Sins of the Highlander (A Highland Erotic Romance) (2 page)

Still he’d watched her. Hours went by, and each hour brought with it more vivid fantasies of Lady Aileen. Beneath him. Above him. Her body bent over a chair while he took her from behind…

Unwanted, uninvited visions had assailed him, constant and unrelenting. Unable to expunge them from his mind, he’d sat in his chair, counting the minutes until he could be by himself to douse the raging fire her proximity had kindled within him.

And now he had come to his room to finally be alone, but she was standing before him, her hair free and wild, watching him with intelligent violet eyes and wearing only a loosely belted dress.

Pasting a neutral look on his face, he straightened. Surely she didn’t mean to seduce him. Her husband had died only a few weeks ago. She was here to welcome him to his chamber, nothing more.

Above all, he couldn’t forget who he was. His strict adherence to his code of honor and his loyalty to his laird had never come into question. He wouldn’t let that change.

Lady Aileen gave him an enigmatic smile, so different from the ingenuous grins she’d shared with him when they were young, when she was still innocent and optimistic. Before Walter Munro had beaten those traits out of her.

Niall had been forced to watch it all, a mere lad, unable to raise a hand against the man his father had chosen to foster him but wanting nothing more than to rip those abusive arms from the older man’s body. Niall had often attempted to find ways to distract Munro, and he supposed he had ended up taking many of the beatings meant for her. But it wasn’t enough. Filled with disgust and anguish, he had secured a position in the Mackenzie laird’s guard and left Dornoch. Since then, he had worked loyally in John Mackenzie’s service. He’d never set eyes on Munro again.

Looking at Lady Aileen now, with her pearly skin, cascading curls and dark-lashed eyes that bespoke sadness, something deep within him clenched. He would never forgive himself for leaving her with that barbarian.

“Will you come in?” she asked, gently persistent. “The servants have drawn a bath. I will assist you.”

He bowed his head. “Aye, lady.”

The room was large, the walls covered with tapestries. A roaring fire chased away the early spring chill. Beside the fireplace, a half-open door led to an adjacent chamber. The bed, draped with embroidered curtains and trimmed in gilt, stood at the opposite end of the room. A steaming bath stood between the bed and the door, giving off the scent of lavender to mingle with the clean, earthy smell of fresh rushes.

The room was the finest in the castle, Niall knew, its furnishings richer than the master’s and mistress’s chambers. This was the room Munro always reserved for visiting nobility.

Niall stepped inside hesitantly, unsure why the lady would assign him such status.

Lady Aileen moved away and bent to speak to a maidservant kneeling before the fire. Clearly dismissed, the lass flushed, rose, curtsied and brushed past him. Niall clenched his fist to keep from grabbing the maid and demanding she stay. It would be rude to contradict the lady’s word. Vaguely, Niall heard the door thump shut, leaving him alone with her.

She turned, held out her hands and beckoned him closer. “I didn’t want to say so with our men surrounding us, but I am so pleased to see you again, Niall.”

He clasped her hands in his own. “And I am pleased to see you.” If Niall’s throat were not so dry, he might have laughed at the understatement. “Again, I am sorry for your loss. If I can do anything…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, instead allowing the words to hang between them. Her grip tightened on his, her fingers cool, soft and small. The hands of a lady.

“There’s no need for pretense now that we are alone,” she murmured. “I fear neither you nor I will truly mourn his loss.”

Niall looked down at their linked hands, unsurprised by her candor. She had always been forthright. “Aye, it is true.”

He stroked his thumb along one of her delicate fingers, tempted to ask her how she’d managed to survive ten long years with Walter Munro. She was a strong woman—stronger than he’d ever be.

“He continued to hurt you, didn’t he?” He snapped his mouth shut, immediately regretting his impertinence. What a foolish question. Of course Munro had harmed her—Niall could see it in her eyes.

She shrugged. “He left me alone these past few years. He found more satisfaction in his whores than his wife.”

