The Highlander's Harlot (Sword and Thistle Book 1) (3 page)

Strangely, though, he didn’t look. He simply waited for me to lower my hands, then nodded with satisfaction. “Now remove your shift, lass, then crawl on your hands and knees like an animal.”

Yes, he still wanted my shame, and I needed to give him what I had left of it. I took several moments to compose myself enough to lift the shift over my waist. But somehow I found the strength to do it. The men were all silent, watching me as I stripped to bare skin. Then I crawled to the bed where I was to submit myself to their depravity. My breasts swung heavily beneath me as I crawled, my hands trembling with the embarrassment as I crossed the wood planks of the floor. A hoot sounded behind me, and other lewd noises and shouts came from the laird’s men.
 

“Magnificent teats!” Davy called cheerfully.

Malcolm said, “I admit, she has a nice round rump to slap.”
 

And the laird himself said, “I like the curve of her spine, the flare of her hips; she’ll make a nice cushion under a man.”

I reached the edge of his bed, my forehead touching the richly embroidered coverlet with gold-tasseled fringe. I’d never seen anything so lovely—and its warmth and darkness seemed, at that moment of humiliation, like my salvation. But all at once a strong arm grasped me round the waist and hauled me up. It was the laird—he was so strong and stealthy I hadn’t even heard him move from his seat. Then he threw me down onto the bed like a sack of grain, my hair spilling over the linen-covered pillows.
 

Then he was on me, his hands in my hair, his mouth descending over mine in a kiss. A kiss that stole the breath from me. He kissed me hard, taking my mouth, claiming it as his own. And I gave over to him for this kiss. I hadn’t expected it; hadn’t known it would be so warm. His lips, his hands, all fevered. I tasted on his mouth the sweetness of wine and in my own mouth…burning desire.
 

The arousal awakened inside me unbidden, uncontrollable under the devouring mouth of my laird. How is it that a kiss could make me forget my shame and hatred? I will never know. But it
did
make me forget. With his lips plundering mine, I forgot
everything
but his kiss. And I was made so dizzied by it, so pliant, that I actually arched up to him when his hand groped openly for my breast. He wouldn’t be gentle with me; I couldn’t expect him to be. But a part of me didn’t want him to be.
 

His big, strong, calloused and scarred warrior’s hand squeezed the soft pale skin of my breast, nearly crushing it, and the pain and the arousal mixed so surprisingly that I yelped. When I did, the laird barked at his men. “Out. You’ve seen enough for now.”

Davy chuckled. “Ye tease like a woman, my laird. I suppose I’ll just have to look forward to my turn with the lass.” He winked at me, then strode out the door.
 

Malcolm said nothing, but narrowed his eyes lustfully as he passed, a sword swinging heavily at his hip. Finally, Ian made his way out, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him with a thud. I hadn’t wanted them to be in the room but as soon as they were gone, I felt a thrill of fear.
 

