Page 20 of Claiming His Highland Bride (A Highland Feuding #4)

I f he’d given any indication that he was surprised or ashamed of the way her body became a thing unknown to her, the soft chuckle that he uttered then dispelled her fear that she had acted unseemly. She’d waited for him to enter her until he drove her mad with pleasure and wanting. He seemed to know what he wanted for his touch was exact and with purpose.

She lay there feeling as satisfied as when she ate too much at the Christmastide feast. But this was fullness and satiation of a different kind. One that made her feel as though she could do this again and again and still want it...again. All it took was his hand sliding along her hip towards her breasts to make her body want more.

‘Will you put it inside me now?’ she asked. Even knowing about the pain to come, Sorcha forgot as the magic of his touch roused her body once more.

‘Aye.’

His hand cupped her breast and lifted it so his mouth could cover its tip. He suckled it and gently bit the nipple, before drawing it out from between his teeth. When the tip slid out, she moaned at the exquisite sensation of pleasure that was almost pain. Would he do that again? Would he put his mouth on her flesh and do that again?

‘When, Alan? When?’

She could barely form words to speak her wants and her need as her body arched then. Her legs moved in some restless pattern against his as he took her other breast in his mouth and did the same thing. An unearthly sound escaped from her, for words would not form for her then. He laughed at her and she kenned in her heart that he was enjoying what he did to her and her reaction to him.

‘Soon,’ he promised, putting his hand against her mound and pressing there.

It both eased and worsened the ache deep inside and all she could do was let her body respond. As one finger slid within the sensitive folds between her legs, she arched against his hand. She wanted him there. She wanted him to bring that pleasure, that ache, that need, back. Sorcha needed to make him hurry, so she reached out and took hold of his hardness.

He laughed then, thrusting against her palm. Her mouth watered then and she wondered what that part of him would taste like. But when she pushed herself up, he covered her body with his and lay between her splayed legs. Now, his erect flesh was against her and, when she lifted her hips, it slipped along her cleft. She could feel the wide head of it touch there. Need and desire took over then and she begged him. She wanted him there. She wanted him inside. She wanted him...

‘Now, Alan,’ she urged, grabbing on to his buttocks so he could not move away. ‘Fill me.’

All it took was a slight shift in his hips and he pushed himself inside of her. His hardness slid within her softness, pressing and then stretching her until it was almost too much for her.

Almost.

Then he eased back a scant inch before pushing further. She gasped at the feeling of it. Just when the burning would begin, he would ease back and begin again. His expression was intense above her as he found a pace that left her gasping and moaning. Filling her, then leaving, thrusting deeper before withdrawing, every stroke of his flesh easing his way back in.

An overwhelming sensation raced through her body then. Invaded, aye. Filled, aye. Stretched, aye. But it was not enough. She wanted more. She wanted something. His soft words, more promise than threat, were the only warning she got before he moved.

‘Now, love. Now.’

He guided her legs up and around his hips and began thrusting faster and faster. No pausing now, he led her into a primitive rhythm of giving and taking, of full and empty, of need and want. Her body rose to meet his, taking him in so deep he touched her womb. His flesh grew with each stroke until she could not take more of him. Sorcha needed to tell him to stop, but her body opened for him, allowing him in even more.

She could not breathe. She could not think. She wanted to scream as everything within her came loose and shattered around him. Alan threw his head back and groaned loudly as she felt his seed spill inside her. Over and over, more and again, he stroked her deep and hard until every hot drop had been milked from him by the tightening spasms of her flesh. Sorcha lost herself then, giving up to the overwhelming pleasure, as Alan collapsed on her, tucking his head against her neck and breathing heavily.

‘Done,’ she thought she heard him whisper against her skin.

* * *

It took some time before either of them could breathe or speak.

Completely awed by what had happened, Sorcha lay without moving and waited for him to rouse. This feeling, this satisfaction, was bone-deep and permeated her body and soul. She did not want it to be over. She did not want it to go away. It was then, when he moved ever so slightly, that she realised he was still inside her.

She winced at the discomfort there until he slid his flesh out of her. Then she wished he had not. She was empty in a place she’d never kenned was there. But now, she wanted him back inside. She was about to ask him if that was possible, when he lifted his head and stared at her.

‘Did I hurt you, lass?’ he asked. ‘I ken I was rougher than I should have been with it being your first time.’ When he began to sit up, she clutched at his shoulders.

‘I pray you, do not leave yet.’ She feared that once away from her, he would never return. That the night would be over and she would have this emptiness inside her for the rest of her life.

He settled back down and eased to his side, holding her against him as he drew a blanket over them. Cocooned with him, Sorcha leaned her head against his chest and kissed him there. She could feel his heart beat against her mouth and savoured this closeness for she kenned well it would not and could not last.

‘You did not answer my question, Sorcha. Did I hurt you?’

She smiled against his skin and shook her head. She’d heard about the pain a woman suffered on her first time with a man, but none of that came close in describing what she’d felt.

‘You did not,’ she said. She let out a sigh and he began stroking her back under the blanket. ‘It was...quite pleasant.’ She swore that he growled as he turned her on her back and climbed over her.

‘Then I did something wrong,’ he said. A kiss followed that robbed her of her ability to think. How could he do that? ‘Pleasant?’

Sorcha would have offered him words to soothe his displeasure over her description, but one kiss led to a caress and to a stroking and then touching and then...well, then to another joining that was so slow and gentle she cried softly when it was finished. They seemed to be one body, breathing in and out together, as their flesh became one.

* * *

It might have been an hour after that before she could speak. But talk she kenned they must, so Sorcha forced herself out of his embrace while he slept to sit on the pallet near him. Collecting her bedgown, she folded it and placed it in a satchel that sat by the hearth. She took out a shift and gown and stockings and dressed while listening to him snore softly. It made her smile, but tears followed when she realised she would never hear this sound again.

