed beard. Some might consider Gilbert handsome, but he made her skin crawl. She knew the truth. He was despicable. Evil. When she had visited his home as a child, she’d hidden behind a barrel and watched him order a wee lad executed for stealing a chicken. “Such a dirty business,” he’d told one of his minions, “or I’d do it myself.” And then he’d simply watched as the man beheaded the lad.

The scent of mint wafted around him—Gilbert chewed on mint leaves day and night. For years she’d hated that smell because of its association to Gilbert Dunbar, and to her, its association to murder and death.

He stopped in front of her. His thin lips pressed together but tilted up at their edges in a victorious smile. Aileen gulped in a mint-filled breath. Her stomach gurgled, threatening to release her breakfast.

Three years ago, he had come to Dornoch to visit Walter. After a rowdy supper in the hall, he had bumped against her lewdly, grabbed her breast and twisted it until she had cried out in pain. To any casual observer, he was merely stumbling drunk. But she’d known he was sober—his movements had been calculated and deliberate. And the way he’d touched her was strangely possessive. At that moment, he’d had the same look in his eyes as he did now—piercing, narrow, intent. It had disconcerted her so strongly that she had escaped to her chamber and pleaded a headache until Gilbert had left Dornoch.

She turned to the laird, heedless of the raw desperation grating in her voice. “Please, John.”

John held out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “It is done, Aileen. All is settled to mine and Dunbar’s satisfaction. I pray for your happiness.”

Clutching her stomach, Aileen turned on her heel and fled.

***

Niall placed his palm flat on the door to Aileen’s bedchamber and hesitated.

Two days had passed. In a daze, he had gone through the motions of his daily routine. First, the only emotion he’d felt was rage, then pain and finally a desperate numbness.

The situation boiled down to one undeniable fact—he had sworn fealty to his laird under God. He had made that vow. He couldn’t betray the laird—to do so would be a betrayal of himself, of his soul, of everything he held holy.

Niall would never stop loving Aileen, but that love would have to remain the love of a man sworn to protect her family, not the carnal love they had so selfishly indulged in.

He raised his hand to knock, but just as she had at Dornoch, she called, “Come in,” before his fist struck the wood. Pushing open the door, he found her standing in front of the hearth, her hands clenched behind her back.

She turned to face him. “Niall.”

“Aileen.” He balled his fists, hardly able to speak. “I have come to say goodbye.”

She nodded, but her lower lip trembled. “I know.”

It was uncanny how she knew him so well, how well they knew each other.

“I’m leaving for a while.”

“And the laird approves,” she said flatly. Sadness clouded her violet eyes as she turned to him.

“He says I must return to Ellandonan by midsummer, but aye. He…understands why I must go.” God forgive him but he would not—
could
not—stay here and watch the lady he loved marry another man.

“Where will you go?”

“To Edinburgh, I think.”

She grimaced. “The Lowlands.”

“Aye.”

The door thudded shut behind him as he walked fully into the room. Suddenly, her scent assailed his senses. Heather and sage. He stopped short, still several feet from her.

“He has betrothed me to another.”

“I know, Lady Aileen.”

The formal title made her visibly cringe. He wished he could comfort her, hold her. But he couldn’t.

Honor. Chivalry.
The words ground through his mind. She deserved those things from him. The laird expected those things from him. But he knew if he touched her, he would sacrifice everything for the joy of feeling her flesh against his. He moved backward, distancing himself from her as far as possible without leaving the room.

“Niall—” The edge of desperation in her voice made him cringe. “Please. Is there anything…?”

“Nay, lady. Nothing.”

Someone else would warm her bed. Never him. She was destined for another man.

There was nothing he could do.

The thought clenched his gut, enraged him, curled his fingers, made him want to punch a hole through the stone wall.

Her eyes shone. “I know. Truly I do. But I cannot help but think there must be something that can be done.”

The woman standing across the room wanted him as much as he wanted her. She was as hopeless as he was.

