Broken Highlander's Blood Oath Page 11

  She cried out, begging him with incoherent sounds not to stop.

  His voice was commanding her, but through the roar of passion and need in her ears, she couldn’t hear him.

  Donan lifted Analise at the same time he sat upright. She slid down his chest and he used one hand to raise his stiff erection, fitting it to her lowering sheath. The momentum caused a stabbing motion as the weight of Analise’s body impaled her on his cock. She cried out in pleasure, at the same time he groaned with it.

  Then he felt it, clawing over his hard shaft; Analise’s inner muscles with her hot and wet sheath rolling in trembling climaxes over his engorged shaft.

  “Ah, Christ, wife,” he groaned, lifting her buttocks to pull her down again over his jutting erection. “Oh Christ, that’s it, Analise. Ride me. Take me, lass! Oh God.”

  “Yes, Donan,” she whimpered.

  She used her heels locked behind his buttocks to lift and pull herself onto his shaft, faster and faster. Her arms clutched his neck and her breasts rubbed wildly over his chest, as their rhythm grew more intense. The feel of her was slippery, hot, and gripping around his erection with each downswing, while his cock enlarged with the imminent beat of release.

  The way inside was so warm and tight, it urged his arms to more frantic pumping, lifting, and lowering of Analise, while she straddled his thrusting cock, passionately whimpering.

  Then the woman that was his love and his life began to grind harder with rising and frenzied needs of her own, and he felt her woman’s sheath snatching his shaft with constricting grips, over and over.

  “Nightingale,” he bellowed.

  “Eagle,” she cried.

  And as husband and wife, they became as one, shuddering against each other, until in her damp hair, he whispered, “You make a man of me, love, you make me whole.”

  And she whispered to him, “Husband, you make me whole too.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Shancy stood outside Cheval’s tent in the dark. He looked closely at the closed flapped, shook his head, and then he turned away. He took two steps, and then he turned back toward Cheval’s tent once again. His hand ground through his tawny hair as he stared at the flap once again. He wasn’t there for a fuck, but to apologize for a near one, he thought with irritation. Aye but he wanted another near fuck, to be sure.

  “Nay,” he grumbled.

  He needed to get those thoughts out of his head. He needed to find pretty and flowery talking now, not raw heated prose. Aye, and hadn’t he always been fair at sweet-talking the ladies? So where was his glib tongue when he needed it?

  He was certainly glad to see Cheval with her spirit returning to her, as she'd shown in the scene inside the Abbey. Aye, the lass had a sharp tongue and wit to her. Shancy smiled at that, then he suddenly remembered the feel of her beneath his hands. Why couldn’t he forget it? Wasn’t it just a simple interlude?

  “Nay,” he muttered.

  Nothing about being with Cheval was simple. He still wondered why it had happened, and why he wanted it to happen again. Och, and yet again. Then he wondered why she'd run from him, and why since then she'd treated him as though he was an unwanted relative by her side.

  She’d nipped and pecked at him every chance she’d gotten, as if they were entered in a challenge of sorts, which he was unaware of.

  He cleared his throat, praying his silver-tongue wouldn’t fail him.

  “Cheval?” he called, to the closed tent flap. “Cheval, tis Shancy, lass. Might I speak to you?”

  “No, my lord.”

  Shancy gritted his teeth at Cheval’s softly called negative answer. What in the bloody hell was he to do now, especially when he felt like taking the wee lass over his knee and spanking some sense into her, until she saw things his way. There was no way in hell he was going to offer her an apology, while standing outside her tent like a fool for all to see and hear.

  “Oh!” It was Cheval's gasp inside the tent.

  The sound was so sharp and sounded alarmed that Shancy swiftly tugged open the tent flap, rushing inside, half expecting to see the red knight. “What is it?”

  His shout broke off loudly in the silence inside of the tent as his gaze lighted on Cheval lying atop the bedding furs, while clutching her rounded belly. A more beautiful setting he'd never seen, as he tore his gaze away from Cheval, to check all corners of the tent for intruders.