What did the laird want to do to me that he wouldn’t want witnessed?

~~~

We were alone in the laird’s bed chambers, in the lord’s bed, and my naked body nearly tingled with anticipation. My skin delighted in the sensation of the soft coverlet beneath me, and the warmth of the laird’s muscular body hovering over me.
 

He would lower himself down onto me now, perhaps shove my legs apart to begin the rutting. He would
take
what he had bargained for. I told myself that he would have my submission and my maidenhood, too.
 

Instead, the bed shifted underneath us as he reached to pull the coverlet over me. Then he sat up, squeezing at the back of his neck. And I waited…and waited…until he said, “You can cover yourself, lass.”

He hadn’t phrased it as a command, but I took it as one, shyly clutching at the coverlet over my hard, aching nipples. Confusion reigned. “Have I displeased you, my laird?”

His head came up. “Displeased me? No. To the contrary, bonnie lass. But I felt you shiver beneath me; I’ve plainly scared ye out of yer wits.”

I
was
shivering, that much was true, but I wasn’t entirely sure fear was the only cause of it. Besides, I had the pride of a Scotswoman, so I said, “I’m not afraid.”

“You likely should be,” he said, with a low growl that sounded predatory to my ears. But instead of coming closer, he rolled from the bed to fetch my discarded sleeping gown. “Here. Put it on. I shouldn’t have torn it.”

More confused than before, I murmured, “It was your gown to tear.”

“Aye, it was. But you might think me less of a monster if I’d merely asked you to take it off.”

I did think he was a monster. How could I not? He’d nearly killed my father and he’d already shamed me without even touching me. Or at least, without touching me
much
. I still felt the imprint of his hand on my breast and some part of me ached still to have him put it back. How could my body be at such odds with my heart and mind? Under the laird’s gaze, all I could think to say was, “I can mend it, if you like.”

He sat beside me and the fire lit up the contours of his rugged face. “Mend what?”

“The sleeping gown,” I said, softly. “I can sew, ye ken.”

“That’s not what I want you to be seen doing,” he replied, then waited, expectantly, for me to pull the gown over myself.

I hesitated. “Does this mean…you don’t want me?”

He laughed a bitter laugh. “Oh, I want you, lass. Am sorely tempted to prove it, too. Have wanted to from the first moment I saw you run to fetch me water those years ago. You had the long legs of a colt, and tended to me with such gentleness that I wanted your hands on me everywhere.” So then he
did
remember me; my mouth went dry at the realization. “Alas, now what I want most is to ruin you.”

My temper flared to hear it. “What kind of monster wants to ruin a simple crofter’s girl who has never done anything but honor and obey her laird?”

He frowned. “The kind who is the constable of a castle keep often under siege. The kind who needs to keep the rebellious men of his clan—including his closest cousin—in line. Your father defied me, and he isn’t the first to do so. There are whispers that I haven’t enough Macrea blood on account of my mother’s origins. My leniency has only encouraged disobedience from men like your father. I would’ve taken your father’s life to make of him a lesson to others, but you pleaded with me for mercy. So I needed to take something else from him. His daughter. His honor. His pride.
You
are to be the lesson. Let every rebellious man in the clan fear their laird will do to their daughters what I’ve done to you, and they’ll obey.”

He said it with such satisfaction, my temper flared again and I pulled the sleeping gown over my nudity. Perhaps he didn’t want to see the body he intended to claim; perhaps he thought it would be easier for me if he just lifted the hem and took what he wanted. I should’ve stayed silent, but my anger at his diabolical plan forced the words between my teeth. “They’ll think you’re a monster, too, is what they’ll think.”

“Aye, maybe I am,” he said, kicking off his boots. “But not monster enough to force an unwilling girl. So rest easy on your pillow, lass. We’ll share a bed tonight, but nothing more.”

I blinked, confused again. “I don’t understand.”

He pulled off his plaid, then lay back in the bed in nothing but his white linen shirt, one well-muscled arm behind his head. “I don’t have to force you to ruin you, lass. That’s why I wanted witnesses. My men will all be able to say they saw me make a whore of you. They saw you naked and on my bed, my mouth on yours, my hands on your body. They can swear that on a bible if need be. But you can keep your maidenhead and your purity in God’s eyes. I won’t be taking either tonight.”

The wrenching I felt inside myself was both shock and an internal war. I was relieved at the reprieve I’d been granted. But another part of me—the part that had tingled with anticipation of the laird’s body atop mine—howled with protest.
 

I couldn’t have actually
wanted
him to do all the shameful things that he promised, could I? No. And yet…

He smirked. “You look almost as if you’re a wee bit disappointed.”

I wouldn’t be tweaked by him. Not on top of everything else. “How can a girl who is pledged to her lord ever feel disappointed when his will is done?”

