Seducing the Highlander (4 page)

Considering how wet and hot Lady Leanna was, Ian thought with a grin as he lifted himself up, she was as ready as any untried female could be, in his opinion. And ready or not, he was dying to take her.

 

 

Leanna wasn’t sure whether she had perished, but she certainly was no longer on this earth. It wasn’t until she realized that the notorious laird had ceased pleasuring her with his tongue between her legs, and instead something large and hard was poised there, prodding her female opening, beginning to stretch it with insistent penetration, that she knew the moment had come and he was going to deflower her.

This was, after all, she thought hazily, what she had asked for, wasn’t it?

Of course, she’d gotten a little more than her bargain entailed. What Laird McCray had
just
done to her was outrageous, but she had never guessed such sensation could be possible.

“I’ll try to be gentle,” he promised, his face dark above her, his smile slight, belying the fire in his eyes. “But you are damned tight, my sweet.”

She must be, considering it felt as if he were forcing her incredibly wide, filling her burning passage as he invaded her body with his formidably large sex. Trying to relax and accept him as she had promised she would do, Leanna exhaled and opened her thighs wider to accommodate his size. It didn’t feel unpleasant, she found, but was only slightly uncomfortable, and even when he suddenly pushed forward and she felt the tearing sensation as her maidenhead ruptured, the pain was negligible and she did nothing more than let out a small gasp.

“Is it terrible?” he asked through his teeth, poised above her, the muscles in his upper arms impressive and defined as he braced himself. “I have no desire to hurt you.”

She actually lifted her hips a fraction, liking the friction as he inched forward. “It isn’t terrible at all. Should it be?”

“You are very aroused from your climax. It helps,” he said with a low, tense laugh. “I may not have tasted a virgin before, but I have bedded one and want to make this as easy as possible for you, lass. Here, put your feet flat on the bed and keep your knees as wide apart as you can.”

She complied, finding he could push deeper when she was in that position, amazed when she finally realized he was embedded to the hilt, and her vaginal passage was actually able to absorb his entire erection.

He began to move very slowly, pulling almost completely out before he sank back in, and she found after a few repetitions that she enjoyed the slide of his sex within hers, her lashes drifting shut as carnal enjoyment built, all discomfort forgotten as her breasts tightened and her breathing became choppy.

“You feel like heaven,” he whispered, his mouth grazing hers, “wet and snug and female.”

“You feel . . . very large and hard, my lord, but not unpleasant,” she answered in breathless agreement, opening her eyes.

“You like this?” he asked, holding her gaze with his dark one, deliberately pushing back inside her, the hard length of his cock filling her completely.

“Yes,” she admitted, all thoughts of her revenge on the repulsive baron banished by the unexpected glory of what this Scottish lord was doing to her body. She said breathlessly, “I like it.”

“God in heaven,” he muttered, “for a virginal maid, you have the instincts of a born siren.”

“Do I?”

He began to thrust quickly all of a sudden, and she could see the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, his long lashes shielding his half-closed eyes, his breath brushing her cheek. Her own pleasure increased with his urgent movements, her nerve endings beginning to tingle, to pulse around his surging flesh. Leanna let the wash of sexual excitement take her away, rolling her helplessly in a sea of sensation until she felt again that exquisite tide of pleasure build and burst. This time her hands flew to his broad shoulders, her nails digging in as she threw back her head and cried out, her inner muscles tightening around that potent, insistent penetration.

The man above her went rigid all at once, buried impossibly deep and hard, a liquid heat flooding her as he groaned, the ripples from his body flowing into hers. He stayed there for what seemed like an eternity while she drifted in that blissful ocean of pleasure, until she could feel he was softening, no longer so rigid. When he eased out from between her legs, she actually had to stifle a sigh of loss.

Then he gathered her into his arms at once, pulling her damp body to his broad chest. A chuckle rippled through him and she glanced up curiously, seeing a twinkle in those seductive dark eyes. “I believe,” he said, laughing, “this might be the best bargain I have ever made, lass.”

