Unwilling (6 page)

“Besides,” his voice deepened.  “I
canna let you go.  Not ever.  Not only because of what I am, but because of
who
ye are.”

“What do you mean?” she asked,
suddenly catapulted out of her body and firmly back into her mind.  Did he only
want her because she was a Ross?  Had his aim been political all this time? 
Damn but she was tired of being pursued because of who her father had been and
who her uncle was now.  As Regent of Scotland, they’d have the ear of the
King.  Who wouldn’t want those connections?

Connor was silent for a long time. 
Say what he might, nothing but sharp intellect shone behind those clear green
eyes, and he was calculating something.  The worth of her dowry, perhaps?  He
seemed to come to a decision, his eyes hardening with resolve. 

“Because, whether ye’ve accepted me
or not, I’ve publically claimed ye as my mate.  Ye belong with me, Lindsay.”

“Excuse me?” she asked, trying to
disengage from his arms.  He held her fast, not giving up the steps of the
dance. 

“No man in the highlands who valued
his life would dare to
touch
ye.  At least not without my permission.”

“What?”  Aghast, she just blinked
up at him, all the charm of the banter vanished, replaced by incensed shock. 
“Is that the reason I’ve not danced all evening?”

Connor shrugged.  “Aye, they know
we’ve not been wed as of yet and that any approach would be seen as a challenge
for what is
mine.
”

“Wed as of…
Yours
?”  Lindsay
wrenched herself from his grasp, not caring if she disrupted the dance.  “Do
you have
any
idea how lonely and humiliating tonight has been for me?”
she hissed.  “How
dare
you!  How could you even presume that I would
consider accepting you as a husband, Connor MacLauchlan?  You’ve never even
asked
!”

She stormed away from him, grateful
the crowd parted to let her pass.  They might be afraid of their berserker
Laird, but they loved him too.  She couldn’t have borne it to look at him for a
moment longer. 

His dark, weary stare tormented her
enough as it was.

Chapter
Eleven

A pervasive restlessness stirred
Lindsay’s blood as she wandered through the hallways of Castle Lachlan. 
Raising her candle to light the shadows, she crept as silently as the rushes
allowed.  Midnight had chimed not too long ago, and most of Straithlachlan
slumbered.  She’d spent the last two nights locked in her chamber in a
self-imposed seclusion.  Ignoring the pleas from Evelyn, the entreaties of
Roderick, and the loud but empty threats from Connor, she’d only opened her
door to allow in the maids and the meals.  The Laird of the castle and his kin
had been respectful enough not to force their way into her rooms and she
suspected the maids reported that Lindsay hadn’t made an attempt at escape. 

Nay, she’d been thinking this
entire time.  Pondering the expansive paradigm shift she’d just experienced. 
Everything she’d known about this world had changed in such a short amount of
time. 

Everything.  Magic was real.  The
old Gods existed.  Men of the land were blessed with celestial powers.  One of
them had claimed her as his own.  And it was up to her to decide her fate.

And his.

For a woman of her station, such
decisions were never expected to be settled on her shoulders.  Her dear father
had loved her, yet had signed a contract with the MacKays sight unseen and
without discussing her feelings on the matter.  As a woman she’d been considered
chattel, a commodity to be traded and disposed of, entirely dependent on a man
as her liege-lord.  And that had brought her nothing but misery, loss, and peril.

For two days she’d paced and
pondered, obsessed and weighed options.  Should she attempt escape and try to
reach her uncle and throw herself upon his mercy and beg for protection?  Or upon
her successful escape, uphold her contract with the MacKays?  Their lands were
close enough by horseback.  In the likelihood that Connor killed Angus, his
twin brother Rory would be Laird and Lindsay had heard he was a fair and
kind-hearted man.  She could carry out her duty to him and try to make a good
life for herself…

Connor.

Could she stay here with him?  That
seemed to be the most dangerous decision of all.  Connor didn’t just pose a
threat to her safety, but also to her heart.  She’d always strove to maintain
an emotional distance from any decision made for her, promising herself that
whatever happened, she’d maintain her pride, her will, her poise, and her
spirit. 

Connor threatened all of these.  He
frightened, overwhelmed, and infuriated her.  He enthralled, pleasured, and
intrigued her.  The path he represented was uncertain.  Dangerous, even.  The
man was a mercenary, a beautiful, masculine mercenary.  The servant to a
warrior Goddess who demanded offerings of blood.  And her berserker—er—
the
berserker was steeped in it.     