He arched a brow. “Is that sarcasm I hear? A simple crofter’s daughter, indeed. How is it that you manage to be a saucy wench while surrendering yourself to my will?”

I bit my lip in answer, for fear I might say something worse.

“Be glad I’m sparing you my lustful predations,” the laird said. “This way, you’ll wake well-rested instead of marked and sore.”

Marked?
I wondered what he could mean by that. He was a strange and beautiful man—one with enormous power—that was the only way I could explain the curiosity that he brought out in me. But as I’d so often told the children at home, curiosity was the start of trouble. “Shall I blow out the lamp then so we can get our rest, my laird?”

He sighed. “Alas, we’ll need the light some time longer.”

“How much longer?” I asked, wishing for the pitch blackness in which I wouldn’t feel his gaze upon my face and maybe could hide the flush upon my cheeks.

“A few hours. Even at this time of night people watch my window; it wouldn’t do for anyone to get the impression I spent myself quickly between your thighs. After all, our clan motto is
with fortitude
…”

Oh, the burdens of being the laird! He was making light of what seemed to me to be a very serious subject indeed. My nostrils flaring with anger, I asked, “Shall we jump upon the bed, too, in case anyone is listening below stairs?”

At my tart reply, his hand struck out like a serpent, grasping me by the back of the neck. “Careful with that wicked tongue of yours or I’ll put it to a use I’ll enjoy better.”
 

Then he dragged my face close to his such that I couldn’t bear to look him in the eye. When his thumb traced my lower lip as if he were contemplating just
how
to use my mouth, I whispered, “I’m sorry, my laird. I—I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”
 

And I didn’t.
 

I’d always been a meek and dutiful girl, never one for back-talk. But since the moment I’d disobeyed my father to save his life, something had changed in me. It was as if, without anyone to stand up for me, I felt the need to finally stand up for myself. “I’ve always known how I should behave before, but now…”

“
Och, aye
,” he said, his voice softening. “I suppose you wouldn’t would you? Besides, I like a spirited girl. Makes them more fun to break.”

I swallowed and dared a glance at him. “You mean to break me?”

“No, I don’t.” The laird squinted with what looked like regret. “So I suppose you can lash at me with your tongue, as long as you know I’ll give you a good cuff if you go too far.”

I’d been cuffed for less by my father, so I nodded.

Then he gave a rueful chuckle. “And mayhaps jumping on the bed isn’t a bad idea, lass. I wouldn’t mind watching you jump, and if you squealed a bit and called out my name, it would be for the better. Well, the whole thing is a mouthful. John Alexander Ramsey Macrae—it’s a bit much for the throes of passion. But a moan of, ‘Oh, my laird’ wouldn’t be out of place.”

Since he was teasing, I dared to ask, “Wouldn’t it? You made it sound as if being with you might be more painful than pleasurable.”

“Painful yes, but pleasurable, too, for the right lass,” he answered, mysteriously. “As you’ve reason to guess, I’m a man for rough wooing. It’s why I never bed virgins, who need a softer hand. It’s why I won’t bed you.”

Well then. What else was there to say?

His breathing was heavy, and I felt the heat of him next to me on the bed, even though we weren’t touching. And as if to make sure we
wouldn’t
touch, the laird crossed his arms over himself.

I crossed my arms over myself, too.

We lay there together in silence. Crickets chirped in the distance. And from the castle stables below, I heard the neigh of a horse.

He stared at the ceiling.

I stared at the ceiling.

Then we both spoke at once.

“Why did you—”

“Why are you—”

Our words cut off in a tangle together and he chuckled. “Go on,” he said, wryly.

Nervously, I cleared my throat. “I was just going to say—just going to ask—why are you a man for rough wooing? You must have some appreciation for tenderness, because you said, all those years ago, when I tended your wound so gently—

“I said that when you tended me gently it made me want your hands on me everywhere. I didn’t let myself think about what my own hands might do. But I know they wouldn’t be gentle. You already felt that when I tore your gown and mashed your bosom. It gives me more pleasure to make a woman whimper, to claim her thoroughly, to exhaust myself, and her, and leave my marks on her.”

“What kind of marks?” I asked.

“It’s not proper to speak of.”

I snorted indelicately. “I’m undressed in the bed of my laird, who wishes to ruin me utterly, and we’re to worry of impropriety?”

He eyed me, rolling onto one side to stare. “Ye make a fair point, lass. But we don’t know or trust one another, you and I. So I’d rather not say.”

That was even more curious. What could he be afraid of in telling me what gave him pleasure? “My real question wasn’t
what
pleases you but
why
, my laird.”

“Aye, true enough. But I don’t know the answer. Why am I so rough with the lasses? I can only guess it’s because I’ve had to fight for everything that belongs to me my whole life. Had to take it before it’s taken from me. I suppose I can’t enjoy anything as my own—not even a woman—unless I’ve seized her, claimed her, and made her give herself up to me completely. To make herself, for me, more naked than naked.”