She would never feel his touch on her skin and become one with him when he entered her body in such an incredible way. It was a sin, what they had done, but she found it difficult to come up with the proper amount of guilt she should feel at something so...sublime. Wiping the tears from her eyes and cheeks with the back of her sleeve, she sat and watched him sleep for a short while.

* * *

The rays of a watery sun began to pierce the darkness of night and Sorcha understood that her time here and with him was done. Her courage fled her then and she was tempted to leave before he woke.

‘You look as though the weight of the whole world is on your lovely shoulders.’ He was awake and watching her. ‘Your lovely and overly dressed shoulders. Come back to bed.’ His invitation was issued in a voice that was husky with arousal. One she could see when he rolled to his back.

‘I must go, Alan.’ Plain. Simple. Direct.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked, pushing the blanket back and standing. ‘You cannot leave now. We will seek a life together elsewhere. My uncle will never ken that you survived.’

‘I make no claim on you because of what we shared,’ she whispered. Though she felt as though they had branded each other by touch and caress and kiss, there could be no more than that and the memories she would carry with her for the rest of her days.

He cursed then, an angry and bitter tirade of words that told her so much about him. Not one word was about her. Not one word condemned her or what they’d done. All of it about his uncle. Interesting. She let him finish before even attempting to speak. Though her father could never be approached when his fury rose for fear of life and limb, Sorcha felt no such danger here now.

‘Would you cause war and destruction between your clan and Brodie’s, then? When your uncle discovers the truth of my existence and our involvement—as you ken he will—do you think he will ignore it and ignore the insult?’

Alan glared at her then, pushing his hair out of his face and trying to sort through the words he should say now that he’d got the worst out first. Damn it all to hell!

Waking this morn should have been a joyful one with her in his arms and another bout of bedplay when he could bring her pleasure and show his love for her. Then they would plan their future and begin a life together. Instead, she was intent on walking away from him.

‘We can find a way through this together, Sorcha,’ he said. ‘Brodie will support me, support us, in this.’

‘Which will put him in conflict, open conflict, with your uncle as well as other clans in our extended families.’

Why did she have to sound so calm and reasonable when he wanted to rage against the fates and anyone else who had a hand in this?

‘I will find a way to prove his betrayal of the Camerons. The proof that he is negotiating with other clans to form an alliance that will destroy the Mackintoshes.’

She paled at his words and he knew now what he’d suspected before—she was the proof. Sorcha MacMillan kenned the why and the when and how his uncle and her father would move against Brodie. And Alan understood that he was not willing to draw her into the battle between him and his uncle. Gilbert Cameron must stand or fall without Sorcha being in danger.

‘Now I think you understand why there is no choice in this, Alan,’ she said. ‘Too many lives rest on our actions. I cannot risk those who have helped me or given me shelter.’ Sorcha walked to him and took his hand. Placing it against her cheek, she rubbed her face against his palm. ‘Or ask the man I love to give up all he is and can be when that would destroy him.’

‘Damn it, Sorcha,’ he said, moving back. Even though he loathed the distance between them, he must not let it grow. ‘We will find a way.’

His words rang hollow and wrong even to him. Alan simply did not want to face losing her completely and for ever. Losing her and allowing his uncle to win...again.

‘’Tis better this way,’ she whispered.

The sound of footsteps outside drew his attention. He grabbed his sword and pushed her behind him. But he realised from her calm manner that she was not surprised to hear them. He lifted the latch and looked outside. Rob and a small group of men stood there.

‘Rob, what is this?’

‘Lady, if you are ready,’ Rob called to her instead of answering Alan’s question. Alan slammed the door, tossed his sword aside and met her gaze.

‘They are my escort from Brodie.’

‘Taking you to the convent?’ He could not stop the bitterness in his voice as he faced her leaving.

‘Soon.’

She walked to him and he took her by the shoulders and dragged her to him, kissing her as though it was their last. Because, no matter how much he would protest or fight it, this was the last time for them.

‘I beg you not to follow me, Alan. Let me go.’

He felt his soul tearing in two as he could only nod at her. How could he deny her anything? But how could he let her walk away? She did just that, though, lifting a leather satchel from the floor, opening the door and walking out of his life. She spoke just before she closed the door.

‘I will pray every day of my life that you will find it in your heart to forgive me. For lying. For loving you when I had no right to do so.’

And she was gone.

The door closed almost silently as she pulled it and he wanted to howl like the wounded animal he was at her departure. Only when he heard the movement of horses outside did he act—pulling his shirt on and running outside before she left.

Rob and Magnus, one of the biggest men he’d ever seen, stood there blocking his path. Along with four other warriors he kenned were Rob’s best men, they formed a wall that kept him from going after her. Something dark roused within him and he flung himself at the men, asking for a fight, a fight they gave him. Later, as they tossed him up on his horse to take him back to Drumlui Keep as they’d been ordered to do, Alan was honest enough with himself to accept that they had not given him their best fight.

* * *

No matter that for it still took him two days before he could piss without seeing blood. His jaw was swollen, forcing him to drink his food for two days past that. Everyone in Drumlui Keep and Glenlui village steered a wide path around him, giving him both the silence and the time he needed to think.

Not follow her?

There was no chance of that. He had told her that he could find her and he would. No matter where Brodie sent her and no matter how long it took, he would claim her as his and his alone.

But first, he had to deal with his uncle and make certain no one else would suffer because of his self-serving treachery. As though waiting for this moment his whole life, Alan understood that, at long last, it would come down to him and his uncle.

And only one would be left alive.

* * *

A week and three days after Sorcha left him, Alan left Glenlui for what he thought would be the last time and went off to settle things with Gilbert Cameron.