Thus, after two full days of drowning
herself in a sea of possible outcomes to hypothetical decisions, Lindsay could stand
it no longer.  She’d given sleep its due diligence, thrashing about in her bed
for an hour or so.  Agitated and unable to shake a lonely chill, she threw on a
shawl and ventured forth into the night.  Evelyn had mentioned an impressive
library the day they’d met, and Lindsay felt certain she could find it on the
lower floor of the west wing.  A book might be just the thing to offer her a
much needed escape from her situation. 

The faint strains of a lute caused
her to pause half-way down the stone steps.  Straining to catch the melody, she
could barely feel her toes touch the cold flagstones as she stole down the rest
of the staircase and peered around the corner of the long left hall, at the end
of which,               was the library. 

Firelight spilled into the hall
from the large library archway.  Golden light and inky darkness bent and danced
with each other to the solitary tune of the lute.  Lindsay felt herself
floating toward the melancholy sound, drawn by a melody so breathtaking and
disconsolate that her heart bled.

Blowing out her candle, she peeked
into the doorway and had to clasp her hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. 

Connor’s bulk, silhouetted by the
flames in the man-sized hearth, rested against a heavy study table situated in
the middle of the library.  Propped by a haphazard chair, his strong leg
supported the negligible weight of the lute that wept beneath his deft fingers. 

He glanced up sharply at her
movement, the song dying on an abrupt
plunk
.

She couldn’t make out the exact
expression on his face, but Lindsay assumed it was any variant of displeasure. 
The thought made her sad.  Though, she supposed, she was still angry with him. 
Wasn’t she?

They stared at each other for a
still and silent moment.  He looked out of place here, in this room filled with
brittle, oxidizing scrolls and well-worn books.  The delicate baubles and
keepsake treasures that rested on stone columns or wooden shelves sometimes
caught the light of the flames and Lindsay worried for them.  They were
breakable.  What if they didn’t survive the presence of this volatile force of
a man?

What if she didn’t?

He stood, breaching the moment. 
His massive shoulders seemed to bow beneath an overwhelming burden and his brow
tightened.  “I’ll leave you."

Her eyes rested on the fragile
instrument resting in the clutch of his massive hands.  Instead of crushing it
with his brutal strength, he’d coaxed the softest melody from it.  One that she
wanted to hear again. 

“No.”  She put a hand out, as if to
stop him.  “No.  Please, continue.  It was lovely.”

For an uncertain moment, he paused
and Lindsay held her breath until he sank back against the table.  Positioning
the instrument, he inhaled audibly and resumed the lyrical tune. 

Prompted by her cold feet on the
stones, Lindsay padded the few paces toward him. 

Likely due to the autumn chill, Connor
wore a loose black shirt beneath his tartan and still wore his boots, though
the laces had been loosened.  He smelled of firewood, hearty scotch, and clove
spice, as though the autumn sun perfumed his skin.

Lindsay swallowed convulsively as
saliva flooded her mouth.  Why was her blood quickening when the mellow strains
of the lute should be soothing her restlessness?  She tentatively moved a stack
of books and a magnifying glass out of the way before taking a perch on the
table next to him, but not close enough to touch.  If he noticed or cared, he
gave no signal.   

After several measures he asked,
“Were ye lookin’ for me, lass?  Is there something yer in need of?”  He never
looked up from his nimble fingers.  Her notice was arrested by them, as well.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she answered
honestly.  “I came in search of a book.”

He nodded, his jaw grinding a bit as
his throat worked over a swallow.  But his fingers never paused, though the
melody dropped into something like a mourning song.  “I couldna sleep, either.”

Lindsay realized she’d never seen
him like he was now, loose-limbed and intent on something that required a
delicate and practiced proficiency.  Never would have thought he had something
beautiful in his heart as the music drifting from his instrument.  In this
moment, he wasn’t a domineering baron Laird or a lethal berserker.  He was just
a man, concentrating on something that brought him solace and sometimes joy. 
Something he’d had to have done many times, judging by his considerable skill.

The size of the hands and the girth
of his wrists astounded her.  Sinew danced beneath the thin skin of his wrist
as his fingers changed their positions on the strings.  Lindsay had never
thought of those fingers as elegant or particularly dexterous before.  Brutal,
maybe.  Strong and skilled in clutching a weapon or meeting out death or
punishment.  But, she supposed, her very first experience with his hands should
taught her exactly how varied his skills were and how expertly he applied them. 

