Desire in Tartan: 2 (Highland Vampires) (10 page)

She curled onto her side, tucking her empty tummy away, and resolved to dream of something other than death.

Dugald. He’d wiped his mouth on his sleeve and the cloth had been red. With blood, but not his blood. She’d seen his body on the beach—all of his body—and he’d been quite uninjured.

She pushed away the image of what the Tupping Threesome had done with the street whore. Dugald had merely been spattered with blood because he’d fought the Beans. And won. Fought and defeated several men—she didn’t know how many—to save her life.

But how had he done it? What kind of strength could he have if he’d torn them limb from limb?

She shivered, this time from fear.

Who was her man?

What
was her man?

She pictured him in her mind, how he’d looked rising from the ocean like the sea god, his long hair streaming with water, his tall, strong body shining in the pale dawn. Heat stole through her.

Did she care how he’d saved her life? She was here and she was alive.

She pillowed her face on one hand and slipped the other between her legs, finding her opening slightly sore. She caressed the slick bump below her mound. Closing her eyes, she let her finger wander while she thought about what had happened between them. The stroke of his long hair on her thighs when he kissed her cunny. How his tongue had felt rubbing her. And when he’d put his fingers inside… She drew a juddering breath as desire took her.

And his cock. The tiny nubbin she’d seen on classical statues and paintings was nothing compared to the rod her man bore. And she’d taken him—all of him—inside her.

At the memory of him dividing her, her body convulsed and the magical colors again flashed behind her closed lids.

The click of a latch and a cough interrupted her bliss and she froze. Someone was in her room.

“Mistress?” came a hissing whisper.

“Dugald, for heaven’s sake!”

“Whisht, lady, ye’ll rouse the entire castle.” Flint and steel snapped before a spark illuminated Dugald’s face, a pale blotch in the darkness. The spark went out but a moment later, her bed creaked and settled beneath his weight. “How are ye?”

She shifted and stretched her limbs, conscious of the pleasure still tingling in her body. “I’m fine, if a bit peckish. What time is it?”

He went to a tapestry and shoved it aside. The moon peeked through the arrow slit the hanging had concealed. “The moon is starting to set, so I would judge it to be about four of the clock. A few hours until we would break our fast,
mo dòchas
.”

“It’s all right,” she said, though the hollow in her belly felt as deep as a well. “What are you doing out and about?”

“I came to check on ye.” He resumed his spot on her bed.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. ‘Twasn’t proper to have a man in her room when she was abed, if ever. “At this time of night?”

He shifted restlessly, the bed creaking again. “I do not…find I need much sleep.”

“Are you hungry too?”

He chuckled. “Not for food, mistress.” He stretched out on the bed and reached for her.

She shifted away. “We shouldn’t be doing this anymore.”

“Why not?” A long, cool finger stroked her cheek.

She shivered and nestled deeper into the bedclothes. “It’s…um, not proper.”

He chuckled. “Between us, mistress, the time for propriety has long passed. Doonae worry about being found. All’s quiet, and I wouldnae endanger ye or yer reputation.”

“What if I—”

He silenced her with a finger across her mouth. She opened her lips and nibbled on his finger.

He groaned. “Lady, if ye do that…”

She wondered what he meant and gave him another nibble followed by a nip. He yelped.

“I’m sorry!”

“Doonae be sorry, but that was a little more pleasure than I can take without…” He trailed his hand suggestively down her blanket-covered self.

She didn’t know how, but his touch seemed to seep through blanket, quilt and sheet as though he had a magical ability to penetrate cloth and arouse her with nothing more than a casual stroke of his fingers. She inhaled to try to get control of herself, but all she really wanted was to pull down the linens and invite him to share her bed.

Another deep breath. “Are you saying you like it when I bite you?”

“Aye. Don’t ye feel the same? I bit your throat and your cunny when we—”

“Um, yes, I s’pose I did like it.” Sitting up in bed, she ignored her qualms in favor of exploring this interesting new thought. She’d wondered about the biting and now she’d find out.

She leaned toward Dugald, her eyes having adjusted to the darkness, and slid her hands into his long, unbound hair. Cool as darkness and black as midnight, the smooth strands slipped through her fingers like water.

They crackled, emitting tiny sparks, and she jerked back with a little cry.

He laughed. “Doonae be afeared, lass, that will happen when you touch me sometimes.”

“Why?” She reached out again but with some hesitation.

