And he’d write the cursed letters to Breadalbane, who would relish the news, but Portland’s parting statement did not sit well.
Come to heel.
Nay,John thought.I dinna think this will bring the Highland clans to heel at all.
He scratched absently at his itchy hairline as he stared at the partly open door.
Nay, Highlanders were not the sort to come to heel under the threat of violence at all.
This dictate all but guaranteed more bloodshed.
Chapter Two
“Comewithme,lass.”
Sawny’s smooth, whispery voice sent shivers down her spine, and Adaira eagerly placed her hand in his. From his dulcet tone, she knew exactly why he wanted her to join him, and it sent a fluttering thrill of desire through her chest and low in her belly. His eyelids shadowed his lust-filled stare, and his entire dark-haired visage rivaled the devil himself.
They were supposed to be readying themselves for the celebratory feast that night, but the moment she had laid eyes on her intended as he rode into the bailey, her body trembled. It was as if he had reached out and touched her with his mere gaze, and the intensity on his face told her he felt the same.
The feast could wait.
Their privacy could not.
Sawny's rough palm was warm as he clasped her hand. Gripping her skirts in her other hand, Adaira allowed him to lead her away at a quick pace from her parents’ Glenachulish stronghold. The servants and stable boys did not turn a head as they raced across the yard to the side where the tower’s postern gate stood open, her hair and skirts flying behind her.
This was not their first time racing away from the safety and guardians at the MacDonald tower, and Adaira knew, it would not be their last.
Their passion for each other rivaled that of Helen and Paris of the ancient world. That ill-fated couple paled in their love when it came to Sawny and Adaira. And that same passion had started to become a most scandalous rumor in the Highlands and a bone of embarrassed contention with her family.
She was fortunate, she knew. All she had to do was look at her older brothers to know that. Reade and Maddock both had been graced with wives not of their choosing, and while they presently adored their wives and loved them dearly, it had not been so when they had first met.
As Sawny tugged her hand harder and encouraged her to run faster, she thought of the first time she had met the man who would become her betrothed. Just over a year ago at a feast at the MacDonalds of Keppoch, and their attraction had been shocking and immediate. Everything about him had enticed her, from the fire in his eyes when he gazed at her to the way his dark hair fell across his forehead and curled at the tips in the most unruly way. Well-built with a broad chest and thick thighs that peeked out from under his kilt when he strode into her hall, all bespoke of his strength as a Keppoch MacDonald.
He had snuck her into the empty pantry later that very night, kissing her with such urgency, his full, strong lips on her mouth, her neck, even along the weight of her overly-ample bosom that heaved above her fitted bodice.
From that moment, every meeting of theirs had been one of furtive glances and stolen kisses before sneaking away for more. Always more. The more she had him, the more she wanted him, needed him. Sawny brought her impossible sensations and lifted her body to unbelievable heights. Theirs had been a meeting of bodies, of minds, of souls, of hearts.
And soon, of houses.
Not soon enough for Adaira.
Or for Sawny, it seemed, from the heated look in his hazel gaze. They breached the tree line, and once out of view of the road, Sawny thrust her against the smooth trunk of a beech tree, his burning face pressed into the curve of her neck.
“Sawny, we are too close to the keep —” she tried to protest weakly.
She grew weak every time he was near, and weaker still when his skin caressed hers — his hands, his lips, his cock.
“Then let them see,” he rasped as his lips reached her breasts.
With a light tug on her bodice, he popped her breasts from their bindings, abundantly full and round, a feast for his eyes and lips. Sawny drew his tongue across the top, then dipped his tongue to her nipple, licking and nipping at the left, then the right, making the pink tips stand rigid in his mouth.
“We are to be married,” he continued as he lifted his head. He was panting, his eyes shadowed by desire as he gazed at her face. He burned with his need for her, from his eyes to his forceful, clenching thighs. “Let them see all they wish.”
Through her own breathless lips, she smiled. He moved his lips to her smile, kissing her deeply as he lifted his kilt. She gripped her skirts, lifting them above her thighs. His knee moved, parting her willing flesh, and with a deep, vibrating groan into her mouth, he shoved his hot, eager manhood inside her.
She gasped at the sensation, digging her fingertips into his shoulders. This was everything, this moment of being joined with Sawny, of his body a part of hers, of being one with him. When his body was not completely his, nor was her body completely hers.
Then he moved, sliding in and out, making her weepy flesh sing. His lips remained on hers, panting hard as he pumped his hips, touching her everywhere between her thighs with his steadily increasing movements.
