Highland Vixen Read online

  “And ye are no’ sorry, is that it?” he asked.

  “A fact ye should thank me for.” Helen finally broke her silence. “Do ye know what Duana said to me? Told me I was nothing, and ye’d put me aside without a thought once spring comes.”

  “I’ve never said anything of the sort,” Marcus growled. “For Christ’s sake, woman, I rode all the way to court after ye.”

  Her eyes widened and his narrowed as he realized what he’d said.

  “Aye,” Marcus said in a tired voice. “I did go after ye.”

  The idea warmed her heart.

  Marcus suddenly tilted his head to one side, his gaze sharpening. “Yet ye stood up to Duana, even broke her rod. Why now, Helen?”

  Helen shifted, but she realized she was taking the coward’s way out and he’d only discover the facts of the matter anyway. “Ye should know when to leave well enough alone.”

  He slowly grinned, and there was nothing pleasant about it. The expression was pure intent. “What did ye say to Duana?”

  “I told her I was yer wife.”

  Marcus considered her for a long moment. “I see. That would be when she told ye I would abandon ye come spring, and then ye went to me father.”

  “Every person in the kitchens agreed with her,” Helen defended herself. “And it is no’ a matter of me caring so much for what they think of me. Yer clan expects ye to marry a bride who brings the MacPhersons something.”

  He was smiling now, and it was one of victory. But what drew her attention to him even more was the way his eyes were sparkling. He was pleased, and she liked the look of it a great deal.

  “Ye’re trying to protect me,” he said. “Keep me from doing something that will no’ sit well with the clan.”

  Helen lifted one shoulder in a half shrug as she removed the partlet she’d worn to keep her neck warm during the court. “Is that so wrong?”

  He shrugged out of his sword belt and placed it on the table. “It is very right, even if I do nae care for how ye’ve gone about it.”

  “As if I have many ways at me disposal.”

  Marcus chuckled as he began to unbutton his doublet. “I enjoy knowing ye want to shelter me, lass.”

  He let the doublet slide down his arms and tossed it over a chair. Her heart was accelerating now. Excitement teased her in all the spots that seemed to come alive when he was close enough to touch. Her lips tingled, begging for his kiss, while her breasts felt smashed inside her bodice, freedom the only solution.

  “I’d do the same for a litter of puppies in the stable,” she offered as a means of shielding her weak response to him.

  “In that case…” His kilt hit the floor and he walked over to the bed, rolling onto it and stretching out on its surface. He’d stopped on his stomach, his head near the foot well. “If I roll over and offer ye me belly, will ye scratch it?”

  Her cheeks caught fire, but so did the rest of her. That little nub at the top of her sex was throbbing incessantly now, demanding she take action. Of course, that only brought to mind just how much she enjoyed it when Marcus dealt with her hungers.

  “So, ready to be at me mercy again?” Her voice had turned husky, but that seemed to suit the moment. She was going to share more than the bed with him. There was no doubt in her mind of it, but she was not nervous.

  No, excited was more the appropriate word. She turned and set her comb down. The front of her bodice was held together with lacings. She pulled the knot up from where it was tucked into her cleavage and untied it.

  “Allow me, lass…” Marcus was suddenly there. He cupped her shoulders and stroked down to where the swells of her breasts rose above the neckline of her bodice. “I’ve dreamed of cupping these.” He lingered for a moment on her breasts before dipping his finger into the lacing on her bodice. He pulled each crossing free, the front of her dress sagging until it was entirely open.

  It felt wonderful to have her breasts free. Somehow, being near him made her feel trapped in her clothing, desperate for freedom. Her sleeves were laced to her bodice, and the whole thing slid down her arms easily.

  She tugged at the ties on her waistband while Marcus made good on his desire and cupped her breasts. Her fingers fumbled on the knots as she lost track of what she was doing in favor of leaning back against him so he could better fondle her.