He shrugged. “I doonae ken. Maybe it’s the spark that’s between us. Didnae ye see sparks when we kiss?”

“Yes, I do,” she whispered. “You do too?”

“Och, aye.” He nodded. “Beautiful lights like a fae elf’s rainbow, always shifting and changing.”

“I thought that was just me.”

“Nay,
mo dòchas
, ‘tis both of us. We create that beauty together. How can ye resist that chance?”

He reached for her again and this time, she didn’t stop him.

His kiss was the same as she remembered, but better, with his cool, agile tongue darting in and out of her mouth, his beautifully cut, mobile lips caressing hers. Dugald was right. A bed was best for almost any activity between a man and a woman. With his long body stretched out beside hers, his big hands gently clasping her head, he plundered her mouth thoroughly, but she gave as good as she got.

She pushed her tongue against his, flicking up and down before stroking the edge of his tongue with the tip of hers. Utterly absorbing. She could kiss Dugald for a century or two and never become bored. She gave a hard suck, tasting his unique flavor, and he gasped.

He rolled his body atop hers, and she wondered how and why his weight should feel so wonderful, as though she were cherished and protected rather than smothered or imprisoned. And when he stripped off his clothes and rubbed his tool against her cunny, she added
pleasured
to the list of good feelings Dugald’s bulk upon hers engendered.

Even through the bedclothes, his length was hard against her mound. He was ready and she was also. After the briefest additional hesitation, she pulled the bedclothes down as best she could with his big body resting upon them. With a chuckle, he lifted himself and dragged the linens down to the foot of the bed.

“Now,” he said, breaths harsh. “Are ye ready for me, mistress?”

She gave a little nod but stopped, aware that he couldn’t see her in the darkness. But p’raps he had seen, for he used one deft hand to part her thighs and push his rod deeply into her.

“Aaahhh…” His groan and hers harmonized as his shaft forced its way past tight muscles and he was again opening her, creating a special space for him to nest.

The mingled pain and pleasure undid her and she cried out.

He went instantly still, though he didn’t withdraw. “Mistress?”

She sought to slow her frantic pants, and he waited until her breaths had evened. “It’s…I’m all right,” she managed to say.

He bent his head to kiss her again with great gentleness. She entwined her fingers in his hair, his glorious mane of wild, black hair, reveling in the smooth slide and feel of it across her palm as they kissed.

He started to move inside her, a slight thrust and wiggle that were about all she could take. Through the haze of pleasure clouding her mind she wondered how he could know exactly what she needed, how he could divine her feelings so truly.

He raised his torso and his head, and in the dim light she could see his face only as pale and featureless in the darkness above her. The pale shape receded, but his cock was firmly implanted. Strong hands grasped her hips and pulled her in tight so he was embedded even more deeply. She flung her legs out wide and he went deeper still.

She gasped with the intensity of it—the pressure, the slight tingle of pain and the greater waves of ecstasy rolling through her, unstoppable as the tide and the wind. She wanted to open to him, but her body disobeyed her, her muscles clamping down on him and releasing. She let go and didn’t try to stop that—the pleasure, the magical flashing colors that increased with each flutter of her channel.

“Do ye like this, mistress?” He increased the speed of his pumping.

“You…you know I do.” The brilliance gleamed even more brightly behind her closed lids, and she found it difficult to form words.

He slapped her thigh, and she cried out. The tingle and heat from the slap seemed to sink through her skin straight to her already sensitive channel.

“And this?” he asked, slapping her again.

“Yes!”

“Think ye we can make a go of it?”

She stopped moving beneath him and blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You may have it, but I’ll have your answer, mistress.”

“I…don’t understand.”

“I’m asking that ye handfast with me.”

“Handfast?” She grabbed his sides, stopping his frantic surges within her.

Obediently he halted. “‘Tis a Scots c-custom,” he said, panting. “When a man finds a lassie he wants, they may marry or they may handfast.”

“What’s the difference?” She rolled her hips and was rewarded by another gasp.

“Marriage is forever, and deserves great contemplation. A handfasting is for but a year and a day. If the couple doonae match, they part with no hard feelings.” He stroked her breasts.

Offended, she blinked away sudden tears. “I…I’m not good enough to marry?”

He kissed her forehead. “Och, lassie, after a year is over you may decide you doonae wish to marry
me.”

“I doubt that. You’re my man, remember?”

“Och, aye, I do remember.” His voice took on a tender note. He laid a gentle kiss on her lips.