H
is face livid, Baron Dartmus Frankton slammed his hand onto the table. “Who took her?” He breathed with such agitation he could hardly speak because of the fight for air. with such agitation he could hardly speak because of

“We don’t know. They left ropes dangling from the roof. Someone had to have let them in.” Impassively, the other man watched him, as if he carefully held back any emotion. “I rode here to tell you as soon as we discovered she was gone.”

“The servants know nothing? I don’t believe that.” Frankton strode across the room and dashed liquid into a fat glass, taking a quick bracing gulp.
It can’t be,
he thought incredulously. How
could
his prize be gone, especially since he had plotted so carefully to attain her, not taking her to bed before now because he wanted to savor the superb joy of the anticipation of the moment when he plucked her carefully guarded innocence? She would sob in fear and reluctance, he’d always gleefully imagined, and beg him to leave her alone even as he forced those lovely pale legs apart and plundered her luscious body. . . .

“The servants,” his man—the stupid fool who had already failed him—was saying, “are being questioned one by one.” Then, after a palpable hesitation, he ventured, “Your enemies, my lord, are many. A large party rode north that same night.”

“All successful men have enemies,” Frankton muttered, thinking furiously. Could, even now, some other man be enjoying his prize? “Find out everything you can. I want answers. Question everyone in the countryside surrounding the castle. Someone will know something.”

“Perhaps a ransom note will come, asking for money for Lady Leanna.”

That notion made him even more irate, and blood pounded in his ears. He’d paid for her once already and he’d be damned if he’d do so again. “If so,” he rasped out, “keep the man delivering it. Messengers can be tortured, and I want answers.”

His henchman paled at the open venom in his master’s voice and bowed, licking his dry lips. “Yes, my lord.”

 

 

“Lassie?”

Leanna rolled over and blinked, her gaze focusing on a small figure standing by the side of the bed. A tray rested in the other woman’s hands. Recognizing the same kindly older servant who had helped her bathe and brought her food the night before, she sat up in a flurry of loose hair. Forgetting for a moment that she was naked, she quickly caught the sheet up and felt the tide of heat in her cheeks as she covered her bare breasts.

She must have fallen back to sleep after she had invited Ian McCray to bed her and he had accepted so . . . well, so
gloriously.
Remembering their impetuous joining, she blushed deeper, guessing that what had happened was no secret once the woman saw the shambles of the bed and Leanna’s completely undressed state.

The older woman—the one Laird McCray had called Rossie—sighed loudly, her pale blue eyes narrowing. “Poor bonny child, he couldn’t leave you alone even at such an early hour, could he?”

“I . . . I . . .” Leanna stammered, reluctant to explain
she
had actually stripped naked and offered herself to the man in question.

“It’s barely afternoon,” Rossie snapped, looking indignant. “That beast.”

“He wasn’t a beast precisely—”

“No? Well, that still doesn’t excuse him. Young, handsome scoundrel that he be, he had to have his way with you, didn’t he? I saw it in his eyes when he carried you into the house last night. I am guessing he took your innocence.”

“He didn’t harm me.” Leanna finally managed to get out the words.

Rossie still looked irate, the tray trembling in her hands. “I should hope not or I’d have his head. Tell me, child, are you tender? I have some salve I give to the village girls when they are married . . . something to ease the discomfort of the next day.”

Utterly off balance, Leanna found that when she shifted, she
was
a bit sore between her legs. “I might be,” she confessed, warmed by the older woman’s frankness and the open concern and motherly protectiveness in her expression. Her own mother had died when she was only nine and she desperately missed her.

“I’ll go get it.” Rossie set the tray down. “You just rest and have a glass of wine. I’ll pour it for you. There’s also some lovely cold roasted chicken and a meat pie.”