  The way was clear, and his eyes turned back to Cheval. Her thin shift was torn and falling to nearly the tip of her nipple on one side, while her yellow-blond hair fell over her shoulders and pooled on the dark brown furs like a puddle of sunshine. Her lush blue eyes were wide as if she was surprised or alarmed, and that was when his mind finally fired to the obvious.

  “The babe, Cheval? Is the babe all right?”

  Without a second thought, Shancy stalked straight toward her, dropping to his knees beside her, while half-heartedly trying not to notice just how much he could see through her thin shift.

  “The babe kicked!” Cheval exclaimed in wonder.

  Kicked? Shancy thought.

  “Here feel!” Cheval exclaimed, looking excited as she snatched his hand and tugged it right to her warm belly.

  Shancy wondered vaguely if it meant Cheval forgave him or maybe it was a peace offering. But then a miracle occurred and all thoughts flew from his mind, except for one.

  “Och, I felt it, lass!”

  “She is strong,” Cheval exclaimed.

  “He is stout,” Shancy declared. “A bonny lad!”

  Cheval looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “I wasn’t sure I could want him. I-I ... until maybe now.”

  “Oh, lass,” Shancy murmured, clasping his hand over her hand on her belly and he sat down beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders. “It will be grand, you’ll see, Cheval. A healthy fat babe in your arms, smiling sunshine at you.”

  Cheval turned her face into his shoulder with a small tremble. “You believe that, Shancy?” she asked in a whisper.

  Shancy dropped his chin to the top of her head, tightening his arm around her.

  “Aye I do, and you have your sister with you now. And Donan too. They are husband and wife, and that means the whole clan is with you.” Shancy paused, taking a deep breath. “And me, lass. Cheval, you’ve got me.”

  “I am not wanton,” she exclaimed softly, with her body shuddering as she nuzzled into his neck.

  Och, and he was going to apologize. Bloody hell, he wanted wanton, he realized fiercely. But, Cheval didn’t need his apology or his wayward lust.

  “What you are, Lady Soft, is beautiful.”

  Cheval sighed with her lips pressing to his neck, and Shancy felt the baby moving softly beneath their hands, while he wondered what wonderful outcome would transpire from all of it.

  Aye, maybe he’d asked Cheval to ride with him out to the burn tomorrow. A man never could be too sure what might transpire.

  The End

  Read an Excerpt!

  Lord Hellion’s Ransomed Bride (coming soon!)

  By Missy Strom

  Description: A betrothal contract left unfulfilled. Lady Alynn Cambric is given for marriage to Baron Wulfric Hellion. However her future betrothed never comes to fetch her. Her unpleasant uncle tells her that her heroic Baron does not wish to be saddled with a frivolous lady. But Alynn never learned to be a true lady.

  Wulfric, a brave and heroic knight, has lived his life with a pronounced stutter. He will never admit that because of it he has thrown himself into warrior pursuits and hidden from any pursuits of the heart. He may never become bold enough to retrieve his intended bride.

  However fate intervenes.

  And Wulfric and Alynn find themselves imprisoned in a dungeon together at the behest of Wulfric's Saxon enemy.

  Excerpt: Alynn had no idea who the man was, even if she'd been able to see him when he'd been thrown into the cell beside hers. Her only worry at that moment was the two men having dumped their prisoner in a heap might turn th
eir attentions to her. She'd huddled closer in the corner of the cell, in an effort to make herself invisible, a foolish thought, nonetheless the only one she could come up with at the time. Of course, it hadn't worked and the two men had stood at her cell door taunting her with vulgar phrases, which made her hands clench into the fabric of her skirts with the fear of what they might do.

  It was so much harder to maintain any courage when you had no idea why you were a prisoner in a dark cold dungeon to begin with. Except to her immense relief, the men had finally given up their lewd discourse and stomped away, up the tall length of stone steps at the far side of the dungeon cavern. She'd seen them more clearly when they'd passed by the only torch at the very top of the long stone stairway and she'd seen right away the same blue and white tunic that depicted her initial captors.

