A Kiss for a Highlander (15 page)

Moving his hand lower, he lifted her skirts, one finger finding her hot, tight wetness. Martha could hold it back no longer. A rapturous, treacherous little moan left her lips.

“Did ye say something?” She shook her head. “You didn’t ask me to do this—” he moved the finger, probing deeper, “—some more? You wouldn’t like me to do this?” He dropped his head and licked his way along her collarbone, moving his tongue along to the nape of her neck, swirling it into the sensitive depression there. Then he moved down to her breast and sucked her nipple into his mouth and began to play with it. It was too much. Martha cried out. She reached for his head, twisting her fingers into his hair, trying to coax him to move, to press inside her.

“Say it,” he murmured, his lips continuing to tease her flesh.

“Please, Fraser…” It was little more than a whimper.

“Are you begging me, Martha?” He lifted his head to look into her eyes.

“Yes, I’m begging you. Please,” she said, her voice hoarse with longing. Her breasts and sex felt like he had trailed fingers of molten fire across her flesh. Reason had deserted her. She could no longer remember what their fight was about or why she was trying to resist him.

“First we need to get rid of these clothes.” She murmured a little protest as he pulled her to her feet and helped her to step out of her dress. “Then for the chastisement.”

“The what?” Groggy with lust, Martha shivered slightly at the sudden cold on her naked body.

“On your knees, crabbit one,” Fraser directed her, and with a slightly unreal feeling, Martha obeyed, kneeling on the hard wooden floorboards. “I need your arse on display for what comes next.” He knelt behind her, hauling her hips up against his thighs so that she was forced to support herself on her elbows. She could feel the length of his cock pressing hard up against her with each movement.

“Does that mean you are going to skelp my backside as you have so often threatened?” Martha turned her head to look at him over her shoulder and was scorched by the blazing look in his eyes.

“Would you like that, Martha? Is that how you want to be punished for your disobedience?” He ran his hands over the smooth curves of her buttocks, caressing and massaging the soft flesh. The thought, instead of repelling her as she had expected, made her quiver with sudden excitement. Fraser’s smile deepened at her soft gasp and the blush which heated her face.

He held her buttocks apart, pressing the pad of his thumb hard against the puckered ring of her anus and sending a lightning bolt of shock through her body, before running his fingers lower, between her outer lips and up to her clitoris. He began to circle the tiny nub slowly while caressing her buttocks with his other hand. Then he slapped her. The ringing sound of his palm on her flesh was shockingly loud, and she jerked wildly against him, crying out. One hand maintained the pressure on her clitoris, while the other rained down a flurry of fierce, stinging slaps on one buttock then the other. Moans of mingled hurt and arousal began to escape her. As the slaps became harder, he increased the speed of his circling fingers. Martha felt as though her mind had become unhinged. There was no thought, only sensation. The burning skin of her backside matched the pulsating lust that squeezed her inner walls together hard and tight.

The hand delivering the slaps moved lower so that his palm began to hit her entrance each time. His fingertips flicking against her clitoris increased the exquisite pain. As Martha’s orgasm hit her with relentless fury, Fraser slid two fingers inside her so that he could feel her muscles spasm and grip him.

“Now you’ve taken your punishment, I need to kiss you better.” Cradling her in his arms, he lifted her back onto the bed, laying her on the pillows and gently parting her legs so that he could position himself between them. Martha’s muscles were still fluttering from her orgasm so, when he began to slowly lick every inch of her—back and forth—she was instantly writhing. Holding her open with his fingers, he took his time to anoint her sensitive flesh with his lips and tongue, licking and sucking until she came again, thrusting her hips upward to bring herself closer to his mouth.

Fraser tugged his shirt over his head and removed the rest of his clothing before coming back to join her on the bed. His cock was huge, hard and pulsing. Martha reached out and took the iron-hard velvet length of him in her hand. His indrawn breath was a hiss as she ran her fingers lightly down his shaft.

“Weren’t you going to ask me who I belong to?” she whispered. Kneeling so that she could lean over him, she traced her tongue lightly around the rim of his cock. His back arched off the bed at a near-impossible angle.

“I’m not foolish enough to risk asking that question while my balls are exposed to your teeth.”

“But I belong to you, Fraser.” Sliding her lips slowly over the bulging head of his cock, she exulted in the power she had over him. Lifting her head again, she looked into his eyes. “You have complete power over me. Can’t you tell?”