Her traitorous body warmed at the
memory.  Though his eyes had been demon black, those hands had manipulated her
flesh as expertly as any responsive instrument.  He’d used them to coax
unfamiliar sounds from her, a climactic song of pleading and pleasure.  He’d
tuned her most sensitive peak, thrumming it in a percussive, throbbing rhythm
until the crescendo had left her breathless and forever altered. 

Yes, she should have known he was a
musician. 

Letting a captured breath out on a
shaky sigh, she shifted uncomfortably and squeezed her thighs together.  She’d
bloomed at the evocative reflection, her soft woman’s place becoming as slick
and aching as it had been for him that terrible day.  Her nether regions
flooded as she replayed the images of what had transpired between them.  What could
have happened had she not stopped him.  Memory and fantasy melded until she
wasn’t sure where the lines blurred and what reality contained.

His tune had sped a little without
her noticing much until he stopped altogether.  The wood of the lute’s neck
protested as he squeezed it in a white-knuckled grip.  Every muscle tensed
beneath his clothing and he became utterly motionless but for the flaring of
nostrils and heaving of breath. 

“You canna do this to me, woman,”
he growled.  “I can smell…”  His mouth opened on a tortured pant and he wet his
lips with his tongue.

Lindsay hopped off the table in
alarm and retreated a few steps.  “What?” she asked.  Could he smell her
arousal?  Nay, that was impossible.  He’d have to be… preternatural to do
that.  Closing her eyes, she berated herself for her stupidity.  Her pride would
never allow words to be betray her, but her body already had; and his
perceptive senses knew exactly what she wanted.  What would happen now? 

“Ye haveta leave,” he barked.  “If
I look at ye now, I’ll be upon ye before ye can scream.”

If possible, she became even more
wet. 

“
Lindsay
,” he warned. 

“But you said a berserker can’t
have me without my permission.”

“But
I
can.”  This was
growled between clenched teeth.

He could have?  All this time?  He
could have broken her door in with naught but a little will and what was, to
him, nothing more than a slight shove.   But he didn’t. 

The thought held a dark and violent
appeal. 

The neck of the lute shattered
beneath his grip.  “Run from me, Lindsay,” he begged.  “While ye still can.”

Heart racing, Lindsay stared into
the fire behind him.  It licked at the man-sized hearth, spitting hungry embers
onto the stone floor from time to time with a loud crack.  Her soul had felt
like that fire for untold years now, contained within the cold recesses of
stone walls, only allowed to burn bright enough to be enjoyed by those who
needed its warmth and utility.  Perhaps it was time to give it enough fodder to
consume them both.   

“No,” she whispered.

Chapter
Twelve

Connor was only distantly aware of
the crash the lute made as it was discarded.  Firelight glowed off the white
nightshift she wore and her hair was a straight, inky waterfall that flowed over
her breasts that ended just above her hips. 

Grabbing her around the waist with
one arm, he pinned her against his body as he plunged the other in her hair and
held her head prisoner.  Capturing her lips was the sweetest plunder he’d ever
wrought.  She wasn’t pliant, either, in this endeavor.  She met his invading
tongue with her own, sparring with him and stroking him wetly.  Gods, her
mouth.  Could there be a sweeter place to reside in all the world?

He could think of only one. 

Growling at the thought, he
released her head and reached down to grab a handful of her tight arse.  Without
breaking the hot contact of their mouths, he lifted her against him. She had no
choice but to wrap her long legs around his hips.  She complied, locking them
together and winding her arms about his neck.  Between the layers of his kilt
and her thin nightshift, his aching length cradled itself against her warm
cleft and pulsed with an exquisite pain.

Soon.    

He couldn’t believe she wanted
this.  Couldn’t believe it was happening.  Hadn’t he come in here to whittle
away some lonely, aching hours?  Wasn’t she still angry with him for being a
high-handed incomparable ass?

Maybe.  But the scent of her
honeyed provocation against him was undeniable.  Regardless of what she felt, his
mate needed him to pleasure her again.  In this, he would not fail her. 

They wouldn’t make it to a bed. 
And he knew that in his state, he’d break Evelyn’s favorite chaise.  Stepping
to the table, he held her negligible weight with one hand as he used the other
to swipe books and various paraphernalia out of his way.  They didn’t just fall
to the ground, some items flew spans across the room.  A magnifying glass
shattered somewhere in the distance.  He didn’t care, except that her feet were
bare.  He wouldn’t allow them to touch the floor until every shard was cleared.