  Who were they, she wondered, nibbling on her full bottom lip? Plausibly, could her uncle have finally gone over the edge and hired her murdered so he could inherit her lands. She'd wondered for many years what held Uncle Tilton's hand. Except, would he really use another nobleman to do his nefarious work and would another noble, as depicted by the displayed colors, lower themselves to murder?

  It made no sense why anyone would want to steal her away. Possibly, they thought to ransom her. Only they didn't know what a fool's errand that would be? Her uncle would never pay the smallest of stipends for her safety. Was that what the man in the next cell was held for too? Ransom? It was hard to see, but he appeared to be very large and she thought it wouldn't have been an easy task to subdue him. Was he friend or foe, she wondered, worrying at her bottom lip, until it stung and she thought to stop? It was then she heard the noise she most feared. A distinct scurrying sound that made her gasp in fright. Twas rats.

  It was a demoiselle. The sound of her distinct feminine gasp nearly served to bring Wulfric sitting upright, however he managed to hold himself. It was then he heard her skirts rustling and the sound of a chain being dragged on the stone floor. Was she chained? Was she young or old and did she deserve to be locked away in Fith's dungeon?

  He had a hard time believing any maiden did, and then he heard the obvious reason for her gasp. Actually, felt one as it scampered over his leg and he sighed heavily, the place was infested with rats. He felt another of the dirty creatures run across the top of his knee high boot, and he ignored it, dreading the moment when he would make his attempt to sit upright. It was going to be painful, he was sure.

  "Get away. Shoo." The soft feminine voice held a healthy amount of fear followed by the sounds of chains scraping and skirts rustling. Then a fearful demoiselle's whimper sounded that struck Wulfric's usually harden demeanor with concern. It was clear the lady was terrified and her voice sounded young.

  Mon Dieu. He had no choice but to sit and see if he could help. He could not lie about and listen to her helpless fear. The effort cost him a great deal and even surprised him by bringing an involuntary groan from his throat.

  "Are you all right, sir?" the maiden queried, with a voice Wulfric thought, sounded like raw steel grating against hard stone, it brought such a sharp pain to his head.

  "Quiet," he reproached, holding back the moan that spoken word cost him as he clutched his head.

  He strove to bring the pain under control, when he heard the maiden whispering, "I'm sorry, sir. I did not realize."

  He could hear the swishing of her skirts and the grate of the chain dragging as she moved closer to his side of the cells. She had to be chained about the feet somehow, Wulfric thought.

  "Oh." It was a softly stifled whooshing sound and a scramble of obviously bared feet on the stone floor.

  The chain rattled as Wulfric raised his head to look closer, however it was muddied in darkness and all he could see was the demoiselles small dusky figure standing now as if made from stone in the center of her cell. Long hair fell around her like a dark shadow that reached to the outline of her skirts. He couldn't see the outline of her arms and he realized she was fiercely hugging herself. Scampering sounded, and she breathed sharply.

  Wulfric used his palm to brush along the roughened stone floor searching its surface, finding what he searched for in two small pebbles, which he palmed. Seconds later, he flicked one pebble outward as a stinging weapon at the dark shape scuttling toward the maiden's skirts. The rat and the maiden squeaked as one, the rat running away from its intended victim.

  "Did you do that, sir?" She breathed the words softly taking another hesitant step forward.

  "Oui." Wulfric's voice was low and it stopped her uncertain approach.

  "Thank you, sir. Perchance, I should try to learn how to throw a pebble also."

  She'd continued to whisper her words, and now that the pain in his skull had dampened into dull throbbing, he thought her voice sounded like the sweetest whisper of a flute barely holding a note. He flicked the second pebble at a rat running near her as he used his other hand to search for more pebbles. The sharp pad of little feet skidded across the top of his hand as he searched and he stilled, letting the creature pass, then he continued his search.

  The demoiselle had lowered to a crouch and he could hear her palms brushing the stone floor, see the movement of her arms motion in the shadows. He found himself wishing he could see her face, and then he grew irritated with himself for such unproductive fancy. He'd do better having a look around and searching his wits for a plan of escape.