  Why had she never noticed how sensitive her breasts were? In his hands, the skin was more sensitive than she’d ever imagined possible, her nipples drawing into tight little points that he leaned over to taste after turning her around.

  “Mmm…” Helen wasn’t sure she could form words at the moment and didn’t particularly care. Not when there was so much bliss to enjoy. Marcus licked one little point and then gave its twin the same attention.

  “Sweet.” He pulled his head up and ripped at the laces on her waistband. He reached right in and opened her hip roll too, so the whole jumble just slid down her legs. She stepped out of the puddle of her skirts and he scooped her off her feet.

  “Not yet,” Helen said when he tried to follow her down onto the bed. She heard him groan as she rolled away from him and came up on her knees in the middle of the bed. “There was a time when I dreamed of me wedding night…”

  He’d paused on the edge of the bed, a magnificent creature covered in creamy skin carved with hard muscles. The only soft spot on him was the restraint he employed to remain where he was.

  “And what exactly did ye dream of, Helen?”

  She offered him a brazen look. “I was nude.” The bed shook as he came up onto it. Her breath caught as he knelt in front of her, his body close enough for her to feel the heat from his skin teasing hers.

  “Is that a fact?” he inquired softly.

  “As bare as a fae creature on May Day,” she confirmed. “I never confessed that, though.”

  “A rather wise idea.” He reached out and opened the tie that held the neckline of her chemise closed. “But where did ye hear about wedding nights?”

  There was a touch of jealousy in his tone, and she liked it full well. “May Day festival, of course.” She reached out and trailed her fingers along the open patch of skin his unbuttoned shirt offered her. Once again she shivered, the contact between their skin stunning her.

  He watched her as she struggled to collect her composure. “Where do ye suppose I heard about Frenching?”

  His eyes narrowed as her words hit him. He hadn’t expected her to say anything so brazen, and she liked seeing the impact.

  “Enjoy shocking me, do ye?”

  She offered him a shrug that sent the edges of her chemise over the curves of her shoulders. She clasped her arms around herself to keep the fabric in place. “Shouldn’t I?” She meant it to be a brazen comment, but instead her voice was high and thin, betraying how nervous she truly was.

  “I suppose ye think ye’ve been dancing to my tune so long that it’s my time to be yer fool.”

  She laughed. A single sound of amusement that helped her cling to the last morsels of her composure. “As if ye could ever be anyone’s fool.”

  “That does no’ mean I am a beast.” He reached up and grasped his shirt, pulling it over his shoulders in a hard motion that made the fabric snap. He tossed it aside but waited for her response.

  “No,” she whispered. “Ye are no’ a beast. At least no’ at the moment.”

  Which was a gift. She recognized it and felt it warming her heart. He certainly didn’t have to cater to her delicate feelings. Yet he was, watching her as the fire began to die down, lowering the light in the chamber. The darkness suited her well, and she opened her arms so the chemise slithered down her body and pooled around her hips.

  “Ye are stunning, lass.” His voice was thick with desire. She recognized it from the times she’d heard the whispered liaisons of couples hiding in the darkened corners of the kitchens while the re
st of the clan enjoyed the evening revels.

  It was different, though, far more personal and intimate. She realized he was still waiting, so she lifted her hand and offered it to him. Ridiculous? Perhaps, since her breasts were bare and only a single layer of linen guarded her sex.

  Satisfaction lit his eyes, his expression showing his growing anticipation. He took her hand and raised it up to his mouth for a soft kiss. She shivered, the contact fanning the flames that seemed to be licking at her insides.

  A moment later, she was clasped against him. He’d slid a hard arm around her waist and pulled her to him. She gasped, and he captured that little breathless sound with his lips as he kissed her. There was strength in his kiss, the sort that made her belly twist. Not that she understood why she craved him or had any inclination to ponder it.

