Broken Highlander's Blood Oath Read online

  As he listened to the steady thrum of rain outside of their nest, the sounds seemed to combine with the lift and fall of Analise’s sleepy breathing.

  Yet he was but a man and his cozy pleasure turned deeper as his eyelids became heavier, while the male part of him contemplated carnal pleasures. He was afraid to hope. Possibly, he was damned to hope; so his mind spun dreams unhindered by reality.

  Musings that floated free ... wishes ... fantasies. And, he must have dreamed—

  Suddenly in a dream, the call of the eagle soared over Donan’s head, as he stood tall with his strong legs braced apart beneath him. His arms were raised high with his hands thrown wide to the flight of the majestic eagle overhead. The eagle was the sign of his power and strength. It embodied his wholeness and resolve. He dreamed of his powerful eagle often, spreading his wings and flying with the symbol of his clan. In his dreams, he could be free and walk as a man.

  Suddenly, the chipper cries of a nightingale came pealing through the skies overhead, followed by the bold ringing call of the eagle. Donan gazed upward, feeling his strong legs beneath him as he watched the eagle circling the smaller nightingale. The breath caught in his throat as the eagle drew nearer to the nightingale and he feared a soaring strike. Yet, the eagle didn't strike as the gay laughter of the nightingale turned into the breathless fear of being hunted.

  Then the sun burst in Donan’s irises casting a honey glow. Abruptly the sound of small feet fleeing through the heather drew his attention. He was naked and powerful with the warm earth planted firmly beneath his feet as he turned to give chase, feeling the strength of the hunt flex the brawny muscles rippling through his body.

  Shades the color of honey and gold stained his eyesight, appearing as fog in one glance and glass in the next. Yet, his sharp eyes as piercing as the eagle's caught glimpses of his fleeing prey. Strands of her hair, curled in honey, swayed over flashes of her bared buttocks that were nimble yet voluptuous in their flight. Glimpses of her pink-tipped nipples and rosy lips that were wet and panting in anxiousness raised the ram of his prick hard between his thighs.

  He was the huntsman and the naked enticement of his golden quarry drove him to fleet pursuit. The nightingale had no hope. He was stronger. He had the hot blood of his powerful cock driving him forward. He would use all his cunning and skill to hunt down his desire.

  He could smell her on the wind. He could hear her weaker limbs and softer failings. And his cock could feel her woman’s fertile flow. It drove the pursuit inside him to be not one of just capture, but of lust. It drew his blood white hot, tightening the sinew in his body and strengthening his sprinting legs.

  The golden air around him flowed over the hot-blooded spike of his shaft and he felt the lustful steam billowing off its length as sweat clung to his armpits and sprayed off his brow.

  Then, he heard her call. The nightingale gasped ... falling. Cornered and captured.

  He stopped his fleet pursuit at her bare feet curled in the heather. He stood tall with glistening nude flesh, his feet braced and his wide chest still rising from the hunt. He gazed down at his naked voluptuous prey sprawled in the violet sprigs of heather. He stared at his cornered quarry lying on her side, breathing the defeat of capture with her rounded buttocks bared and vulnerable. The arrow of his erection stood jutting from his sweaty thighs, proud and ready to pierce his prey.

  “Eagle,” called the nightingale’s trilling voice and his strong arms reach down, and then lifted the golden nightingale up before him. Long blond hair, like honeysuckle mixed with umber floated over his shoulder. So long it feathered over his thighs and slid over the head of his erection, engorged like a ripe plum.

  “Mine!” his voice roared. “Mine!” He lifted the captive golden nightingale before him. The eagle cried and Donan offered his sacrifice upward to his proud majestic symbol. “No man shall take the nightingale from me!” he bellowed.

  “Donan-Donan?” The sound came from far away, floating through the echo of his bellows. “Donan.” Closer, softer ... a whisper.

  Analise—

  “Beloved master.”

  “Yes,” Donan breathed, looking into Analise’s crushed-velvet blue eyes. He turned his body and hers above him in a slow circle. He showed her the strength of his legs.

  “Anything, Donan, I would do anything you bade me to do.”