She turned her face a little so as to continue the conversation. “What if I become pregnant?”

“Then we must marry, for the bairn’s sake.”

“For the bairn’s sake.” An encyclopedia of doubt unfurled its pages inside Alice’s mind.

“Mistress, I will be honest with ye. I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of being without a woman I desire. I’m tired of being unhappy. Do I love ye?” He arched up and flung his arms wide, his cock shifting inside her. “P’raps so, but…’tis so soon. I doonae ken! But I ken ye make me happy, and I believe I make you happy also. Am I right?”

He dug his cock deeper and she gasped. Abruptly, he pulled out, leaving her bereft, but then slid down her body, parted her legs and began to eat her as though she were the tastiest pastry.

She writhed and panted, his tongue forcing pleasure through her like shafts of light piercing shadow. The lights flickered, brightened and transformed into the rainbow that had become so familiar and so welcome, yet so magical and special.

A sharp prick of pain lanced like a needle, but was forgotten as Dugald continued to suck and lick. She screamed and thrashed, flinging her arms above her head to grasp the bedrail. She undulated her hips, shoving her cunny wantonly into his mouth.

He gave her one last, hard suck then raised his head. “How can you say no to such joy? Every night,
mo dòchas,
I promise ye, every night, I’ll take ye to heaven and back.”

She managed to speak through her pants and gasps. “Y-you are very confident, sir.”

“Am I wrong?”

Her heart broke wide open and she welcomed him inside where none had ever entered. “No, you’re not. You’re right—right about everything.”

He lifted his torso and leaned back, kneeling on bent legs. His black eyes twinkled as he regarded her. “Make sure ye remember that, mistress.”

“A handfasting!” Lady Kilbirnie clapped her plump hands together then wagged a finger. “Dugald Kilburn, you sly dog!”

The laird, standing behind his wife, caught Alice’s astounded glance and laughed. She said, “But you don’t—”

“No, we don’t think less of you.” The laird laughed. “And we’d be surprised if you didn’t. Or hadn’t.”

She gulped, aware of her heated cheeks. “Thank you.”

He laughed harder, then said, “We’ll make the preparations.”

“Doonae fash yoursel’, milaird,” Dugald said. “Winter approaches on swift, chill feet. We cannae tarry.”

Lady Kilbirnie, as round and ruddy as her husband was pale and thin, shook her finger at Dugald again. “Shame on you. Your bride deserves a ceremony.” She whisked Alice from the room, chattering all the while. “’Tis a long time since we had a handfasting but I feel sure I remember the details.”

Alice had washed the night before, but the lady of the castle ordered another hot bath, a luxury Alice hoped would be oft emulated at Kilburn. Dugald’s bedtime attentions were welcome, but wearing to her muscles and…well, sticky. When she emerged from the bath, which had been strewn with flower petals and infused with calming herbs, a maid wrapped her in a linen towel and braided her hair in a coronet atop her head. After helping Alice to don her chemise and her stays, a garment Alice knew Dugald despised and would remove at the earliest opportunity, the maid helped Alice into petticoats, stockings gartered at the thigh and her new blue gown, which consisted of a skirt topped by a matching, long-sleeved bodice.

She regarded herself in her room’s mirror. The dress fitted her slender body perfectly while the crown of braids gave her the look of a highborn lady.
Don’t get accustomed to this,
she told herself.
You’re the governess, nothing more.

But was that the case? She was handfasting with Dugald Kilburn, and from the way he was treated by all, she would be linked with a man of some consequence.

Who would have thought it?

* * * * *

That eve, as the last lingering rays of light shafted through the arrow slits in the great hall of Kilbirnie Castle, a crowd gathered to celebrate the handfasting. The laird wrapped a length of the now-familiar Kilbirnie tartan around Alice and Dugald’s clasped hands and said, “A handfasting, Mistress Alice, is an invention we practical Scots are verra proud of. May your union be blessed, but if it turns out to be not to your liking, ye can move on, no hard feelings and no dishonor. Do ye understand and accept?”

She nodded but still felt the weight of doubt. Should matters not work out at Kilburn Castle, she might have to return to England as distinctly damaged goods. She was taking a greater risk than Dugald was, for she was now tied to a foreign land forever.

Sassenach meant other, stranger. She was a stranger in a strange land, as lost as Moses in the desert.