  No, thinking was becoming impossible. Impulses were rising up from somewhere inside her, like vapors through the floorboards. Soon, there was nothing to see but what had risen up to encompass them.

  She reached for him, smoothing her hands along his chest and purring with delight at the way he felt. So hard, and she seemed to be soft in comparison. Her breasts pressed in against his chest as he teased her lower lip with the tip of his tongue, running it along skin that suddenly felt delicate and alive with sensation. He thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, making her passage ache for the same.

  Blunt and brazen but so very true.

  She wanted to be beneath him, and Marcus didn’t disappoint her. The bed ropes groaned as he rolled her onto the surface of the bed. He cupped her breasts, cradling them in his large hands.

  “Damn me, but I’ve wanted to do this for a very long time.”

  He was looking at her breasts in his hands, his eyes bright with male satisfaction. There was a note of possessiveness in his voice that should have made her angry. Instead, she enjoyed it.

  In some deep part of herself, she had hidden all her cravings for things she had been schooled to think of as forbidden and sinful. Like cradling him between her open thighs.

  So very forbidden, unless he was her husband, and even then, enjoying it was frowned upon.

  Well, she did enjoy it. Right then, he felt perfect, and she closed her legs around him, holding him.

  But it wasn’t perfect, not just yet. Marcus raised his attention to her face, locking gazes with her as his cock lay across the open folds of her sex. She was wet and needy, her passage aching. He knew it; she could see the understanding in his eyes. Only it was more. It was a moment in which they shared the same cravings for each other.

  He reached down, shifting off to the side so he could rub her throbbing little bud once more. The thing was almost unbearably sensitive.

  “Get on with it,” she ordered in a husky voice she barely recognized.

  Marcus didn’t bend to her will. He teased her little pearl, keeping her in place when she tried to wiggle out from under him.

  “No’ just yet. I’ll hurt ye.”

  “It can nae be all that bad,” she rasped out. “I’m no’ weak.”

  His fingers stilled as his jaw tightened. She watched the need dance in his eyes as his nostrils flared. “No, ye are not.”

  It was a compliment, and given in his rough voice, it struck her as more honest than many a flowery phrase. “So, get…on…with it.”

  His lips curled into a wolfish grin. “Vixen.” He rolled back onto her fully.

  His weight pleased her, sending a flash of enjoyment through her. His wider frame kept her spread, the folds of her sex opening wide.

  “My vixen.” The head of his cock nestled into the open center of her body.

  She realized exactly why she was wet. It was so his member could slide into her. The slickness that seemed to seep from her whenever he touched her was a welcome from her core.

  “Oh Christ,” he grunted as he seemed to sink in farther than he intended.

  She didn’t give him the chance to withdraw, but lifted her hips so he continued forward, impaling her on his staff.

  Pain ripped through her. It was like a bolt of lightning, unannounced, that blinded her for a moment while the thunder came behind it.

  “Ye should have stayed still,” he admonished her.

  Helen opened her eyes, not really sure when she’d closed them. The look on his face was savage, held back only by sheer will. “I am a vixen. Do nae ever expect me to lie still beneath ye.”

  He chuckled, the sound more warning than anything else. “Ye are that, lass, and ye are mine.”

  He’d pulled out of her and pressed back in as he spoke, his voice becoming strained when he was once more sheathed to the hilt. She let her eyes slip shut once more so she could focus on the intensity of having him inside her.

  It was a whole new level of pleasure that she was eager to experience. Her heart was accelerating, her breathing increasing to keep pace. His was as well, and she reached for him, digging her fingers into his shoulders as she lifted her hips to welcome every downward plunge of his cock.

  The pleasure was growing, increasing with their motions. She felt as though something was going to burst inside her, and just possibly, her heart might do so as well.

  It didn’t matter. The only thing that held any meaning was moving with him. Feeling him drive deep into her, filling her, and satisfying the need that was ripping up her insides. There was nothing but him and her cravings, which he fulfilled. When it all broke, she arched up, digging her fingernails into his skin and crying out. Pleasure burned through her in a single white-hot flare that taught her the true meaning of the word rapture.

