Highland Captive (8 page)

Inwardly,
she sighed with relief. “Leith will kill ye for this.”

“I
would think less of him if he didnae try. ‘Tis the reason I will try not to
kill him when he makes the attempt.”

Even
though she suspected his confidence in his ability was well-founded, his
arrogance annoyed her. “He could weel kill ye.”

“That
is a chance. A slim one though.”

“I
think ye have far too high an opinion of yourself.”

Her
last word ended on a squeak as he scooped her up in his arms and gently
deposited her on the bed. It astounded her that such a large man could move
with such silent speed. When he partially covered her body with his own, she shivered
slightly. His large, strong body made her feel very small and very fragile, yet
she was not really afraid. Instead, she felt the desire she craved to taste eke
into her veins.

“Dinnae
be afeard of me, sweeting. I mean only to pleasure ye,” he whispered, brushing
soft kisses over her cheeks.

“Pleasure
yourself, ye mean,” she grumbled, but felt an odd tingling where his lips
touched her skin.

“Aye,
but ye as weel, Aimil. Just relax and give yourself over to me.”

“I
will give ye naught.” She hoped he believed her protests for she had no wish to
let him know she was there for reasons other than his bargain.

“Oh,
ye will, Aimil Mengue.” He trailed kisses down her nose to her mouth. “Aye, ye
will.”

When
his lips brushed and nibbled at hers, she almost sighed. It was very nice,
conjuring up a pleasant warmth within her. Soon her mouth itched for something
more, and she felt her hands creeping to his broad shoulders. When his tongue
probed for entry, her eyes flew open in surprise for she was unsure of what he
was doing.

“Part
your lips for me, sweeting. I crave the honey of your mouth.”

“There
is none there. My teeth are rotted and oozing.”

Parlan
laughed softly. “Such a liar ye are, Aimil Mengue. Part your lips.”

Another
shiver tore through her when his tongue eased between her lips to caress the
inside of her mouth. Each kiss grew hungrier. He paused briefly between each,
letting her catch her breath while teasing her slim throat with gentle kisses.
She burrowed her hands into his thick hair even as her body arched, seeking
his. The slow warmth that had begun in her started to grow. Tender noises of
pleasure escaped her as she succumbed to the heady persuasion of his kisses.
The sudden removal of her shift broke through the fog he had created in her
mind.

“Nay,”
she protested in a soft, husky voice, trying to cover her breasts with her
oddly limp arms, embarrassment dimming her growing passion.

“Aye,”
he growled as he gently tugged her arms away to gaze at her breasts with
ill-concealed hunger. “So lovely.”

Her
body bucked slightly when his tongue flickered over each taut nipple. Pure
white heat shot straight to her loins. As his hands cupped and fondled the soft
flesh, his kisses touching their every curve, she returned her hands to his
hair. She pressed his head closer when his mouth closed over one hard, aching
tip to draw upon it slowly. A litany of pleasure’s sounds escaped her throat,
but she was too caught up in delight to restrain them. She ran her hands over
the warm skin of his back. The way he groaned and trembled slightly only
heightened her pleasure. She was glad when he tore off his robe for now she
could touch even more of him.

As
he heatedly spread kisses over her satiny midriff, Parlan reveled in her
response. She was fire beneath his hands, far more than he had dared hope for.
When he began to remove her hose, his hands touched the warm silken skin of her
thighs and before he bent to kiss her there, he found that he had barely
skimmed the surface of her passion.

Aimil
nearly flew off the bed when he touched her bare legs. Parlan took quick
advantage of her sensitivity there, his hands and lips moving over her
greedily, leaving no spot upon her long, slim legs untouched. The pleasure grew
so intense Aimil thought he would kill her with it. His large calloused hands
both caressed her legs and held them steady so that he could kiss her, lick
her, and nibble her. When he finally made his slow way up her body, his hand
slipping between her thighs, Aimil was too frenzied to do more than twitch when
he touched her so intimately.

