Sins of the Highlander (A Highland Erotic Romance) (13 page)

“Don’t hold back. Please don’t.” She twisted below him, trying to line herself up with him, trying to coax him inside. “Please.”

“I need this,” he said in a harsh whisper in her ear. “I need you. All of you.”

“Then take me.” Nothing was more important than being filled by him, by his cock, by his seed. Than being the cup into which he would pour all of himself. “Take me,” she groaned again. “Fuck me. I’m yours.”

His cock found the notch of her sex, and in one smooth motion, he drove all the way in.

Every muscle in Aileen’s body went rigid. Bolts of energy streaked under her skin, starting at the clenching walls of her channel and fanning outward, igniting every nerve into a roaring flame. She let out a gasping, heaving sob as the flames consumed her, devouring all rational thought.

When awareness returned, she was shaking from her crown to the tips of her toes. The white-hot flames had dwindled to a tingling smolder in her blood, and Niall’s cock stroked her slick passage, now drenched with a fresh wash of her come. His chest was pressed to her back, their sweat making their bodies slide together.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Was he saying it aloud or thinking it? Or had she imagined it? The words reverberated in her mind as his cock seemed to grow impossibly big within her and his body closed in around her, sheltering her ever more tightly.

“
Mo chridhe
,” he whispered, and she heard a desperate edge in his voice. “Mine.”

“Aye.” She pushed her arse into his belly, gasping at the resulting depth of his next thrust. “Yours.”

He pushed her legs together and straddled her from behind. Impossibly, his cock seemed to reach farther than it ever had, its length caressing her womb so deeply she could feel him inside beyond her navel, and then every inch as he stroked to her outer lips. It was the most beautiful, stimulating, delicious sensation she’d ever experienced.

She pushed her arm beneath her, squeezing the flat of her hand between her body and the bed, and felt her stomach undulate as Niall filled her with each long thrust.

He trembled all over, and inside her body, Aileen felt the semen gathering in his shaft and preparing to explode. She met each drive, and they became deeper, richer, more poignant and meaningful. She was brimming with him. He touched her everywhere. He would fill her. He would never let her go.

This was what she was meant for.

His cock stroked deep within her, and suddenly all was still and silent, suspended in time. All of her senses focused on the feel of him inside her, over her, between her legs. Then, with a harsh groan, he released himself inside her, flooding her with his seed. Hot and musky, it washed into her womb, released by his pulsing cock in wave after gushing wave as he shuddered all around her.

He lay over her afterward, half on the bed, half on top of her, his naked skin pressed against her body from top to bottom.

There was no longer any need for words, for pleas, for explanations or plans. Aileen knew that nothing mattered now beyond the two of them. Their love, their need for each other, would overcome all obstacles. With him still inside her, she fell asleep, finally at peace.

She awoke much later. Night had descended and her chamber was dark. She reached out for Niall, but her arms found only emptiness.

He had gone.

Chapter Eleven

Niall had left her.

Days passed. A thick spring fog descended over Ellandonan castle, and Aileen saw everything through dulled eyes. During their last encounter and before she fell asleep, she’d been so certain that Niall would stay, that he would fight for her. But no, he valued his oath of fealty to the laird over her love.

She couldn’t hate him for that as much as she would have liked. She understood his sense of duty, and she respected the value he placed on his honor. If he didn’t possess those traits, she wouldn’t have given her heart to him to begin with.

But as much as she prized her own honor and virtue, she despised playing the martyr. And she hated that her and Niall’s mutual regard to their duty had forced her into this position. From the day he’d left, feelings of betrayal and loss flavored every minute. When Niall left Ellandonan, he had taken her heart with him. She was left an empty shell, performing her functions perfunctorily and with minimal interest.

Not only had Niall abandoned her, but he had abandoned her to Gilbert Dunbar. Perhaps he hadn’t cared for her as much as she’d thought. The way he’d looked at her, the way he’d touched her—perhaps it had all been mere carnal desire. She couldn’t know for certain anymore. She had been so sure of his devotion, of his love. But his departure from Ellandonan called into question everything she believed.