She broke the kiss with a gasp and
blinked as though a spell had been broken.  Her wide, violet eyes took in his
face, which was now turned toward the fire.  He knew what she read there, and she
gasped in response to its intensity.  She was a little afraid. 

She should be. 

Claiming her moist lips once again,
he set her on the very edge of the table, so her core still came into contact
with his cock.  Splaying his hands between them, he spread them up her ribcage,
past her breasts, and gripped the front of her shift. 

Ripping it from her was the most
satisfying thing he’d accomplished in his lifetime thus far.  And it was just
about to get better.

Her skin glowed a pale cream
against the dark wood of the table.  Her hair pooled in the shadows.  Once she was
bared to him, Connor reluctantly conceded the sweetness of her mouth for the
call of other tantalizing regions.  Trailing his tongue down the slight column
of her neck, he licked at the pulse that fluttered an irregular beat against
his mouth, before dipping lower.

Her breasts were impossibly pert
and firm.  Securing her arched back with his forearms, he feasted on them. 
Licking at the thin, sensitive skin beneath her rosy areolas he denied the
puckering nipples his attention.  Lindsay’s hands roamed and dug into his scalp
and neck, demanding satisfaction.  Little insistent mewls burst from deep in
her throat.  Connor found himself lamenting that his hair was too short to
pull, though every inch of his skin reveled in her touch.  

She deserved this torment.  Latching
on to her nipple, he flicked the tip with his tongue and she gifted him with
her first moan of the night.  Oh there would be many to follow. 

He thrilled to the challenge. 

Leaving the nipple moist, he drew
back and breathed on it.  Goose pimples erupted over her whole body and she
gave a little whimper.  He could feel a wicked smile tilt his mouth as he moved
on to the other breast.  Reveling in the sweet and salty taste of her skin, he
laid her back on the table, freeing his hands to roam her body. 

He’d wanted to go slower than
this.  To explore every inch of her, to touch and claim every part.  But he was
too hungry, and her scent was too tantalizing.  Connor’s fingers found the
sweet triangle of curls immediately and, as he dipped in to coat his finger
with her moisture, his teeth gently dragged acRoss her nipple. 

She gasped his name. 

Yes.

It had been well done of him to
keep his clothing on through this.  At the sound of his name leaving her lips
he would have thrust into her and blindly driven himself into oblivion.  Not
yet.  He had to taste her first.  To drink from the well that sprang for him. 
He couldn’t deny himself that right.  He couldn’t deny her that pleasure.

Though he bent over her, his left
hand came up to splay across her chest and hold her down.  “Lie still,” he
commanded, then sank to his knees on the rough stone.

“What are you—?”   Her small,
breathy voice cut off when he wrenched both of her legs wide with his hands,
pinning her to the table. 

He growled at the sight of her. 
Slick, glistening, and pink nestled in a bed of glossy ebony curls.  He’d never
seen anything so beautiful. 

“Connor I—I… Oh God!”

The first taste of her was ambrosia;
the second catapulted him to heaven.  Nothing could have prepared him for the
softness he found, the pliant flesh that yielded to his lips and pulsed against
his tongue.  He explored her mercilessly, enjoying the quivers and jerks of her
strong, lean thighs beneath his palms.  Her legs were fighting his effortless
imprisonment, struggling to close around his head and retreat from his
relentless mouth.  Or to hold him prisoner there.

Her moans and pants and cries were
the sweetest music he’d ever heard, deep and throaty with enough entreaty to
stoke his manly pride.  Tracing her inner petals with his tongue, he avoided
the tight bud that was the center of her sensations.  He sucked those folds of
flesh into his mouth, flicking at them playfully and following the rolls and
jerks of her hips.  Denying them both, he dipped lower, probing at her core
with his tongue.  He was rewarded with a rush of her desire that he lapped up
with an appreciative groan.

His body was wound tight as a
fucking bow string.  He needed inside of her.  And fast.  He started to wonder
if he was going to survive this.  Fire thrummed through his veins and his berserker
simmered too close to the surface.  What if he hurt her?  

“Connor… please.”  Her desperate
plea pulled him out of his head.  “I need—”

She needed a climax, and he needed
to give it to her. 

Her moan was raw when he latched
onto her; it grew to a cry when his tongue went to work.  He settled his
shoulders into his occupation and allowed her to rest her feet upon them.  He
drove her to edge again and again until her skin shimmered with sweat and her
legs trembled with effort.  When her voice became hoarse and her pleas weakened
to painful groans, he released her and reached beneath her thighs to span her
waist with his hands. 

Here,
mo chroi
,
he
thought,
I give you this, along with my heart.