Groaning, he gripped the back of her neck, pulling her head down as his hips jerked upward. He ground out her name. It sounded very much like a cry of submission. A soft, triumphant smile touched Martha’s lips as she took him into her mouth.

Chapter Fifteen

While the men engaged in increasingly difficult feats of strength, such as tossing large logs known as cabers and pulling carts laden with stones up the hillside, the women tended to the children and gossiped among themselves. Martha was conscious of most of their eyes upon her. She knew what they were thinking. She couldn’t blame them. Their thoughts, after all, echoed her own. What was there about this slight, timid Englishwoman that could drive their proud leader into such a frenzy that he had forgotten his place and betrayed his passion for her in front of the assembled clan folk? A secret smile touched her lips. Whatever it was, it had left her tail end stinging and both of them with dark shadows under their eyes after a wild, sleepless night.

“I’d no look like that, if I were you.” Iona took the seat next to her. “Not unless you want one of these fine, wee lasses who has a yen to be the next lady of Lachlan to scratch your eyes out for you.”

Fraser’s sister had arrived at the castle that morning, her arrival heralding a small whirlwind of excitement among the servants, who clearly adored the former daughter of the house of Lachlan.

“Which of them will it be?” Martha couldn’t resist asking the question. There were so many pretty girls present, and she had observed Fraser behaving with equal courtesy to each of them. She just wanted to be sure the one he chose was worthy of him. That was her only interest in the matter.

Iona snorted. “Din’nae talk daft to me, lass.”

Martha knew it had been presumptuous of her to ask. These were the hard lessons she must learn. She had never expected to be any man’s mistress, reduced to fading into the background when he took a wife. It was doubly hard because they were all of them, despite the gaiety of the gathering and the games, living in the shadow of war. The prince was becoming increasingly restless, and Cumberland, it was said, was prepared to face him at any time. The looming confrontation overshadowed everything else, and none of them could predict what the future would bring.

“We must away down to the loch side for the final test,” Iona said, linking Martha’s arm on one side and Rosie’s on the other.

They accompanied the procession of women and children out across the drawbridge to where the men were gathered. Once outside, they were joined by an older, dour-faced man, whose expression would have soured the milk before it even left the cow.

“This is my husband…Sir Donald,” Iona said. Martha managed to hide her shock that such a vibrant, young woman was tied, not only to a man old enough to be her father, but one who looked, moreover, as though enjoyment was an alien concept to him. A glance at Rosie’s face told her that her young cousin shared her surprise.

The men were gathered at the loch side, and all attention was on a group of younger men who were bare-chested and barefooted, clad only in the long hose known to highlanders as trews. Fraser was among them, and he turned his head, grinning in Martha’s direction and miming that he was cold.

“What are they doing?” she asked.

“These are the winners of the strength tests. Now they must run to the other side of the loch before swimming back,” Iona said. “The winner will be declared lord of the games.”

“But they’ll freeze.” Martha looked out across the loch. There was something sinister about waters so quiet and dark. She remembered Fraser’s comment that this loch was said to be bottomless. The thought of him being drawn into those endless depths made her shiver.

“Young Angus seems determined to win.” Iona nodded in the direction of a tall, young man. “’Tis woeful afeared he is that yon lassie’ll favour him no more if Fraser chooses to look her way.” The lassie in question was called Brenna, and she was the blonde girl whose hand Fraser had sought for the first dance of the previous evening. Martha observed the longing looks Angus cast at Brenna, and the dark glares that followed when she bestowed a glowing smile on Fraser. Martha’s own heart grew a fraction heavier.

“I’m cold,” she murmured, intent on escaping the situation. As she turned away, her head was bent and she wasn’t looking where she was going. She was soon brought to a halt by a large, immovable object. Since this object consisted mostly of muscle and smelled deliciously familiar, she knew immediately what—or rather who—it was. Fraser caught her by her upper arms and steadied her.

“Where are you off to, crabbit one? Not sneaking away again, I hope?”

“No, I was going inside to fetch my cloak.” She wished he wouldn’t smile at her quite that way. A fluttering heartbeat did nothing for her attempts to maintain her composure under the gaze of the curious highlanders.

“You look tired…almost as if ye did’nae sleep too well last night,” he said, the smile deepening into something that held a trace of wickedness. And a little something more.