  She heard him reach that same zenith, felt him drive into her with hard determination that finished off her own moment of ecstasy. A deep connection seemed to complete everything as he spilled his seed inside her, holding her beneath him as she clasped him to her with her thighs.

  Intimate.

  She hadn’t really understood that word before. She did now, and she happily let the moment wash over her, pushing her into unconsciousness. If she never woke up, she’d die content.

  * * *

  “It’s going to start snowing. Hard.”

  Robert Gunn heard his man and nodded. His response didn’t please his man any. “That’s what we’re waiting for,” he explained. “The MacPhersons will no’ invite us inside their castle if it is no’ a matter of life and death, and none of us appear to be unsuited to our surroundings.”

  There was a chuckle from his men. Robert hunkered down and pulled out a flask of whisky. He sipped at it while his men huddled out of the wind. For himself, he rather enjoyed the bite of the frost. It was a damned fine thing to feel the wind on his neck, even if it was laced with ice.

  * * *

  For all her doubts about returning to the world of the living, Helen opened her eyes and found herself staring at the canopy above the bed. It was a luxury, there to keep the bedding clean and help the occupants stay warm with the aid of the curtains that hung at the large corner posts.

  Marcus lifted his hand, the glow from the fire shining off his flask as he offered it to her. Helen giggled.

  He came into view, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down into her face, one of his eyebrows raised in question. Helen rolled up to sitting and took the flask. She drew off a long sip of the whisky, feeling it burn a path across her tongue and down her throat, before she opened her eyes and smiled at him while snickering some more.

  “Who would have known that all I had to do was offer ye me flask to get ye to stop spitting at me.” He took it back and scooted up to lean against the pillows stacked next to the headboard. He started to lift the flask to his lips, but paused. “No, that’s no’ it. Tell me what amuses ye, woman.”

  He was as keen as always. She reached for the flask, but he held it up and raised that eyebrow once more.

  “I was just thinking,” s
he offered as she felt the chill of the night air for the first time. Her chemise was hanging over the foot rail where it had been tossed. She plucked it up and put it on.

  “Just thinking…what, Helen?”

  He looked disappointed as the linen fabric covered her.

  “That tomorrow, when yer gilly finds yer flask needs refilling, the man will be sure that we emptied it before going to…bed.”

  Marcus slowly smiled and chuckled as he extended his arm so she could reach the flask. “I can nae be having that.”

  Helen lowered the flask and offered him a flutter of her eyelashes. “Of course no’.” She burst into giggles again.

  Marcus took the flask away as she rolled back and laughed at the canopy. The bed rocked, and the ropes supporting the mattress groaned. She discovered why a moment later when Marcus landed on top of her.

  She sucked in her breath as he pinned her down, holding enough of his body weight on his elbows to keep her from being crushed.

  “I do nae think ye are being very respectful…Wife,” he growled playfully. “I am going to have to take ye in hand.”

  Helen reached down and grasped his member. His face tightened, his lips curling back from his teeth as he arched back to give her more access. “If ye have any illusions as to what manner of wife I will be to ye, Marcus, I advise ye to think long and hard on the matter. For when that door is closed, I’ll no’ be meek.”

  He rolled onto his back as she followed him, stroking his hardening cock.

  “Yer ideas have me captivated.” He let out a moan.

  She liked hearing how she affected him. It unleashed a boldness in her that seemed to have no bounds and absolutely no shame. Helen leaned forward and licked the spot on the underside of his cock head that seemed to be as sensitive as her nub. His hands curled into talons, clawing at the sheet while she trailed her tongue through the slit on the top of his member. There was a drop of salty fluid there, and he moaned again, long and deep.

  “There are many men who think a wife should lie on her back while he labors over her.”