Feeling
that faint sign of rejection, Parlan lifted his head from her breasts only to
hear her make a sound much like a purr and to see her open for his touch. “God,
so lovely. Ye are melting for me.” He moved his mouth greedily over her breasts
as he stroked her and probed her secrets. “Aye, lass,” he groaned against her
throat, “let your sweetness flow. I mean to taste it soon. Nae this night but
soon.”

“Please,
please,” she moaned, having no idea for what she begged but only certain that
he could give her what her body now craved.

“I
must hurt ye the first time but t’will pass,” he rasped as he readied himself
to possess her.

She
did not really hear him but moved her hips against his in a way that made him
shudder. He took her with one hard thrust in the hope that quicker was better.
Feeling the shield of her innocence rend before his charge, he savored the
proof that he was the first, even as he flinched in sympathy with the pain he
had caused her.

Aimil
shuddered beneath the onslaught, but the sharp pain was gone as quickly as it
had come. All she could think of was that there was more. She moved her hands
to his taut buttocks as her legs clasped him tightly, urging him to move with
both actions.

“Oh,”
she sighed, her whole body shuddering with delight as he moved with slow,
measured strokes. “So fine. ‘Tis so nice.”

“Nice?
Sweet Mary, ‘tis heaven. Move with me, sweeting. Aye,” he gasped when she
parried his next thrust. “That is the way of it.” He encircled her hips with
his arm to press her closer as he brushed fevered kisses over her face. “Aye,
take it all. Take me in deep, lassie. God, ‘tis sweet.”

After
kissing her hungrily, he watched her as his motions grew fiercer. He was barely
able to appreciate the way her body convulsed with her release when his own
seized him. A hoarse cry of exultation escaped him as he drove deeply within
her to spill his seed, a gift of passion that her body accepted with trembling
greed. She continued to shake and to squirm slightly with lingering pleasure
after he collapsed upon her. Parlan found her subtle movements arousing,
despite how sated he felt.

Aimil
felt as if she drifted down from the clouds slowly and was amazed that she was
still alive. That something extraordinary had happened was evident by her
furious heartbeat and her gasping breaths. Her whole body tingled, yet she felt
heavy and langorous. It had been all she had hoped for and more. She realized
once was not enough. Since her maidenhead was now lost, she decided it would
matter little if he did it again. She found herself hoping that he would.

Easing
himself away from her slightly, Parlan grinned at her. “There now, didnae I say
I would give ye pleasure?”

It
struck her that he looked very much like a small boy who had found the bean in
the twelfth-night cake. She felt sure that his experience with women allowed
him to know exactly what he had stirred in her. Aimil sincerely doubted she was
the only one to gain such pleasure in his arms. There was no way she was going
to pronounce him bean-king and add to his already lofty opinion of himself, not
when he was supposed to think her there solely because of their bargain. She
gazed at her fingernails with an air of boredom.

“I
have never suffered such a lack of entertainment in all my short life,” she
drawled.

Parlan
roared with laughter, not in the least insulted for he knew of the pleasure he
had given her. He held her close as he laughed, and she soon joined in for it
was a contagious sound. Aimil also knew that she had not fooled him.

As
their laughter died away, she was seized by a feeling of deep exhaustion. A
great deal had happened to her in the past twenty-four hours, indeed, in the
last week. Her body had clearly decided that, if she did not have enough sense
to rest, it would take the decision out of her hands.

Parlan
sensed the sudden laxness in her and raised himself up on his elbows to look at
her with a crooked grin, knowing she needed to rest but wanting her again. “Are
ye betrothed, Aimil?” he asked, feeling a strong need to know if some man had a
claim to her.

She
tried to open her eyes to look at him but gave up. “Since the cradle. I am to
be wed at summer’s end.”

“To
whom?”

“To
Rory Fergueson. I am going to sleep now.”

The
quickness with which she fell asleep momentarily surprised Parlan out of his
reaction to the name of her betrothed. He nudged her but got no reaction. She
lay sprawled on her back much as if she had been felled by a blow. Shaking his
head and grinning, he lay back down to think about her betrothal for a moment,
the feelings his surprise had briefly quelled rushing to the fore.