None of that was any consolation. His teeth ground together so tightly, he thought he might break his jaw. “There is nothing, Aileen.”

For long moments, they stared across the room at one another. The pain in her eyes chipped at his resolve.

Unable to bear the distance between them any longer, Aileen lunged toward him with a whimper, wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his chest.

“How will I survive without you?” she cried.

As always, she felt safe in his arms. But it would be short-lived this time. He was leaving today, going away from Ellandonan, away from her, because he couldn’t bear to watch her marry another man.

She had to touch him one last time. Stroke him, feel his skin against hers. Starting at his shoulders, she ran her fingers over the rough wool of his plaid, across the smooth planes of his chest. Would she ever feel his hard, comforting warmth again? Would she ever taste him again?

Mindless with the need to do just that, she tugged up his shirt, bent down and pressed her tongue flat against the ridge of his stomach just above his bellybutton. Oh, his flavor. Pure male. Pure decadent, carnal promise.

Hands tightened on her shoulders as she dragged her tongue up his rippling body, savoring the salty, musky tang of him. Then she focused on his tiny male nipple. So flat, so small. She licked it too. Suckled it. And felt it constrict into a tiny bead beneath her tongue.

Above her, Niall let out a low groan. His hands wrapped around her waist, picking her up as easily as if she were a sack of barley. Aileen threw her arms around his neck and tightened her legs around his tight buttocks. He carried her to the bed, tossed her onto it and took a large step backward.

Separated from him, she scooted backward, thrill and fear surging through her at the primal look on his face, at the passion he barely held in check.

The struggle showed clearly on his face—in his narrowed eyes and tight jaw. He wanted her. But he had made the decision to leave her, to never touch her again.

She pressed her lips together with determination. She wouldn’t accept that. She needed his touch, needed it as desperately as the air she breathed.

Without breaking eye contact, she untied her belt and flung it across the room.

Niall turned to watch it fly, then his gaze fastened on her, his eyes dangerous slits.

Her dress was already hiked up around her knees. She grasped the hem and pulled it, along with her shift, over her head. Now she was naked except for her stockings and shoes.

She could see the battle still raging ferociously within him. He glanced at the door, his face twisted with indecision.

“Aileen…” He took a step closer. She could see his thread of control quivering, it was pulled so taut. If it broke… A shiver tripped down her spine.

“You shouldn’t do this…” he managed to say through tightly gritted teeth.

“No,” she agreed. “I shouldn’t.” It was the truth, for all the reasons they both knew so well.

Also, he hadn’t latched the door. Anyone could walk in, anytime.

She let her legs fall open, exposing her sex.

Niall froze. As still as a statue, he stared down at her.

Slowly, Aileen slid her fingers down her stomach, through the tight curls of her mound and into her hot slit, gasping when they passed over the engorged bundle of nerves.

He didn’t move.

“I want you,” she murmured, curving two of her fingers and pressing them inside. Her back arched. It was a tease, a little whisper of the sensation he could give her.

“Need you. Please, Niall.” As she pulled her sopping fingers away, she groaned, “Please.”

And with a low, feral growl, he snapped.

Without taking his lust-clouded eyes from her sex, he tore his plaid off and flung it away.

Spreading her legs, Aileen thrust inside herself, as far as her fingers would go. Her channel quivered wildly over her fingers. It wasn’t enough. She needed him to fill the void. Only him.

Harsh breaths resonated through the room. Hers or his? Both, perhaps. They seemed to mingle together and swirl about them, heaving in time with the deep drive of her fingers into her slippery core.

Niall’s hair was a halo of dark gold, sparkling in the firelight, framing his high cheekbones. His blue eyes were deep with what could only be described as thirst. Thirst for her.

With each item of clothing he flung away, Aileen’s pulse ratcheted upward. Her slick passage tightened and flooded, and tremors shuddered from her channel down her legs and through her arms.