Anger swirled in Niall’s gut. The man was such a bastard. To have deserted his intriguing, bonny wife in favor of a few bawdy lasses who couldn’t possibly approach Aileen in beauty or intelligence…

Niall pulled his hands away from hers and let his fingers curl at his sides. Men like Walter Munro had no understanding of honor. Those betrayals against the beautiful wife whose childhood he’d stolen made Niall want to kill the man all over again.

Aileen gave him a soft smile. “Don’t pity me, Niall. I came to accept my lot without remorse. Three of his whores live here at Dornoch, and I haven’t set them out. I would never do so, for they were saviors to me.”

Indeed, there was no bitterness or animosity in her words. Niall looked at her in awe and then gave her a rueful grin. “I cannot deny I have always felt protective of you, Lady Aileen. Forgive me.”

She smiled. “There is naught to forgive.”

Already he missed her touch. He wanted to draw her lush body into his arms, to hold her, comfort her, make love to her…

He shook himself free of that thought. “It is good I have been gone so long. Otherwise I don’t think…”
I could have kept my hands off you.

“Is that why you went away?” she asked. “Because you felt you should have protected me from him?”

Niall cleared his throat. “I’m just glad he’s gone—glad I need not fight him in defense of your honor.”

She laughed, a soft, smooth sound that slipped under his skin like a warm caress, stroked his ballocks and wrapped around his cock. He shuddered.

“If you were to defend the honor of every wife whose husband took a mistress, you’d be occupied every second of the day.”

“I have no wish to defend every wife,” he said. “Only you.”

Her gaze strayed away and she didn’t speak. Instead, she took his hand and drew him toward the fire.

Silently, she turned to face him then knelt at his feet to remove his shoes.

Niall stiffened at the gesture. This was inappropriate. He touched his fingers to the top of her head. “Please don’t kneel.”

She bowed her head, bringing to mind a sight he had once seen in a brothel of a dark-haired whore at a man’s feet. But the whore had been naked except for a jeweled collar around her neck, and she had been sucking the bare toes of the man.

Niall closed his eyes. The thought of Lady Aileen’s tongue swiping over his toes made heat crawl across his skin, made his cock twitch with anticipation.

“Let me kneel before you, Niall. Let me help you prepare for your bath. It gives me pleasure.”

“I am your servant, my lady. I will do anything you ask of me.” Even watch her bow at his feet when he should be bowing before her.

She was far, far above him. She was the laird’s half sister, about to be promised to a Lowland noble. The Mackenzie had sent Niall here to fetch her, to accompany her to his castle as her protector, not to fuck her. To touch her would be to betray his oath to the laird.

There would be no way to hide his arousal when she undressed him. He would shame himself. His wayward body would scream his base desire, and she would be appalled.

As her deft fingers worked the laces on his shoes, he tried to think of something else, something that would make him forget the vision of her pink folds spread wide before him, of feasting upon her until she was plump and red and glistening with lust. He tried not to dwell on the mewling sounds she might make or the flush of passion that would rise on her ivory cheeks.

She moved behind him, and with skilled precision untied his belt, which she placed on the table beside the bed. Niall helped her to lift off his mail shirt and unwrap his plaid. Her fingertips skimmed over his buttocks as she worked it off him. Was the movement deliberate? An invitation?

Of course it wasn’t. Niall clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

The mail shirt and plaid dropped to the planked floor. Still hidden behind his shirt, his cock bobbed free. He fought the mad urge to grasp himself, to press his shaft against his skin, to stroke it while she watched.

Still standing behind him, she reached down to clasp the bottom of his shirt. In one motion, she pulled it over his head.

He stood naked, his raging, throbbing cock painfully thrust out.

Thankfully, she didn’t move from behind him.

“You must be weary from the long journey, Niall,” she said. “One of your men told me how hard you rode from Ellandonan. I…” Her voice caught. “Please,” she whispered. “The bath is ready.”

Chapter Two

Niall MacRae had the most beautiful arse Aileen had ever seen, smooth, toned and hollowed on either side beneath narrow hips. As she raised his tunic, it had taken all of her self-control not to lick one of those taut cheeks, to nip it with her teeth.

Appalled by her immoral thoughts, Aileen stared at the floor, battling the tremors coursing through her. From the corner of her eye, she saw him climb gracefully into the wooden tub. He gave a low groan as he lowered his muscled body into the hot water.