Her shoulders arched off the table
and she screamed.  Connor followed her bucking hips with his mouth, determined
not to yield her flesh until he’d wrung every last quiver of pleasure from
her.  Her hands gripped his forearms, fingernails biting into his skin.  God he
loved this.  He could spend the rest of his life here, if she’d only let him. 
He wanted to close his eyes, but couldn’t, the beauty of her coming for him
awed and stimulated him.  He was so fucking hard his cock wept beneath his
tartan. 

But he didn’t want this moment to
end.  Didn’t want the rapture on her face to die.  He had put it there. 

And he already wanted to do it
again. 

When she collapsed back to the
table, little quakes of aftermath quivered across her belly, she released her
death-grip on his arms and let out a long and shaky breath. 

Connor didn’t move though, after he
pulled his neck away from her.  He couldn’t.  He’d been locked into place by
the sight of the one thing that could threaten this perfect moment. 

Her nails had made him bleed. 

***

Lindsay lay in a boneless puddle on
the hard table, as little tremors and pulses of pleasure still snaked through
her at various intervals.  Glancing down, she could only see the top of
Connor’s head between her shamelessly spread legs.  Then he started to rise
into her line of vision. 

The black eyes came into view
first, and then the berserker towered over her prone body, his muscles
twitching with ready urgency. 

In truth, any fear or uncertainty
melted away.  She knew this gentle beast.  Connor was hard, proud, stubborn,
and authoritarian, but his berserker, while primitive and uncouth, had treated
her with tender gentility.  The irony was not lost on her. 

And she was beginning to understand
them both.

He reached for her, and she rose to
him.  His unfathomable black eyes tracked her every move like a rapt predator
as she carefully unlatched his brooch and let his tartan fall from his shoulder
and down lean hips.  He stroked her hair and caressed her shoulders as she
unlaced the front of his shirt and revealed the dark tattoos on the massive
expanse of his chest.  When she pulled the shirt toward her, he obediently
lifted his arms so she could ease the garment over his head. 

No words were needed between them,
as he didn’t speak in his death-dealing form.  Lindsay knew he could read her
every intent.  His dark purr flared deep in his chest and Lindsay felt a smile
of pride and pleasure reach her heart. 

The firelight burnished his skin a
dark bronze.  Lindsay couldn’t stop the tremble of her hand as she reached out
to explore his awe-provoking body.  The muscles of his chest were hard and warm
beneath her hand, but the skin was utterly smooth.  He hissed in a breath when
her other hand joined her first in their bold investigation.

God, but he was huge, and the
thought of all this barely contained power unleashed on her body spiked with an
urgent need that had been banked by her first climax. 

His hard stomach heaved beneath her
hands as she drew them lower.  It never occurred to her to be shy, not after
what he’d just done.  Instead, she wanted an equal part in this.  She wanted to
give what she received and claim the pride that he displayed at her pleasure. 

When she wrapped her fingers around
his sex he growled and gripped both of her shoulders.  His preternatural eyes
rolled back and disappeared into his skull.  His lips curled away from sharpened
teeth, but she still was not afraid.  This part of him was beautiful and
mysterious.  Lindsay wondered what it felt like for him, locked and pulsing
with blood beneath her hand.  Did it please him like his touch had pleasured
her?

She moved her hand from the thick
base of his shaft to the plumb head where she discovered a slick bit of
moisture clinging to the opening.  This was his desire for her.  This was what
he would release deep inside of her when the time came. 

All right, maybe she feared that a
little.  He was so big, so hard and heavy and hot as a branding iron.  He could
split her in two. 

His grip contained more pressure as
he guided her to lie back.  His lips were suddenly everywhere.  Her jaw, her
mouth, her neck, nibbling at her ear, returning to her mouth.  His urgent need
stoked the fire within her.  His lips burned her skin as though branding every
inch they touched as his. 

And she was his. 

Though she’d tried her best to fool
herself.  Fought it, and him, since the beginning.  Pretending she was the
mistress of her own fate.  From the moment she’d met the abysmal gaze of the
beast and he’d decided to spare her, she’d been helpless against her primitive
answer to his absolute claim. 

A relentless throbbing had taken
residence in her sex and, as he pulled her hips closer to him to position
himself against her, the heat of his cock against her most sensitive flesh
promised satisfaction.  But he could not have what she did not expressly give. 

“Take me, Connor,” she commanded. 
“I am yours.”

Baring his teeth again, he joined
them with one powerful thrust.