Soon, Leanna found herself propped against the pillows, sipping a glass of cool, sweet amber liquid, the tray balanced on her lap, her mouth watering at the sight of the first real food that had tempted her in weeks. She began to eat, drinking her wine at intervals and marveling how life could change so quickly and completely. The food was delicious and the beverage lovely, and she sighed in contentment just from knowing she was miles and miles from the tower prison where she’d so recently awaited a hideous fate. To her father, Frankton had presented a much different face from the one she had discovered once he had arrived with his men to escort her to his holding. The baron’s gloating possessiveness had first alarmed her, then disgusted her, and from that had grown true fear. He was not a kind man, nor a good one.

“Here we are.” The door swung back open as Rossie returned, a small vial in her hand. The housekeeper beamed in approval when she caught sight of the half-empty plate. “There’s a good lass. Some food will do you good, as you’re too slender, my lady. Will you take more wine?”

“No, thank you. It was all wonderful.” Leanna let the woman take the tray and sank back amid the pillows. Her room was well-appointed and comfortable, bordering on luxurious, with silken hangings on the bed and windows. The carpeting was thickly woven, and the upper parts of the windows done in stained glass that sent soothing colored shadows everywhere.

“Here.” Rossie handed her the jar, telling her with brusque practicality, “You have to rub it inside your female opening, using your fingers and going as far up as possible. It may seem unladylike, but you’ll thank me when he visits you again this evening. The good tidings are that after this, you’ll be fine, and he can lie with you as much as either of you desires it, and you won’t have the same discomfort. Your innocence is lost, it cannot be regained, and your body will now accept a man and yield to him without causing you pain.”

That actually
was
good news, because Leanna wanted Laird McCray to use her often.

Every time he took his pleasure inside her was another strike against Baron Frankton.

Accepting the offering, Leanna murmured, “Thank you. I’ll use it right away.”

 

 

Swords clashed, sending sparks flying. Stepping back, Ian parried a skilled thrust, anticipating his opponent’s strategy and sending the other man’s weapon skittering across the courtyard.

“Well-done.” Angus panted in defeat, his black eyes narrowed, sweat pouring over his brow. Stripped to the waist, he resembled a bull: thickset and powerful, his shoulders huge, his chest massive and muscled.

Also shirtless, Ian was much taller but also leaner, and they usually made good adversaries, practicing with enough fervor that each of them frequently walked away with a cut or two, occasionally needing a stitch here and there to mend the damage. Ian grinned and shook the hair out of his eyes. “I am surprised I have enough strength left to beat you.”

“Aye, I heard you were closeted with the fair Leanna most of the morning, and I can see for myself the love marks from her nails on your shoulders. You lose no time, do you, lad?” Angus sighed gloomily. “Damn you, boy, now I owe Malcolm good coin. I bet him you’d have enough self-control to last out the day, at least. His money was on the golden beauty of the English lass.”

“I could hardly ignore her and prove a poor host, could I?” Ian laughed, then sobered. “I’m not jesting, and this is not for any ears but yours, Angus, but she hates Frankton, I’m guessing more than I do. You should have seen her face when she implored me to take her innocence, willing to bed a stranger rather than give it to the man she is pledged to marry.”

“That’s his loss—and your gain in more than just retaliation.” Angus grunted as he bent to pick up his lost sword.

“It makes things a little . . . complicated.”

Plucking at his beard, his friend straightened and said gruffly, “How so?”

“She knows she was taken to use for bargaining. I am sure she still thinks I wish to trade her back to him for my uncle’s freedom, for I have not told her any different.”

“Tell her you mean to kill him. Who knows, she might
reward
you.” Bushy brows wiggled suggestively.

“And then what do I do with her?” Ian asked quietly, remembering soft, silken hair, long-lashed eyes, and the warm reception of her beautiful body. “When Frankton is stone dead and rotting in hell, what do I do with his intended bride?”

“Send her back to her family.”

“You mean to the father who sold her to a toad like Frankton in the first place?”

“Perhaps the man didn’t realize what he asked of her when he made the marriage arrangement.”

“It was her father’s responsibility to select a decent husband, not use her beauty to his own end. She told me she agreed to the marriage for the sake of her sisters, because the settlement offered was so large. You cannot tell me that if up north we know of Frankton’s perfidy, her father was completely unaware of it.”