If
there was one man in the world he could truly say he hated, it was Rory
Fergueson. The man had no redeeming qualities at all. He had no proof but he
was sure that Rory was responsible for the brutal way Parlan’s cousin Morna,
had died. Rory Fergueson was vicious, sly, a liar, and a cheat. Each time the
MacGuins had raided the Ferguesons, Parlan had hoped to find Rory within his
sword’s reach, but the man had always eluded him. Fondling the lush hair
tangled around Aimil’s face, Parlan knew he could not let her fall into that
man’s hands. Getting up, he donned his robe and strode off to Leith Mengue’s
chambers.

Leith
glared at the man who had awakened him and had just come from taking Aimil’s
virtue. “What do ye want?”

“Is
Aimil betrothed to Rory Fergueson?”

“Aye,
since the cradle,” Leith answered, curious over the agitation he sensed in the
larger man, “though I had forgotten the matter until the day we were captured.
The wedding plans were being set and that caused me to recall the arrangement.”

“Doesnae
Lachlan ken the sort of man Rory Fergueson is?”

“I
cannae think he hasnae heard the rumors. ‘Tis an old arrangement that cannae be
broken because of rumor. Of course,” he added coldly, “Rory might weel break
the betrothal now that ye have stolen Aimil’s honor. Few men want to wed
another’s leavings.”

“Stolen
her honor I may have, laddie, but I havenae hurt her in the doing of it. Rory
Fergueson will kill her.”

The
charge was made with such conviction that all of Leith’s thoughts of Parlan’s
crimes fled. “Do ye have proof to back your charge?”

“Nay,
curse it. Five years back he and my cousin Morna, were lovers. She thought he
would wed her, told me of her hopes, for she had been a virgin when he had
taken her. Then her hopes changed. She became afeard of the man though she
wouldnae tell me why. When she told me she was ending the affair, I was pleased
for I had never liked it, but she wasnae a verra comely lass and I felt she
ought to have her moment.”

“What
happened?” Leith prodded when Parlan fell into a brooding silence.

“The
next morn she was found dead. If it wasnae for the ring and dress she wore, we
wouldnae have kenned who she was she was beaten so badly. She had been used so
harshly the women who treated her said she was torn up inside. I have no proof
but each thing I have learned of the man since then tells me t’was him, and I
have studied him verra closely. The man has left a long, bloodied trail of
women who are too afraid to speak against him or who are dead, leaving no proof
‘tis Rory doing the killing. The beast covers his tracks weel. I must have
proof and then I can cut him down wherever and whenever I find him.”

Leith
did not question Parlan’s conviction of Rory’s guilt. “All I can do is speak to
my father. He is the law.”

“It
isnae enough.”

“What
ye have done this night just might be.” Leith did not really want to think that
Parlan might have done Aimil a favor.

“Nay.
T’will depend upon how badly Rory wants her or what is to be gained through the
marriage.”

“I
cannae give ye an answer to either of those.”

Parlan
swore and ran his hand through his hair, unable to conceal his agitation. “I
cannae allow this marriage.”

“Ye
cannae allow it?” Leith glared at the man. “Ye are a MacGuin nae a Mengue.
‘Tisnae your place to allow or to disallow.”

“Aye,
but ‘tis I who hold her now.”

“She
is to be ransomed. T’was said ye would send word to my father on the morrow.”

“Ransoming
can be a difficult business,” Parlan drawled, quickly putting together a plan. “A
lot of haggling may need doing. Could take a verra long time.”

“Rory
may wait.” Leith found himself uncomfortably allied with Parlan to stop Aimil’s
marriage to Rory.

“Aye,
and he might weel expose himself as the depraved bastard he is. Surely your
father would stop the marriage then?”

“I
cannae say,” Leith reluctantly admitted. “Since she first showed signs of
womanhood, he has been blind to her existence. I was meaning to speak to him on
the marriage, but your brother captured Aimil and me. Rory’s uncle, James, and
my father were like brothers. They both wanted the families joined in marriage.
James died twa years back naming Rory as his heir. That could make my father
all the firmer in his decision.”