“You should know,” she fired back swiftly. Biting her lip, she glanced around to see if anyone had heard. Fortunately, there was no-one close enough.

“Oh, I do. It was good, was it not?”

Instantly, the words and the accompanying look sent a dart of pure lust shimmying to her very core. “Stop it.”

“Stop what? Stop wanting you? I’ve tried that, Martha. I tried it with every fibre of my being when we were first at the old dower house together. It does’nae work.” A shout went up from the loch side, calling the men to the start line. Fraser sighed. “Hurry back. I want ye here when I win this race.”

“I’ve no desire to watch you kill yourself.”

“Ah, crabbit one, never did I think to hear you express such concern for the welfare of a hated Scotsman.” Fraser put his hand to his bare chest and covered his heart in a half-mocking gesture.

“It’s not that…I just don’t want to have to nurse you. I suspect you would prove to be a troublesome patient.” His laughter followed her as she ran lightly into the Tower House.

When Martha returned to join the spectators, the race was underway. The light was already fading into that uniquely Scottish midafternoon twilight, and the runners were too far distant for her to be able to distinguish Fraser in the group. Jack, who had not fared well in the strength contest due to the lingering effects of his injury, joined them.

“I’ve never known Fraser to lose at this,” he said, scanning the shoreline with narrowed eyes. “Not since the first time we did it, when we were both only fourteen.”

Martha refrained from pointing out several reasons why winning the race might not be an easy task for Fraser this time. Firstly, he was no longer fourteen. Indeed, he was almost twice that age. Secondly, although he had not been as badly injured as Jack, it was not so very long ago that he had sustained a severe blow to the head. The memory made her wince. Finally, only she knew—and was certainly not about to reveal to anyone else—that, in addition to getting very little sleep, Fraser had also been engaged in some
very
strenuous activity the night before. All in all, his chances of victory appeared slim.

She was surprised, therefore, when the first swimmers came into view and an excited shout went up. “The laird is in the lead!” There was a rush toward the banks of the loch, with several people, including Auld Rab, coming perilously close to tumbling in.

“It’s going to be close,” Jack said, as another swimmer drew level with Fraser.

“It’s young Angus,” Rab called. “Who’d have thought a wee stripling laddie could challenge the laird?”

Martha cast a glance at Brenna, who stood with her hands clasped at her breast and her eyes shining. The girl could not lose no matter what the outcome of this contest. Although she was the favourite to secure the heart of the laird, it would do her cause no harm for Fraser to see another handsome suitor fighting for her attention. It might even prompt him into an early declaration. And, if by some chance, Fraser did not ask her to be his bride…well, Angus was a fair catch in himself.

Around them the shouts were reaching a crescendo as, neck and neck, the two swimmers thrashed their way to the finish. It seemed to Martha that the two men touched the bank at precisely the same second.

“The laird wins,” Rab declared without hesitation.

This blatantly partisan announcement produced cheers from Fraser’s supporters and catcalls from those who felt that Angus deserved the title. Fraser, who had dragged himself from the icy waters, crawled on his hands and feet up the bank and collapsed onto his back, his chest heaving. After lying for a few minutes with his arm flung over his eyes, he rose and went back to the water’s edge, where Angus was struggling to lever himself out. Leaning down, Fraser stretched out a hand to the younger man, hauling him out of the water and up the bank. Other swimmers were finishing now and collapsing onto the grass around them.

“’Twas a good race, lad,” Fraser said, holding out his hand.

Angus gazed up into Fraser’s smiling face with an expression of loathing. He ignored Fraser’s hand. “Aye, ’twas a good race for cheats, my laird.” His voice was shaky with shock and anger.

Jack stepped forward. “Steady, lad. Think before you speak.”

Angus dashed a trembling hand over his lips. “I’ll not be silenced. Not when we all know what he is.” He drew a deep breath. “Aye, our fine laird! Nought but a lecher and a cheat. A man who wants a young bride to warm his bed and gi’ him lusty sons but who can think of nothing but his whey-faced English whore—”

He had hit the ground before he could finish his sentence. One moment the young Scot was spitting out jealous venom, the next he was flat on his back on the grass with Fraser’s bare foot planted firmly in the centre of his chest. Even across the distance of several feet that separated them, Martha could see the cold fury in the hazel depths of Fraser’s eyes.