  Just then, the sound of the wooden dungeon door being thrown open, startled the demoiselle into another startled gasp as Wulfric swiftly laid back down, screwing his eyes shut. He didn't know what his intended ploy of continued unconsciousness might gain him, however it was the first notion that sprang to his mind and he trusted his instincts.

  He heard the demoiselle's long skirts and chain scraping in a rush to the back wall of her cell as he listened to the heavy clomp of boots on the stone, coming from above and behind him. Two sets, two men and he could see the light brighten beneath his closed eyelids. They brought torches. He willed his body to relax, but remain ready, one never knew what opportunity might arise and being prepared was the second most important rule in his life. The first was to know your enemies as well as yourself.

  Suddenly, a masculine voice sounded, echoing in a bass tones layered in coaxing inflections. "Ah, Lady Alynn Cambric, do not cower at the back of your cell, but come forward!"

  Lady Alynn Cambric! Wulfric lost his natural and tightly controlled deportment, sucking in a sharp breath, sitting with his eyes silted in deadly surprise. Was this his betrothed?

  Baron Fith's laughter rounded the dungeons walls in a slide of thunder. "I thought that would rouse you, Hellion!"

  Wulfric heard Lady Alynn yelp in surprise, turning, still hugged against the back wall, to stare at him. For his part, he barely managed to remain dispassionate, except for a normal grim scowl. He saw immediately his intended betrothed was beautiful and he nearly winced. He knew little of ladies or women for that matter, and what he'd allowed himself to learn, through short observations, was that comely demoiselles were trouble. Much more trouble, he'd decided ages ago, than the plain ones.

  It would simply serve in all of this, that his intended bride would be lovely. He nearly snorted in disgust, but held it behind a scowling mask. Eyes the color of deep violet flowers gazed back at him in shock that he watched turn to hope, beneath darkly fringed eyelashes.

  Wulfric heard the key turn the in lock of the cell that held Lady Alynn, but he didn't turn his gaze from her. Merde, this was worse than he'd first realized and he now knew it had nothing to do with the Bretons intended uprising. He knew Fith too well and knew the man's vengeance held no boundaries, even hidden as it was behind Fith's smoothly handsome facade.

  Lady Alynn's gaze flickered from Wulfric to the opening cell door in fright and confusion. Wulfric watched her struggle with her fear, gaining control with only a telltale tremble of her full bottom lip, while oddly his heart hammered hard in his chest. He thought perhaps another demoiselle of delic
ate breeding would have swooned by now. However, this one appeared to have some bravado, and she was young, if he remembered correctly, just ten and nine to his twice ten and eight.

  "Did you know that you had such a lovely betrothed, Hellion? Knowing your passion for training and battle to the exclusion of the fair maids, I'd guess not. Tis even whispered that you have never succumb between the soft white thighs of a fair maiden." Barons Fith's voice became a dripping raspy whisper. "Tis it true, Hellion? Mayhap it is your stutter?"

  Baron Fith swiveled with a flourish back to Alynn. "Did you know, Lady Alynn, that your betrothed, the great champion of awe-inspiring feats by our sovereign King William's side, the paragon of knightly wonder who not even the peasantry, who so worship his misbegotten tales that they can even get his name right, Hellion or Hellstone, is it?" He swept his hand through the air with a shout. "That this man stutters like a quaking imbecile lad or mayhap like the very devil that resides in his soul to make him do so!"

  Fith took a menacing step forward, and yelled, "Answer me!"

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  Read an Excerpt!

  A Duke Makes Three (regency, spies, adventure, ménage) (coming soon)

  By Missy Strom

  Much later in the dark morning hours, the heavy iron grates over their heads clattered. Theo had been dozing, if a person could really do that in the position that he was chained in. He guessed it had to be two or three in the morning. As he looked up, he realized that it was indeed the iron grate to the hold being lifted out of place.

  “So it begins,” Raine mumbled from his right side.

  Theo tensed in uneasiness. He and Raine were familiar with many forms of torture and at one time had discussed the various methods that might be used to coerce either of them into talking.