Page 12 of Highland Heart

“But I don’t want to!” The words seemed torn from her, and her blush grew even more obvious. “I’m sorry,” she softened her voice, “but you don’t understand. I have no family. I have lived my whole life in the households of powerful men. Since I was given into your father’s care I feel as if suddenly I have a family. I have a purpose. These past days in Tighe I have felt of use, Dugald, and I don’t want that to stop! I want to go with him and your brothers to Auchiltie. Yes, everything might be a mess, but I don’t mind that. I want to be of help, don’t you see?”

Dugald looked into her blue eyes, at the earnest belief in them, and sighed. He did see. The trouble was he doubted his father would.

“I will speak to him,” he said. “I will do my best, Mistress.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

After she left he went back to his task, looking through weapons and armour that had not seen any repairs or cleaning for a very long time. He would need to arrange such details and without delay. He was holding up a rusty axe with a chunk out of the blade when the door opened again.

Biting back an impatient sigh, Dugald turned to face the interruption. Rosina stood behind him.

“I’m sorry,” she began, seeing his frown. “I can return later.”

He moved before she could leave, his hand on her shoulder. He closed the door with his boot and spun her around. Her eyes widened when she looked up at him, but she didn’t struggle or push him away. She was holding her breath and waiting, and that was when he knew.

She was here to tell him yes.

Suddenly he was full of a raging passion. He ducked his head, taking her mouth with his, not sparing her. It wasn’t enough. He was trying not to admit that it never would be.

She made one of her little sounds under his lips and he felt her tongue tentatively brushing his. He groaned, hands sliding down her arms to her waist, tugging her slender body against his harder one. Her breasts pressed to his chest and this time there was no doubt about how she felt. He reached to cup her warm flesh, his thumb rubbing over the hard point. She didn’t stop him or protest and his mouth closed over her through the cloth of her bodice.

“Dugald,” she gasped, clutching his head. She wanted this; she didn’t have to tell him. In fact he was done with talking. He was done with thinking.

He stepped around her and barred the door. They should be safe here, for a time at least, and although it was hardly the setting for seduction that he’d planned, at least they were alone. Castle Tighe was bursting at the seams right now, and any small piece of solitude was something to celebrate.

When he turned back to Rosina, she was watching him. She looked rumpled and her eyes were heavy with desire. For him. She came into his arms at the same time as he reached for her. The buttons on her bodice proved no problem, and he murmured praise at the sight of her full, creamy breasts tipped with rose. She was more opulent than before and he supposed that was because of his child, and knowing that ... It almost sent him over the edge as he covered first peak with his mouth, sucking deep, and then the other, and she arched toward him with a gasp.

Her fingers were clinging onto his shoulders, digging in as if she’d never let him go. He needed her. His cock was aching to be inside her.

A glance over his shoulder showed him the narrow bed he’d already noticed. It was set up for when a soldier on guard was needed in here. He suspected the bedding wasn’t as clean as it could be, but there was a cloak hanging over a chair that looked cleaner, and he threw it over the mattress, and turning, took Rosina’s hand.

She stumbled slightly and then her eyes flicked from the bed to him, and she tried to pull back, as if realising what he was about.

He stilled her, running his nose down her cheek to her neck and then sucking tenderly on her skin, where the pulse fluttered. She whimpered, “Dugald.”

“We both need this,” he said with certainty.

She swallowed and then gave a shaky nod. “Yes. We need to work this ... this madness out of our blood.”

He wasn’t sure it would ever be that easy, but he didn’t want to argue with her right now. Taking her hand in his, he led her to the bed and knelt down in front of her. Her skirts were worn—he noticed a darn near the hem—and something about her obvious poverty made his stomach clench. She deserved the finest silks but this was not the time to discuss items of clothing ... except to take them off.

The fastenings were soon undone and her skirts fell in a puddle around her shoes. Her stockings went as far as her knees and after that her warm, ivory flesh was all his. With a muttered curse he ran his hands up her legs, squeezing her plump bottom and burying his face in the curls of dark hair on her mound. She smelt of feminine arousal. She smelt of Rosina.

Tentatively, as if to steady herself, her hands came to rest on his head and then her fingers were sliding through his hair, tugging until he lifted his face upwards. She was flushed, her eyes glittering, her lips swollen. She wanted him, but he could also see the doubt that lay just below the surface.

“Breathe,” he told her, “because in a moment you won’t be able to.”

Before she could answer, he leaned forward, parted her thighs, and swiped his tongue through her folds. Her fingers tightened painfully but there was pleasure in knowing he could make her lose herself like that. He found the little nub and circled it with his tongue before giving it a hard suck.

Her hips bucked against him and she moaned so loudly he wondered if the guard on the gate could hear her. He continued to lap at her, aware of just how wet she was getting, and the little shivers of her muscles as he pushed her toward orgasm.

His fingers rubbed and then dove inside her, and suddenly she was gasping a half scream as she clenched around him. He licked a little more, mainly because it felt so good to make her lose control like this, a woman who he suspected rarely lost control. By the time he stood up and began to unfasten his kilt, she had collapsed onto the bed and was blinking up at him. Her hair was falling down and her breasts were rising and falling quickly as she tried to catch her breath. He noted a mark on her neck, one that he had made.

He liked his mark on her. He liked other men knowing she was his. He felt completely primitive and he didn’t care.

Rosina reached for him as soon as she saw how hard and ready he was, but Dugald climbed over her, pressing her to the bed, and clasped her wrists in his hands, lifting them above her head. He covered her face with kisses, before running his tongue down over her breasts, and soon she was writhing against him. That was when he thrust his hips and drove deep inside her welcoming body.

It was just as good as he’d remembered. Better. She closed around him, warm and wet and so ready. She lifted her legs, wrapping them around him, pushing back, and he heard himself groan. He changed his grip so that one hand was holding her wrists, and she didn’t struggle. It was as if she liked him to hold her, and he wondered if it was because she didn’t have to think, didn’t have to fight with her own feelings, and could just let go. His other hand he used to squeeze her breasts before reaching down between her thighs and finding her already swollen nub. He used this thumb on her and then pinched, and she rose up with a cry, tremors running through her, her body clenching on him so that he had no choice but to go with her.