Page 8 of The Highlander’s Hunted Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #2)

8

T his hadn’t been part of Hector’s plan. Considering that the only prisoners who came through his dungeons were battle-weary men awaiting interrogation, he couldn’t say he’d ever kissed a captive before.

Ye shouldnae be kissin’ this one, either. She’ll nae learn her lesson this way.

He might have left it there, chalking it down to a moment of madness after the thrill of the chase, laying the blame on his blood being up. He would have left it there, regaining his discipline, had she not suddenly kissed him back.

It took him by surprise, a fierce and ravenous graze that dispelled any chance of him stopping. Like a fight, like a war, if he backed down, he would look like the weaker side. If nothing else, he couldn’t allow that.

She grabbed his shoulders to pull him closer, her hand squeezing the crescent where her teeth had sunk into his flesh. The fresh throb of it coaxed a growl to the back of his throat, his kiss hardening in revenge, becoming a wild and furious impulse that overshadowed all thoughts of discipline and restraint.

One arm snaked around her waist, crushing her against his chest, while his savage mouth caught every gasping, strained breath she tried to gulp down between kisses.

Her soft moan as he slid his hand into her hair, tugging lightly, was a barrel of whiskey tossed onto a bonfire. His blood roared in his veins, incendiary desire pulsing through every muscle and limb, his manhood aching with a need that the fortification of her dress denied.

As she dared to graze his lower lip with her teeth, she unleashed a beast in him that could tear apart any night creature that roamed the woods.

With his knee, he nudged her legs apart, his tongue seeking hers, gliding against it, their lips locked in a fierce battle. She did not back down either, her fingernails raking his bare flesh, dragging over the tight muscle of his shoulder blades, tugging at his hair.

He snarled as her fingernails skimmed down his arms before digging into his biceps. He kissed her all the harder, determined to show her that she would not be victorious as he closed his hand around her throat. Not squeezing too much, but holding her head where he wanted it, keeping her still as their mouths collided in a bruising crush.

She moaned again, his palm feeling the vibration of it, while the need in his blood burned hotter.

“M’Laird…” she whispered, her hand trailing up his throat in return, matching every tactic, learning the wrong lesson too quickly.

She’ll submit soon enough…

His arm recoiled from around her waist, his hand skimming over the curve and up to the swell of her breasts. He tugged on the high neckline, but the thick wool wouldn’t tear easily, and the thought of leading her back to his castle in ripped clothes stayed his hand. He didn’t want his people to think the worst of him, as much as he longed to utterly destroy the dress until she was standing there as bare as him.

He cupped the soft mound of her breast, a shiver splintering through his abdomen as she cried out quietly, panting as if she couldn’t quite take a full breath.

“Look at the moors,” he murmured close to her ear, nipping the curve of her neck. “Look at how close ye came.”

His hand slid down the flat of her taut stomach, skimming over her hip and down her thigh, where he gathered up the dew-heavy skirts of her dress. The first caress on her smooth, warm flesh was a lightning bolt of lust, spurring on his desire to feel her bare skin against his, to quiet his racing mind with the singular bliss of sinking into her. Punishing her and pleasuring her in equal measure, so she would never want to run again.

She gripped his shoulders, pressing herself against him as his fingertips stroked the inside of her thighs, edging toward the flesh between them.

He was pleased to discover that she wore no troublesome undergarments, the heat of her guiding his hand.

“Ye will do as ye’re told,” he said in quiet warning, making the first teasing stroke, a light brush of his fingertips to the tinderbox of a woman’s ecstasy.

She cried out, her nails digging into his skin as if she meant to tear him apart, her thighs trembling in anticipation of a second caress. He gave her what she wanted; he couldn’t resist, needing to hear her moan again, needing to hear that he had complete control over her.

He strummed her slowly, running his fingertips back and forth, almost losing control as he felt her warm, wet desire. His manhood yearned to feel that slick heat around it, to plunge inside her until he had purged all desire for her from his system.

“Ye should ken better than to try and escape me,” he purred, pushing his fingertips through pliant flesh, seeking her entrance.

All of a sudden, she shook her head, clarity coming back to her dazed eyes. He withdrew his hand immediately, but that didn’t stop her from shoving him hard in the chest, adding insult to injury with a sharp kick to his shin.