Whatever had possessed her? His restrained, polite behavior showed that he had great pride in his position, that he took his duty to the laird very seriously. Revealing her depraved imaginings would shame him and all he stood for.

She would bathe him and then she would leave.

A stolen glance revealed Niall’s head tipped back against the edge of the bath. His eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell with regular, deep breaths. For a moment she wondered if he had fallen asleep, but then he cracked his eyes open and smiled at her.

“The water feels different,” he murmured. “Smooth.”

“It is a special mixture of herbs my grandmother created,” she told him as she took the soap and ladle from the table and moved beside him, diligently keeping her gaze on the parts of him remaining above water. “This concoction is to ease the strains of the day.”

His eyes drifted shut once again but the smile didn’t fade. “Your grandmother is still alive?”

“Aye, and in good health.”

“I remember her.” He chuckled. “A clever woman.”

“She is indeed.” Aileen scooped a ladleful of water. “Keep your eyes closed.”

The water streamed over his head. Rivulets flowed past his jaw and down his chest. His small nipples hardened into glistening pearls.

With her lip caught between her teeth, Aileen soaped her hands and slipped them into his hair.

It was just as she’d imagined, soft and silky. She sifted the strands between her fingers. This might be her only chance to touch him, ever. She would make the most of it.

For some unfathomable reason, she felt safe with him close. Safe from the laird, safe from Gilbert Dunbar…even safe from the memory of her husband. She hadn’t felt safe for many years, not since she was a child and her grandmother lived at Dornoch.

If only they could stay in this room forever. If only she never had to pass beyond its threshold, he would keep her safe.

She began to apply gentle pressure to his scalp, rubbing soap into every strand of hair. The more thorough she was, the longer she could stay near him. Gradually, she moved her hands to either side of Niall’s head, watching his face. His eyes were still closed, but he was clenching his teeth. Despite her grandmother’s soothing bath oils and her own gentle ministrations, his body quivered with tension.

Leaning over the edge of the tub, she traced the shell of his ear with soapy fingertips. First one ear, then the other. As she slid her finger down the rim of the second ear, he raised his hand out of the water and captured her wrist.

“Aileen.”

His low voice wrapped around her like a blanket. All she wanted was to sink herself into it, into him, to let herself go.

He had never called her by her first name before.

She blinked, he dropped her hand, and the moment was broken.

“I’m sorry, my lady.”

Aileen held her wrist before her, slowly turning it over. A pink band ringed her flesh where he had grasped her. Pearly beads of water dripped from her skin. A soapy stream trickled down her forearm.

Beyond her extended arm, firelight glinted off the rippling surface. Submerged, warping in and out of focus in the undulating currents, Niall’s erect cock stood out from his body in blatant invitation.

Instantly, Aileen’s center flushed and tingled in response. She lowered her arm and gripped the rim of the tub.

Becoming involved with Niall would lead to embarrassment and heartbreak, possibly worse. Certainly this warrior couldn’t be the key to her freedom. In the grand scheme of things, she must marry someone with land and power, and Niall had neither.

Impossible.

“I just remembered—” Her voice was low, breathless. She wrenched her gaze to his face. Golden flames reflected off the deep blue of his eyes. She struggled to find some lie, some excuse. She had to leave before she did something she would regret forever. “I…I am needed in the kitchens. I am so sorry, Niall.”

A long delay preceded his answer.

Oh God, she wanted him. She wanted to throw her clothes off, straddle him and ride him so hard and fast, water would splash over the edges of the tub. She wanted him to stand so she could lick the water from every inch of his rippled, masculine body. She wanted him to shove that long, hard cock inside her so deep that he branded himself within her. She wanted him to make her cry and scream, not in misery, like Walter had, but in rapture.

Walter.
His name brought her back to her senses. Her husband had died not a month past.

“Of course, my lady.” His voice was gentle, but his skin was flushed, his muscles drawn tight. He was a man with needs. Perhaps it had nothing to do with her, perhaps he had simply been too long separated from female companionship. Maybe she should send Niall one of Walter’s whores.