  “You are mine.”

  “Yes!” she sang, reaching for him as he lowered her.

  Her naked legs clasped his waist like a siren’s song as the ram of his cock thrust upward like an arrow shot true to its center. Her feminine loins split, yielding and quivering to his inward lunge.

  “Donan, my love!” pealed from her throat like a thousand nightingales songs, drenched beneath his bellow of victory. Analise’s woman’s slit wept around the shaft of his cock, coating it and searing it with tight friction.

  Then he lifted her upward again, swaying her buoyant breasts with rosy jutting nipples, as the brawn in his arms bulged tightly and his legs splayed like braces. The blood pulsed in the plum head of his erection as it popped the entrance of her wetly swollen sheath once again. Then, by the strength of his arms alone and her limbs about his waist he lowered her, forcing the engorged head into her channel again as they both screamed the sounds of passionate ripeness.

  Analise’s inner thighs shuddered over his hip bones as her fingernails scraped down his chest, and he found the rapid beat of their mating as he spewed carnal words into her upturned passion-flushed face.

  “Rosy, wet, dripping. Tight. Mine! Mine! On your knees!”

  “Yes!” Analise cried writhing against him as he lifted her off his shaft and set her bare toes to the heather. Her lips seared his chest, his belly, and his thighs as he commanded, “On your hands and knees woman.”

  Gold splashed Donan’s irises as his woman splayed herself on hand and knees to be taken. To be taken by his cock and made to scream in the rapture of his mating. His hand found her pussy as he came down on solid knees behind her bare buttocks, and he groped her slit bringing her ass up higher and pushing her thighs open wider as he grasped her hair.

  He wound the long blond strands of it around his wrist. Tighter and tighter, drawing her head back and arching her buttocks to him, until the head of his prick kissed her dripping heat. He was poised, fitted to the much smaller opening of her heated woman’s core, when he first saw the nightingale’s mark branded over her pussy. Fragile black wings painted over her woman’s lips sweeping down into her inner thighs.

  His voice cracked then, roaring like an eagle's call in the midst of a soaring strike as his hips plunged forward. His thrust tried to push Analise forward, yet he held her true and firm to his driving penetration by her golden hair. His free hand was drawn like the indomitable forces of the earth to clasp the nightingale’s mark and the flexing pussy beneath. It was as though he wished to stain his fingers with the mark of the nightingale as he kneaded, massaged, and fondled it over and over, while his hips flew and his shaft plunged deep.

  Analise’s cries of passion became shriller. Her inner sheath was rushing in clenching quakes over his thrusting hardness as the heat and wildness of their mating rose around them. The heat was heady and cloying, saturating his senses as the sound of his thighs slapping her buttocks filled his ears.

  Each time he thrust hard, the flesh over his erection drew tight, milking his pleasure higher. It urged him to go faster, to feel the fierce pleasure more rapidly with hot breaths in between, until it became one continuous bellow of rapture, and he swore to God he could not take any more bliss.

  Yet, God laughed at him as Analise cried beneath him and her core convulsed around his cock. Analise’s wet, hot, and tightly clenching inner sheath grabbed his shaft, gripping it with rolling shudders that milked his seed from the base. The flow burned up his shaft and erupted as he shook and groaned with Analise gasping in trembles of pleasure beneath him.

  His hot seed coated his thrusting shaft as he fell over Analise’s
back, then clasped his arm beneath her belly and tugged her to him. Their sweaty bodies slid against each other as he ground his still throbbing erection deep into her core and they moaned as one—

  Chapter Six

  Donan jerked awake as Analise cried out against his ear. It took him long moments and the slow easing of his throbbing erection to realize he had but dreamed and now he was awake. It was a more carnal dream than he’d ever felt before in his life, he thought. Then another of Analise’s soft cries sounded, alerting him to the fact she was restless and disturbed by nightmares that he soothed away with kisses to her brow and soft words whispered in her ear. He could well imagine the devil dreams pursuing her were about Lord Armand. The man he would see in hell before this was through.

  But first, he would have to get his woman to safety.