“Nay, M’Laird,” she said fiercely. “Ye willnae muddle me mind with yer… finger trickery and yer… yer nakedness! Aye, ye might resemble a… a warrior god, but ye’re nae god over me. I had every right to run when ye didnae give me a choice!”

Her cheeks were a delicious shade of pink, her eyes still glassy with pleasure, but all of her intense reciprocation had vanished in an instant, replaced with simmering anger. She fumbled to smooth out the creases in her skirts, brushing a hand over her mussed hair.

“These games of yers dinnae amuse me as much as they seem to amuse ye,” he said coolly, unashamed of his nakedness. “But if ye wish to be chased again, off ye go. Ye’ll nae even make it to the river.”

She pursed her lips, glaring at him. “I dinnae want to play any games, M’Laird! I dinnae want to be chased or… caught. I told ye, it’s terrifyin’, and I’m swiftly learnin’ that I’m nae much of a runner.” She puffed out a steadying breath. “I have nay issue with servin’ yer grandmaither for the next three months—indeed, I’d be happy to oblige—but I must see me siblings.”

He stared back at her with cold indifference, a mask he had perfected well over the years. Soldiers didn’t want to see doubt or fear or hesitation on their leader’s face, or else the leader risked losing his grip on his army. The mask worked just as well for disobedient prisoners.

“Please, M’Laird,” she murmured, dropping her ferocious gaze to the moss that grew around the base of the sentinel oak. “I ken I dinnae have much of a right to ask for it, but be merciful. If nae for me or me little braither, then for me little sister. If ye dinnae allow me to go to her, to take care of her, there’s nay tellin’ what might happen to her.”

An annoyed muscle twitched in Hector’s jaw. He didn’t like to have any cracks in his armor, but Katie already knew his, and she was digging her fingers into the crevice, teasing it further apart.

What harm would anyone do to a seven-year-old lass?

The thought was supposed to bolster his resolve to keep Katie away from her family as punishment. Instead, it sent an unpleasant prickle down his spine. A mob was known to do things that they’d never do alone, and Lyall and a dog wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight to protect the youngest Blake sibling.

Curse ye, Katie.

He sniffed, a solution occurring to him on the wind that rustled the oak leaves. Satisfactory enough. “Ye’re goin’ nowhere.”

“But, M’Laird, I?—”

He swept toward her, putting his hand over her mouth, staring down into those bluebell eyes. “ Ye’re goin’ nowhere,” he repeated tersely. “But I’ll make arrangements for yer siblings to join ye. Be warned, it doesnae come without stipulations.”

Katie nodded eagerly. “Anything…”

That tortuous word again, making his thoughts spin in wilder directions.

“If ye keep runnin’, if ye try to escape me castle with yer siblings, I willnae show mercy again,” he told her.

His body craved the passionate madness of earlier as he felt her lips move against his palm, forming a “thank ye.”

He drew his hand away, gathering his self-discipline. “There’ll be nay second chance for any of ye. Am I understood?”

She leaned back against the oak trunk, the languid pose accentuating all the right curves and temptations. Yet, he knew it wasn’t an invitation, but the relief of a woman who had just been granted an unexpected gift.

“May I leave now?” she asked, her hand on her heart.

He gestured toward the night-swathed woods. “Aye, if ye can find yer way back.” He paused. “I’ll wait here, so ye dinnae ‘accidentally’ walk the wrong way.”

“Ye’re nae goin’ to take me back?” She seemed surprised, and perhaps a little disappointed.

He opened his arms, looking down, certain that her gaze would follow his. “I cannae very well return to me castle like this, usherin’ along an escaped thief, now, can I? Me clan might think I’ve done terrible things to ye.”

Her face reddened as if she’d been too long in the summer sun, her throat bobbing as she bowed her head and muttered, “Of course, M’Laird. I’m… sorry for disruptin’ yer evenin’. I’ll… leave at once.”

She did just that, hiking up her skirts to reveal a slender ankle, stoking his imagination in ways it wasn’t wise to indulge, and hurried off without another word.

Watching her go, Hector waited a few minutes and duly followed. A slower chase with no promise of a stirring capture. Still, he had to be sure she wouldn’t disobey him again; he wasn’t in the mood to punish her without pleasure.