“Let us get one thing straight here, laddie.” Fraser leaned over Angus, but his words were clearly intended to reach all those present. “I understand your hurt, and because I understand it, I am prepared to let your comments about me pass. But there is a lady here about whom, if you must speak of her at all, you will only ever utter words of respect. Do I make myself very clear?”

Angus made a strangled sound of assent, and Fraser nodded, moving his foot and allowing him to rise. Rab hurried forward, holding out a folded tartan cloth.

“The winner’s sash, my laird.”

“The lad won the race fair and square. The title is his.” Fraser stalked away into the castle.

The gathering and the games were over, the clans’ folk returned to their own homes. No promises of marriage had been exchanged, and several young ladies departed with stormy expressions. Young Brenna’s face, as she bade Fraser farewell, was positively sulky. He breathed a sigh of relief as he returned to the Tower House. He wanted a few days of peace and normality in which to gather his thoughts. It was also time to prepare in earnest for the fray.

The day after the games ended, however, normality was interrupted when a lone rider approached the castle. Upon being asked his business, he requested a meeting with the laird. Since his accent was English and his bearing was that of a military man, he was regarded with suspicion. Fraser, nevertheless, agreed to see him.

“I come from Fort William,” the visitor said on being shown into the great hall, where Fraser, together with Jack, awaited him.

“Then ye’re either very brave or very foolish,” Fraser said. “Your name?”

“Not important. You may call me Edwin.”

“State your business, Edwin.” He and Jack were seated on one side of a long table, and Fraser gestured for the visitor to take a seat opposite.

“It has come to the attention of certain high-ranking officials that you, Fraser Lachlan, have not been entirely in agreement with the prince over his battle plans. Indeed, it has been suggested that you have publicly challenged him.”

Fraser’s eyes flicked across to Jack’s face and read confirmation there that they were both thinking the same thing. It was what they had long suspected. There was a spy in the Jacobite high command. “Since nothing I do or say can be of any concern to you, or anyone at Fort William, I’ll not confirm or deny the truth of your words. I will merely request again that you state your business here.”

“My business, put bluntly, is this. You are a well-respected chieftain, one whose word carries great weight among the other clansmen. If you were to make it known that you have no wish to fight…”

“Ye’d have me do Cumberland’s dirty work, is that it?” Fraser asked, rising to his feet and looming over the other man.

Edwin shook his head. “I’d have you do the right thing by your own people. This is a fight you can’t win.”

“Ye’d best leave now, friend Edwin,” Fraser said. “We can have no more to say to one another.”

“Very well. But remember this, my laird. Your value is known to the English commanders. The door is open should you wish to talk.” Edwin paused at the door. “Oh, one more thing. Three years ago a captain, name of Hendry, was killed at Fort William.”

Fraser regarded him calmly. “Why do you tell me this?”

“No particular reason. Only that, when Hendry was killed, a reward was offered for any man who could provide information that would bring his murderer to the gallows. My superiors have asked me to let you know that they are prepared to pardon Hendry’s killer in return for your cooperation.” He bowed and left.

“Damned Hanoverian cur,” Jack muttered. He cast a sidelong glance at Fraser. “His words have troubled you, my friend.”

“Aye.” Fraser moved to the table where a glass decanter and two glasses had been set out. He poured two glasses of whisky and brought one over to Jack. Dashing the contents of his own off before he spoke, he measured his words carefully. “He has a point. Can we win this, Lord Jack?”

Jack sipped his own drink thoughtfully. “Oh, to the devil with you, Fraser. I don’t know. Would you cry off?” Fraser didn’t reply. “For the love of God, man,
would
you?”

“You know me better than to ask would I cry off from a fight. But you also know me better than to think I would lead good men, men who depend on me, into a fight they’ve no chance of seeing the other side of. Not without asking a few questions of my own first. I’m no English lackey, Lord Jack, but nor am I blind to the prince’s faults. There is no money left for this campaign. The English navy are vigilant along the coasts, and supply ships from France are either captured or forced to turn back because they are prevented from landing. The prince’s advisors have suggested that the highlanders should carry out raids on the lowlands to replenish the coffers. But that merely illustrates their woeful lack of understanding of the situation. Our numbers are already sorely depleted. We cannot spare the men to conduct such raids.” Fraser’s tone was rife with frustration as he paced back and forth before the fire in the great hall.