Surely Niall had never been acquainted with Gilbert. If he had, would he have left her? He’d promised never to allow anyone to harm her again, and yet, here she was, soon to be at this man’s mercy.

Aileen scarcely saw her brother except at meals, and whenever she was in his proximity, he refused to meet her eyes. She wondered whether he ignored her out of guilt or whether her own weak behavior at their last meeting had disgusted him.

Her fear of Gilbert eventually transformed into apathy. She didn’t care what he planned to do with her—the minute Niall left her, her own happiness seemed such a distant, impossible thing, it hardly mattered who John forced her to marry. There was no sense in mourning her impending marriage—there was naught to be done about it, after all.

Ultimately, from the moment Walter had died, she had known this would happen—had known in her heart that Gilbert would be the one to win her. Niall had been the fleeting joy in the midst of the raw truth of her existence. She had been rash and presumptuous to ever imagine it could have lasted.

The morning sun burned through the fog for the first time in many days and peeked through the slit of a window in her western-facing tower chamber. A rectangular shaft of light streamed across the rushes, bringing out their sweet fragrance. Normally the smell was pleasant and familiar to Aileen, but today it was cloying. The odor wafted into her nostrils, down to her stomach, where it wrapped around her belly and squeezed.

She ran to the chamber pot and heaved up the bitter contents of her stomach. Jannet rushed to her side. “My lady! Oh, my lady, are you all right?”

Aileen bent over the pot, gulping giant breaths to recover.

Oh. Good Lord.
It couldn’t be. Could it?

She grasped her maid’s wrist. “What day is it, Jannet?”

“Why, it’s May Eve, but why—”

Aileen didn’t hear the rest of the girl’s sentence. It wasn’t even necessary to calculate. In her anxiety-ridden state, she hadn’t been paying attention. But it was a fact—she was more than a fortnight late for her monthly courses.

She was never late.

She was with child.

Niall’s child.

Emotions slammed into her and she sat back hard on the planked floor. First came joy. She had always wanted a son or daughter of her own—had prayed for it every time Walter had come to her bed. But this wasn’t Walter’s baby—it was Niall’s. A true child of her heart. She couldn’t have asked for a greater blessing.

All this time, Walter had punished her for being barren—the stripes on her back were the result of his frustration at her inability to conceive. But it was he who was infertile, not her.

Despite herself, Aileen smiled.

But what did this mean for her and Niall? Her brother would punish Niall for compromising her. She would be mocked as a wanton. They would both be marked as sinners, guilty against the laws of God and of their laird. The baby himself would be marked as a bastard—shunned for the immoral nature of his conception.

The smile slipped from her face.

Aileen pressed a hand against her belly. Now her future mattered. She couldn’t let the laird, Gilbert Dunbar, or anyone else hurt her or her baby.

Covering her face with her hands, she swallowed down a sob. Why had Niall abandoned them? Why had he cared for his honor, for the laird, more than her? Why had he put her in this wretched position?

She must end this. She was no weakling, and she refused allow herself to wallow in self-pity any longer. She dropped her hands to her sides and clenched them fiercely. Determination quickly replaced her apathy. She was a strong woman, a powerful woman. A woman of action.

She should not depend on a man to care for her. After all, she had survived ten years without true protection from a man—certainly she could continue to do so now.

And why did anyone have to know this child was Niall’s?

Slowly, like the pieces of a puzzle falling into place, a plan formed in her mind.

***

“The laird has summoned you, sir.” Rufus turned from the page at the door and thrust aside the bed curtain. “He says you must come at once.”

Gilbert stretched his limbs and groaned, sore from fucking the whole night through. He wondered idly how many times he had come. Four, five, six? He couldn’t help it—he had been randy as hell ever since the ink had dried on the contract that legally made Aileen Munro his.

The whores on either side of him tittered. He had no idea why—a summons from the laird wasn’t humorous, after all.

“Out of my way.” He shoved the wench closest to Rufus off the bed so that he could get past her. That shut her up nicely.

He’d gone too deep into his cups last night. Devil’s breath, his head was splitting in two.

Clasping his skull between two hands to hold it together, he growled at Rufus, “Clean me up, then. Wouldn’t want to make the laird wait, now would we?”