He was a perfect specimen of manhood, with thick, strong arms, a narrow waist, a rippled abdomen and thighs that flexed with muscle as he moved toward her. His cock jutted up and out, oversized and flushed darker than the rest of him.

He crawled onto the bed like a big, tawny cat. A predator, and she was his prey.

And by God if that wasn’t exactly what she wanted. To be devoured by him. Her heartbeat fluttered in her chest, as frantic as a rabbit clutched in the remorseless claws of a hawk.

“Niall…” she whispered. Instinctively, her heels dug into the bed, scooting her body away until it pressed against the headboard.

There was nowhere to go. But it didn’t matter—she didn’t want to go. She wanted him to catch her, to physically catch her and then hold her and keep her, to never let her go, no matter what.

He crept toward her. Aileen knew his thoughts of honor and propriety had vanished with that final snap of control. All that remained was this virile, single-minded, indomitable man who desired nothing but her and would do anything to have her no matter the cost.

For a fleeting moment, she yearned to ensnare this aspect of Niall. Capture him into a box and release him in all his glorious power to John and Gilbert Dunbar. He would crush them both with his raw strength, his fierce determination.

Niall caught her. He clasped her ankles and she cried out, her body shaking from toes to crown with the heady feeling his dominance gave her. He tugged her to a horizontal position, then pushed her thighs wide apart, buried his face between her legs and devoured.

A silent scream erupted from Aileen’s mouth. Her head rolled back and forth. It was too intense, too powerful. She wanted to crawl out of her overcharged, oversensitive skin. And Niall, his big hands cupped around her behind, groaned into her sex, lapped up her cream and slid his tongue over the most sensitive parts of her body as his afternoon beard scraped against her skin.

Aileen’s fists clenched and unclenched the fabric of the plaid beneath her. Every muscle in her body flamed into rigid awareness. Her back arched. Her arms and legs straightened, shuddering with tension. Oh, God, she was close, so close to all-consuming release.

And then it stopped. The world settled back into focus—Niall’s harsh breathing, her jagged gasps, his face looming over her, lips and jaw glistening with her juices. He bent down and kissed her, and she could taste herself, her own musk. In her way, she had marked him with herself, with her scent. And she was glad for it.

He spread openmouthed kisses all over her face and neck, and she could smell her sex everywhere, all over. It made her wild, frantic.

He sat up, grabbed her hips and flipped her so she was facedown on the bed.

This was how she wanted him. Over her. His arms bracketed her head, his big body sheltered her, pinning her beneath him. There was nothing safer or more right than this.

Her center spasmed in time to her heartbeat. Staying still was impossible—she wiggled and bucked beneath him. A wicked blaze burned in her body, one that only he could douse. The need for his touch, for his cock, was so palpable it hurt.

As she trembled, fluttered and squirmed, her thighs slid together, their insides slick with her cream. The room’s cool air flowed freely over the sensitized scars on her back and her exposed behind. She shivered, thrusting her buttocks into the air, searching for Niall’s warming touch.

“Good.” He rested his palms on her rounded cheeks. She nearly cried out again, just from that simple touch.

“Spread your legs wide,
mo chridhe
.”

Pressing her cheek into the bed, she did, propping her bottom up high, exposing the cleft between her cheeks, her puckered hole and her sopping sex. He pulled her cheeks wider apart, giving him a clearer view of her most private parts. She gasped.

“Don’t be shy.”   

If Aileen could remember how to laugh, she might have at that moment. She was far, far beyond shyness.

He brushed his thumb down the cleft and circled it around her tight hole. She jerked and tensed in anticipation. He rested his thumb lightly against her, just enough to apply gentle pressure on the outside.

Aileen squirmed, silently begging for him to do something, something to ease the ache that was driving her insane.

He moved his fingers lower down. Using her juices, he painted small circles over the tender flesh of her inner lips until she angled her pelvis toward to him in silent demand.

He hovered over her, and she finally felt the rock-hard ridge of his shaft as he let it slip down her cleft until it found her sheath.