The Devil in Plaid(45)

“Nay, Jamie, ye mustn’t.”

“Oh, but I must,” he breathed.

For so long, he had wanted to taste her. He circled his tongue, teasing the very heat of her. She cried out. He trailed his lips and tongue over her hot skin. Savoring, her sweet warmth. He slid his hand under her round buttocks and lifted her hips, plunging his tongue deep inside her. He tasted, teased, swirling his tongue, making her moan and gasp. Her hands reached down, weaving her fingers through his hair. She moved against him, her breath quickening, her hips bucking. She writhed beneath his tongue.

“Jamie, please,” she cried, trembling, rising. “Oh, God! Oh, Jamie!” Reaching her climax, she shuddered again and again, her legs curling around him.

“Oh Jamie,” she sighed.

Never could Fiona have imagined such sensations.

Through half-closed lids, she watched him stand and remove his belt. His plaid dropped to the ground. Her eyes widened at the sight of his thick, hard length.

She sucked in a sharp breath as he climbed onto the bed. He advanced toward her on his knees, like a predator hunting his prey. But she was his willing victim.

She reached for him, wanting to feel his body, to touch and taste him in the same way he had her.

His lips found hers. He kissed her long and hard. Then he shifted over her, covering her body. She had never felt so protected and so vulnerable at the same time.

“Open yer legs for me again,” he rasped.

This time, she needed no convincing. Closing her eyes, she spread wide, straining for his touch. The ache within her body rekindled. She felt his hard shaft against her. Slowly, he eased inside her. She winced as he stretched her, easing deeper and deeper, and then he plunged into her body, breaking her maidenhead. She cried out as pain shot through her.

He held her close, his body taught and unmoving between her legs. Slowly, the pain faded. The tension in her body released.

Holding his weight on his elbow, he looked at her with pained eyes.

“I promised ye I would never hurt ye again.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Ye make my body fly.” She moved against him. “I ache for ye. Make me fly again.”

“He pulled out and thrust deep, again and again. She wrapped her legs around his waist, meeting each of his thrusts with a passion all her own.

Sweet torture filled her, building, cresting. She cried out as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. His own cry of pleasure mingled with hers.

He held her close and gaze into her limpid blue eyes. “Now, I will never hurt ye again.”

“Please,” she begged, smiling through her euphoric haze. “Please hurt me again.”

He nibbled her ear, raking his teeth gently down her throat. “Ye asked for it.”





Chapter Twenty Seven


Jamie paced the length of his solar. He had amassed an army, five hundred strong. Preparations were underway to march and lay siege to the MacKenzie stronghold, but a sudden realization presented questions for which he had no answers.

“I waited for ye.”

He turned toward the door. Smiling seductively, Fiona stepped into the room, a silk robe lightly hugging her curves. “And then I could bear yer absence no longer.”

He expelled a breath and sat down on the edge of one of the chairs, reaching out his hand to her. She crossed the room to stand in front of him. He pulled her close, resting his forehead just beneath the full curve of her breasts. Her arms came around him.

“What is it?” she said softly. “What weighs on ye so heavily? And don’t tell me yesterday’s attack. I ken ye’ve something new on yer mind.”

He looked up at her. “Ye’re very perceptive.”

She lifted her shoulders, a sad smile curving her lips. “Like ye, my mother was lost to me when I was but ten. ‘Tis I who have watched my father pace his solar and listened to him talk out his concerns. I’ve a practiced eye. Ye can speak with me and count with every certitude on my discretion.”

Leaning back in his chair, he scrubbed his hand over his face, but then he straightened. “Actually, my dear wife, ye, more than anyone else, might be able to inform my quandary.” He stood and walked past her, resting his forearm on the mantle above the hearth and stared into the flames.

“We now have the numbers to march on Ranulf MacKenzie.” He turned to look at her. “But do I march on my enemy or are we preparing to attack innocents—victims of the same devil who’s laid waste to our lands and slaughtered our kin?” Fury coursed through him. “This Ranulf MacKenzie, who has usurped his brother’s throne, does he have the love of the clan or have his loyal men forced the people to submit? Ye’ve spent time in the MacKenzie keep. What is yer judgement?”

Fiona sat down and pressed her lips in a grim line. At length, she said, “Donald MacKenzie was a good man as was his son. They valued peace. They were scholars not warriors. His captains were strong leaders, but they, too, were good men.” She slowly nodded her head. “I believe ye’re right to hesitate and think upon who the real enemy is.” She moved to his side. “The clan who welcomed me would not have supported the slaughter of women and children or the destruction of crops and stores. I can only believe they are under duress.”

Jamie took her hand. “In my heart, I know this to be true, but I cannot spare their lives at the sacrifice of our own. The attacks will only continue. Ranulf targets our crops and stores and kills without discrimination to force our surrender. What choice do we have but to retaliate?”