She sneaked a peek at Dugald to find him staring solemnly at her, and her heart melted yet again, for he seemed to feel the weight of the occasion.

“And ye, Dugald Kilburn,” Laird Kilbirnie continued. “Ye have come out of darkness to find Mistress Alice. Do ye vow to protect her and her bairn, should she increase?”

“I do,” Dugald answered promptly and with certainty.

“Then I pronounce ye two handfasted together for a year and a day, and should ye continue beyond, ye’ll be married as husband and wife. And ye have my blessing always.”

Whistles and shouts arose, and the feast that followed was accompanied by ribald suggestions from the Kilbirnies and the Kilburns. “’Doonae worry, pretty lassie,” one red-faced lad told her. “If the auld man cannae please ye…” He wiggled his hips suggestively.

Alice buried her flushed cheeks in her cup while Dugald gave the fellow a friendly cuff on the shoulder. “Get along with ye, Keith. Save your boastin’ for a blind besom without any sense. Mistress Alice is a clever woman, much too guid for the likes of ye. And she’s mine.” He turned his possessive gaze on her.

And you’re mine
—but she feared to voice the thought. For what was a handfasting, really? Merely a way for the immoral to cloak their acts temporarily. Not a marriage.

Not what she wanted. But she took a deep breath and resolved to make the best of the situation. ‘Twas better than nothing at all. She could not keep Dugald out of her bed, nor did she wish to. With the handfasting, their…activities would not incur censure at her new position.

Later, when they were alone and getting ready for bed in the same room in which she’d slept the night before, she asked Dugald, “What did the laird mean?”

“Hmm?” Shirt off, he turned to her.

She could not keep her stare from his naked chest, but persisted. “He said that you’d come out of darkness.”

Draping his shirt over a chair, he heaved a sigh. “Need we speak of sorrow on our wedding night, wife?”

She paused. “No, but I wish to know everything about you. Is this important?”

“Aye, it is.” He sat on the bed, and the ropes creaked under his weight. He breathed deeply, and said, “Ye have already noticed, I ken, that we Kilburns are a mite …different from others.”

She sat beside him and eased off her shoes. “Of course. You are all tall, dark of hair and eye but pale of skin.”

“Our differences are far greater than what you see.”

“Well, your flesh feels cooler than that of others. You are bigger and stronger than most men. And the way you defeated the Beans… There were far more of them and they were armed, were they not?”

“I did catch them unawares, which helped the odds.”

“But still… You seemed so certain, which leads me to believe—”

“Aye. We are stronger than most. But along with the strength come weaknesses.” He turned to face her squarely. “We breed seldom and I take certain precautions, which was why I didnae… Doonae worry about ye increasing. And our births…they are dangerous for the mother.”

She drew a quivering breath. “Dangerous… How?”

He pressed his lips together. “Milaird’s mother died in childbed. As did my wife, Elsbeth.”

“Your
wife
?” She was shocked.

“Me first wife, lassie. I’m no bigamist. One woman at a time is enough for any sane man.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been married?” She was shocked and angry.

He sighed. “’Tis a matter of some sorrow. I doonae like to think about what I did to Elsbeth.”

“What did you do to her?” She was shocked, angry and bewildered.

“Made her increase, knowing the risks.”

“Did she know?”

“Och, aye, I believe so, but we never had the conversation we’re having now.” He took her hands. “
Mo dòchas
, I would never do anything to hurt ye.”

She pulled her hands away. “You already have. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“When?” He flung his arms wide. “When would I have told ye? We havenae been, um, intimate for longer than two days. Ought I have told ye in the Beans’ cave? ‘Have a care, mistress, for the bairn I may give ye could kill ye’?”

She shook her head, struck dumb by his vehemence before she managed to whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“Lass, it isnae your fault.” His voice softened. “I cannae blame ye for your curiosity. And aye, I was quite a somber fellow for many months, and Kilbirnie doubtless learned from milaird Kieran. They send messages to and fro.”

“So that was what he meant.”

“Aye. I doonae think I laughed for a year…’til I met ye. That is why I call ye
mo dòchas
, my hope.” He touched the side of her face with gentle fingertips.

She was this man’s hope. She smiled, though tears prickled in her eyes. She thought of the odd circumstances of her birth, her mother’s death and their ensuing poverty, her father’s ignominious retreat from Oxford. None of that mattered anymore. “I don’t deserve everything you and the Kilbirnies have done for me.”

