Page 83 of Sins of the Highlander

“That’s all I was waiting for, love,” he whispered. “Ye beg so prettily, how can I refuse ye?”

He rocked his hips, and the pressure on her sensitive spot sent her over the edge. Her inner walls spasmed around him in violent embrace. It was as if she was coming unraveled, and the only thing keeping her from unspooling completely was the solid length of his cock. He arched his back, plunging deeper as she continued to pulse.

His kiss swallowed up her cry of completion.

Once she finally stopped throbbing, he began to move slowly. Still aglow from her release, Elspeth fell into rhythm with him. She peppered his neck with kisses. She whispered urgent endearments. She loved every bit of this man with every bit of herself.

And when he came inside her, she held his shuddering frame, still rocking against him, drawing him farther in. He was hers. She would have all of him.

Peace descended like a mantle, draping over them, sheltering them. The armies beyond the walls faded from Elspeth’s mind. There was no rush. No need. All that mattered was holding each other and protecting their joining for as long as it could last.

“I love ye, lass,” Rob whispered as he finally slipped out of her. “Ye ken that, aye?”

“Aye. Ye loved me so well I almost dinna need to hear it, but I’m glad for it all the same,” she whispered back. “I love ye, too.”

“On the morrow—”

“Let’s not waste our time together on such things.” She put a finger to his lips. “The morrow will care for itself.”

“All right.” He rolled to one side and snugged her against him. “What shall we talk of, then?”

“I wasna thinking of talking.” She stole away from him and out from under the covers, braving the cold room long enough to retrieve one of the bed-curtain cords. “I was wondering what it will take to make ye beg.”

***

The morning dawned gray and mizzling. No hint of the sun’s warmth cut through the lowering sky. Rob girded himself in his hardened leather breastplate and strapped on his greaves and forearm guards. He was determined to have his parley with Stewart and Drummond before the heavens burst open and the light rain became a drenching torrent. He mounted the second-best horse in his stable.

He missed Falin. Since the stallion hadn’t found his way back to his own stall, Rob feared the worst. He hated to imagine Falin coming to a bad end in a wolf’s belly. He preferred thinking the wicked beastie was kicking up his heels, wallowing in his freedom, and rutting every stray mare he found.

Hamish sauntered into the stable and swung his leg up and over a roan gelding.

“Ye dinna have to come with me,” Rob said.

“I’m no’ likely to let ye go alone, am I?” Hamish said.

“I’ll come to no harm under a flag of truce.” Rob nudged his mount into a sedate walk across the bailey. Hamish rode alongside as the milling populace parted before them. Rob motioned for the portcullis to be raised, and the drawbridge lowered.

“Ordinarily, I’d agree with ye. Men of honor respect an offer to parley.” Hamish hefted the pole with the white flag fluttering at the top, and clomped across the bridge behind Rob. “But that means ye must trust Lachlan Drummond to be honorable. I’ve no’ got that much trust in me. Ye might have signaled from the safety of the walls and given Stewart and Drummond safe conduct.”

“No, I need to be seen making this offer of peace,” Rob said. “By both sides.”

But only one person seeing him do this really mattered to him. He knew Elspeth watched him from the battlements of Caisteal Dubh, though he resisted turning to look at her. She needed to see that he was trying to settle this impasse, that he wished to make peace with her father.

But damned if he’d make peace with her former bridegroom.

***

“This canna be. ’Tis a trick,” Lachlan said, narrowing his eyes at the approaching pair of horsemen. The colors of the caparison on one of the mounts declared its rider was the MacLaren himself. “Mad Rob wasna inside the castle when we parleyed last week. And not a soul has entered or left while we bided here.”

“That’s as may be, but they come under a flag of truce,” Stewart said, pulling on his heavy gloves. “The riders halted beyond the range of their archers and within the reach of ours. ’Tis a gesture of good faith. Whoever it is on that horse may have news of Elspeth, at least. I’m willing to hear what they have to say. ” He shot a cold glare at Drummond. “Come or stay, as ye will. ’Tis of no consequence to me what ye do.”

In the time they’d been encamped before the castle walls, squabbles between their men had strained the relationship between the two lairds. Drummond watched his ally stalk toward the groom who led the Stewart’s horse from the picket lines. If Stewart’s daughter was dead, their alliance was on shaky ground at best. It was time to mend the damage. Lachlan signaled for his horse to be brought as well.

But he didn’t hurry. The riders from the castle were the ones who wanted to parley, not he. He would have been just as happy to mount up and ride back to his own stronghold for the rest of the winter.

Once there, he’d be able to plan and find someone from Caisteal Dubh with a grudge against his laird deep enough that he might be bribed into opening the gates for Lachlan’s assault come spring.

The Dark Castle had never been taken from without. No one had tried to take it from within, but Lachlan was willing to be the first.