  Aye, his woman; Donan thought and he knew he would always think of Analise as that, and he was certain in his heart it would have been completely true had his legs still worked. Even though he'd stolen her away from a horrible reality, he couldn't feel sad at her persistence in claiming she wanted him. Just as he was certain it would take only a few days of watching how he had to live his life for the true reality to make an impression on her.

  Aye, it wouldn’t be much time and he’d have to watch it happen. Have to watch Analise accepting the impossible truth of his lameness. But he’d not be sad. Analise had given him a taste of his dreams, and he’d hold her a bit longer, he thought, dropping his chin on top of her head. He might not have this chance again, and he kenned that all too well.

  Donan put off rising far into the morning, when reluctantly he raised his head, knowing he couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer, and as he did, he was jerked to awareness by a voice behind him.

  “It must be grand, brother.” Donan snapped his head around to see Shancy propped against one of the crumbling outer walls of the hut. “I dinna have the heart to disturb you.” Shancy chuckled.

  “Bloody hell.”

  Donan grasped the fur and pulled it up over Analise’s bare back. He couldn't believe he'd been so distracted in his daydreams that he'd not heard Shancy’s approach. And what had happened to Xavier, he thought, with a touch of exasperation as he cast a reproachful eye at his stallion.

  “Even your trusted stallion knows enough not to disturb such a pretty picture,” Shancy chortled, close to laughing at his brother's distress. “I wouldn't let it worry you over much. Tis only me, and Xavier and I are bonny pals.” It sorely did Shancy’s heart good to see Donan in such a situation ... it had been too long.

  Donan scowled, lowering his gaze to the golden head resting on his chest. “And where are the others, and how did you find me?”

  “Och, now.” Shancy smiled, absently trying to scratch his chest between the slashed openings of his rust-colored tunic. “You shouldn't get so riled, Donan. Tis my mare who’s got the love eyes for your brute Xavier. That filly could track him in a blizzard.” Sweeping his tawny brown hair off his forehead, Shancy paused to look around, before he continued, “As for the others, they’re leading Lord Armand a merry chase. Although, I did mention, they might find us at St. Helen’s Abby when they were through playing.”

  “Fine,” Donan acknowledged, although he could have predicted the answer because he knew in every tactical situation that he and Shancy reacted the same.

  “So, brother, you’ll be wanting some help there. I brought some wine and bread from a crofter lass.”

  “Nay, Shancy.”

  Donan let his declaration settle in as he checked Analise to be sure she was asleep. When he looked back at Shancy, he could see the surprise, then the speculation in the brown of Shancy’s eyes.

  “What I require is that you disappear, brother. You ken?” Donan waited only long enough for Shancy to open his mouth in protest, before he snapped, “And that is a direct order, little brother.”

  Shancy’s mouth clicked shut and his eyes grew more calculating as he slowly assessed the situation, then he probed, “It’s possible you cannot get up on Xavier, even though he’s trained to your voice.”

  Donan shrugged his bare shoulders. “Aye, it’s probable. We shall see.”

  “You’re doing this foolishness for a reason, Donan. I know you too well.” Then, Shancy smacked his forehead and his eyes narrowed, as he blurted, “It’s the lass! Something to do with her.”

  “No more questions. Now be gone!” Donan held his mouth in a hard firm line with his gray eyes challenging Shancy.

  “Bloody hell,” Shancy cursed, as he grabbed his mare's reins. “I’ll be close, you stubborn old goat. And you cannot make me do any different!”

  Analise stirred in Donan’s arms and began to wake at Shancy’s last shouted words. Donan murmured to her so she would think the voice was his. He watched Shancy march away, and then mount his mare. Shancy was right about one thing, everything he did from that moment on was for Analise’s well-being and not his own.

  Analise thought she was being held in Donan’s strong arms as he spoke words of caring to her with his deep rumbling voice. But when she reluctantly dragged herself from the drowsy cocoon of sleep, she was lying alone with Donan’s broad back to her as he pulled his dark tunic over his head.

  “You’ll be needing to dress, lass. I need to piss and cannot manage it alone.”