Wisely keeping his mouth shut, Rufus bathed the sex from him, shaved him, dressed him, and refreshed his breath with mint leaves, then led him down to the great hall, where John was holding court this morning.

Gilbert straightened when he saw his bride-to-be, looking as tempting as ever with a little flush spread over her cheeks. His prick grew half hard all over again, just thinking of that sweet peach of a mouth encompassing him as he thrust himself deep down into her throat. God, it would feel so good to see that high and mighty bitch on her knees choking on his semen.

She stood beside the laird’s chair and didn’t meet his gaze, instead casting her eyes to the stone floor, as humble and chaste as any virtuous widow.

Except he didn’t believe she was virtuous. The way she had championed for that lowly minion of John’s—there was something beyond mere admiration between them. Gilbert knew it, and it made him furious. She belonged to
him
.

He bowed low to the laird and gave the man all the tedious expected flattery. Then, cognizant of the many eyes on him, he bowed to his betrothed and wished her good health.

After the pleasantries were finally exchanged, the laird got straight to the point. “There has been a revelation concerning your betrothal, Dunbar. Should you wish to annul our contract upon hearing this news, I would find some other recompense for your assistance with the arrangement I made with the Earl of Dolphinton.”

Gilbert hardly suppressed a snort. The laird must truly be a fool to believe there was any revelation on earth that would make him change his mind about possessing Aileen. He managed to control his disgust, instead raising an inquiring eyebrow. “Indeed?”

“Indeed.” The laird nodded gravely. “It has come to light that my sister is with child by the late Walter Munro.”

Gilbert flicked a glance at Aileen, whose gaze remained firmly fixed on the flagstones. Her stomach was as flat as ever. Obviously she wasn’t too far along. He looked back at the laird and shrugged. “It is of no import.”

John leaned back in his chair. “Oh, but it is, Dunbar. You made it clear to me that your heart’s desire was to possess Dornoch. But now this cannot be the case. Dornoch belongs to Walter Munro’s heir.”

Gilbert swallowed a bark of laughter. “If the babe survives.”

“He will live,” Aileen snapped. Gilbert’s attention swung to her. Her eyes blazed at him like two glimmering purple gems.

“Is that so, Lady Aileen?”

“It is.”

She seemed so utterly convinced, he almost believed her. As if she could foresee the future. Something niggled at him, some memory of eyes gazing at him with that exact look, but he shrugged it away.

He turned back to the laird and the words came out before he could censor them. “Are you certain this is Walter Munro’s child and not some bastard? The man died two months ago. Surely she has had time to fuck anyone she pleases. Perhaps you should question that sniveling guard she pines for.”

Silence.

Oh, bollocks. That was quite a slip. Silence continued to reign in the room for a long, drawn-out moment. Gilbert waited for the explosion. When it came, he was ready.

He stood stone still as the laird leapt from his chair and pressed his dirk against Gilbert’s throat.

“Do you question my sister’s virtue?” John spat.

Gilbert would have laughed if the laird weren’t crushing his windpipe. Virtue? How hypocritical. John himself had extensive carnal tastes. He thought of the laird’s favorite mistress, a girl named Agnes, with big, floppy titties Gilbert had imagined burying his cock between on more than one occasion.

Exaggerating a choking effect, Gilbert glanced at Aileen. Hatred burned in her violet eyes.

“Nay,” he gasped. “No, sir…”
Gasp
“No…”
Gasp
“question of the lady’s virtue.”

The pressure on his throat released so quickly, he stumbled forward.

“Apologize to Lady Aileen,” the laird said, his voice steel. “Now.”

Clutching his neck, Gilbert bowed toward Aileen. “I was…” He bent over coughing, embellishing the effects of the laird’s attack. “Wrong. Utterly wrong.”

Another cough.

She didn’t say a word, only stared daggers at him. He imagined she’d try to claw him apart the first time he fucked her. How fun.

He went down on one knee and bowed his head, all the while laughing inside at the perverse hilarity of this entire scenario. “I humble myself before you, my lady. I was wrong to disparage your virtue. Of course, you are in mourning and would
never
disgrace your late husband in such an ungodly, sinful fashion. Forgive me.”