“Ye do, but if ye’re in a grateful mood—well, that shouldnae be wasted. Stand up and take off your clothes.” His voice had taken on a shard of steel running through it.

“What?”

“Ye heard me. Take off your clothes, every stitch.”

She stared at him open-mouthed, for his words belied his expression, which remained mild-mannered and calm.

“Now,” he said. He leaned back, bent elbows supporting his weight on the bed, his broad, muscular chest glowing in the candlelight…completely distracting.

She stood and faced him, unsure of herself, and fumbled with the ties at her waist. Her skirt dropped, followed by her petticoats, and she was left in the odd position of being fully clothed above her waist but nearly naked below it. Her chemise but lightly covered her privates and her loosening garters had started to allow her stockings to slip.

Dugald reached for the lacing on her bodice and pulled. The bow loosened and the ties eased. She tugged the halves of the confining garment apart.

“Stays.” His voice rumbled with disapproval. “Mistress, ye ken I dislike those.”

“Ye-es.”

“So why did ye wear them? That’s nae good, me wife. Ye must obey me in all ways.”

She gave a slight, surprised gasp.

“Come here.”

She hesitated.

“Now.”

She obeyed, her muscles tensing in the presence of this new, intimidating Dugald. Grabbing the front of her stays, he tugged her forward, the laces popping. He tore off her bodice and the offending stays, and she stood before him clad in a flimsy silk chemise and little else. The cool air in the room whispered across her breasts, sharpening the tips. They poked at the silk.

She reached up to shield herself from his intent gaze, but his big, broad palms were faster.

“Doonae cover yerself when ye’re private with me, ye hear?” He squeezed her breasts, then pinched the tips. Hard.

She gasped at the unexpected sting. Her knees weakened and suddenly, improbably, her cunny began to twitch like a live thing with a mind of its own. She swayed.

Dugald smiled and reached under the chemise. “Open your legs.” When she complied, he cupped all of her womanhood in one hand. A long finger settled into the furrow between her bottom-cheeks. It wiggled, the tip rubbing her sensitive back opening.

She gasped again, certain that her face was as bright as the sun. Her hands fluttered in the air, for she did not know quite what to do with them. He didn’t want her to cover herself, and she wanted to obey him, but her deepest instincts screamed that she was treading on mysterious, possibly dangerous ground.

Another finger slipped into her slit and his palm pushed at the spot beneath her mound that brought her the greatest pleasure. Closing her eyes, she flung her head back, panting as her hands continued to wave. One whacked Dugald on the head.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

He pulled his hand away. “Well, we cannae have this, can we?” Standing, he drew his belt out of his trews with a snap of the leather.

Alice watched, nervous. He’d implied that he was planning to punish her and now that she’d slapped him on the head—unintentionally, but did that matter to the person getting hit?—what would he do with that belt?

“Turn around.”

When she did, he used the belt to tie her wrists together at the small of her back. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed, taking great, panting breaths.

He lifted the soft, thin silk of her chemise and it whispered up her legs while tantalizing fingertips trailed along her thighs. He tucked the fabric into the twisted belt.

He caressed her bottom-cheeks. “Ye have a lovely arse, wife. With you so slender, I hadnae thought you’d have much of a bum. But here ye are, with these round, bonny globes.” He squeezed, then parted the halves.

She gasped. Though he’d already played with and tickled that private place, she hadn’t expected that he’d want to examine her so closely. He yanked her toward him.

She tumbled over his lap, her bum high in the air, and he kept her where he wanted her with one brawny arm laid across her back. She turned her head to see his other hand raise high, then come down to smack her on the rump.

She emitted a startled shriek, then a fuller-bodied one when he spanked her again. Then four, five, six more slaps, with each bottom-cheek and her thighs getting the same severe treatment.

She was panting and gasping and starting to tear up and snivel when he slid his hand through the moisture gathering in her cunny to find her slit. He drove his finger in and out of her channel, and the stinging red pain from the spanking turned to the lights and rainbows of pleasure. He stopped and rubbed his slippery finger over her bump.

The world exploded. She writhed on his lap, eyes squeezed shut, helpless in her rapture yet completely confused. How could she be aroused by her punishment?

But she was, and while she lay gasping and overwhelmed, he ran his finger back over her pulsating slit to the crevice that hid her darkest secrets. When he came to the little depression, he stopped and pushed.

Her hips jerked involuntarily, taking the probing finger deeper. “Wh-what are you doing?”