  The rough edge of Donan’s voice warned Analise things were changing and her stomach suddenly churned as if filled with craggy stones. She couldn’t see Donan’s face, but tension filled the air around them, cutting through the damp morning mist. She knew with mounting intuition that whatever she did next ... whatever she could think of to say, would bind them together or break them apart forever.

  Oh her heart cried out, she would not break them apart. Never that, she thought, as she prayed for guidance. Then as she hurried to dress, she was reminded about the opinions of other people, who all her life had labeled her simpleminded. Cheval vehemently denied it, but Analise knew it was true. She could feel it must be true, because many times she became confused. Her mind seemed to have more than one voice and her ideas seemed to cause others to look upon her strangely.

  “Fairy dust for brains,” her mother had proclaimed to her. That same black haired and dark-eyed mother who had born two daughters that held no resemblance to her, even in the smallest detail. “Dull-witted as the crofter’s animals,” her stepfather had declared. And then there was Armand, who was too cruel to think about.

  Analise finished pulling on her soft leather shoes over the woolen stockings warming her feet, as an idea formed. “They call me simpleminded,” she announced suddenly.

  “What?” Donan twisted his head to see Analise, a look of disbelief on his face, but he was greeted with the sunshine of her smile. What was the imp speaking about now, he wondered, as he raised his dark brows in question.

  “It’s true, everyone says I have no wits,” she declared, as she waved her hand in an encompassing gesture that stirred the air beneath his nose. “That is except for Cheval, of course. But that's because she loves me.”

  Analise scooted closer to Donan on her knees and confided in a whisper, “I only tell you this so you will not get too much out of temper when you have to explain things to me.” Then her pretty nose scrunched upward and she patted his arm as if in sympathy, muttering, “Constantly.” The voice she used sounded as if she were mimicking someone else.

  An older male, Donan guessed, as he tried to digest what Analise was saying. He'd not thought her simpleminded at all. But of course to be honest he'd not been thinking much about her mind. Nay, it was impossible, his Analise was filled with a bit of romantic notion and very trusting, but she was not simple.

  His plan to discourage Analise using the reality about the difficulties of being lame was going astray. He'd even forgotten his planned embarrassment of the first defensive move.

  Until Analise blurted, “Now you must tell me exactly what to do, my lord, to help you to p-piss.” She looked so serious, Donan was
at a loss for words, but she continued, saying, “Just remember that I get a bit confused sometimes.” Her words finished in a rush and with a light blush.

  Donan regarded Analise for the longest time, trying to understand exactly what had happened. Yet all he knew was what should be the most embarrassing position for any man, was not that any longer. He cleared his throat.

  “I’m thinking of using that brown clay jug thrown in the corner there, if you will fetch it for me, imp.”

  The truth of the matter was he couldn't do it on his own and Analise needed to see that— to see his reality. So he gathered his resolve about him once again, deciding he would go further than necessary just to make his point. He had an unexplainable need for Analise to see and understand the reality that was his life.

  So when she returned with the jug, he immediately set it aside, saying, “You’ll have to help me with these leggings. I cannot get them untied.” That was a foolish bit of lying, but he was determined.

  “U-Untied?” she stuttered slightly, looking down at the ties over his groin.

  “To free my cock, so I can piss into the jug.” He grimaced.

  “Oh, but still—” She peeked up at him.

  He strove on. “Lass, I’m a man, certainly you have seen what a man carries between his legs.”

  “A cock,” she whispered. “Yes.” Then, a determined look stole over her delicate face, as she reached down. “Must I untie them all?”

  “Nay, lass, my leggings are special made, just the four ties in the middle.”

  Analise suddenly felt flushed as she gingerly untied the ties, while her fingertips brushed a solid impression beneath. Saints, it was an awful memory, but she'd even seen Armand’s pale and thin shaft on more occasions than she wanted to remember.

  That unwanted thought caused her belly to clench in anxiety. What if she felt the same about Donan’s cock? Then she immediately worried that it would repulse her, causing her a moment later to quickly put a joyful smile on her lips. That forced smile was for Donan’s well-being as she fumbled, trying to open the flap.