Torn Between Two Highlanders (15 page)

Arabella shook her head, not understanding. “Are you suggesting a flip of a coin?”

“A flip of a coin, she says!” Davy cried, as if mortally offended. “You say all these flowery words of praise and flatter our honor, then accuse us of wagering you on a coin toss?”

“I—I meant no insult. I just don’t understand how…”

“We can share you,” Malcolm said, simply. “As we did before.”

Arabella’s lips parted with a surprised breath. “As we did before?”

“Aye,” Davy said. “Not for one night, but for as long as you may want it. Malcolm and I have talked it over. Well, we brawled over it first.”

“We didn’t brawl over it,” Malcolm said.

“We did.”

“Aye, right, Davy. If we brawled over it, you’d be sporting a black eye. There was a shove or two, and then we came to agreement.”

Arabella’s stomach knotted. “What agreement?”

Davy sucked in a deep breath. “Well, if you’re willing….we may solve a number of difficulties by sharing you. I can offer you marriage, but not children. Malcolm can offer you children but not marriage.”

Arabella began to understand, and the ground swayed beneath her feet. “Davy, you can’t be saying you’d accept a wife who bore Malcolm’s children.”

“We’d never know for certain if they were his or mine,” Davy said. “And even if they did look like him, well, Malcolm is as close to me as a brother. I was planning to treat his children as my own anyway, should he have them. I never thought before that I could have a wife and family, but maybe now I can. And it changes everything for me.”

Arabella turned to Malcolm, her mind still unwilling to accept what they were so earnestly offering her. “And you—you would let another man take me for his wife?”

“No,” Malcolm answered at once. “Only Davy. God forgive me, but I would cut the eyes out of any other man who ever looked at you with a notion to wed.”

Arabella began to tremble. They couldn’t mean it. They couldn’t. And tears spilled over her lashes. “Please do not tempt me with a happiness that I cannot have. If you love me, if either of you love me, you mustn’t offer me such a thing.”

“Why not?” Davy asked.

“Because it cannot work,” Arabella said. “I have never known of such an arrangement. How would people—”

“To the devil with
people
,” Malcolm snarled.

Davy was more diplomatic. “It’s our arrangement. No one else’s. You didn’t think two men could take your maidenhead at once either, but we did.”

Yes, they did. And though it was meant to be a profane act, the truth was, she felt as if she was already wed to both of them. That she had given herself over to them, not just in body, but in soul.

“You won’t get jealous?” Arabella asked.

Realizing that she was softening to their plan, Davy began to grin. “Arabella, you already know that it excites me to feel you trapped between our bodies. I would like to do that again. As often as we can. Whatever jealousy I feel is but a tiny speck in a sea of pleasure.”

She believed him. She did. Because Davy accepted things. He accepted them easily. But Malcolm? Arabella turned to him, and took his hand. “Do you feel the same?”

“Aye,” Malcolm said, very gravely. “I am a jealous man. But I don’t want to be alone anymore. I can bear anything—even jealousy—to avoid that. Or being without you. The one thing I did not wish to do was make a woman live in dishonor to live her life with me. But with you and Davy, I need not worry of that. I don’t want to be alone…”

Whatever mistakes he had made with Lorna, he had paid a terrible price. He had condemned himself to a life alone, and admitting that he wanted a new chance was such a vulnerable thing for him to say that he could not hold her gaze. He turned away, as if he feared Davy might make light of it. But Davy clasped his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder, saying, “You won’t ever have to be alone anymore, Mal. Will he, Arabella?”

Arabella looked up at the two men who towered over her. Two strong men, two strong hearts. Hers for the taking. And she wanted them. “No, Malcolm. You won’t ever have to be alone anymore. None us will. Because I choose you both, Davy and Malcolm of Clan Macrae. I choose you both with all my heart!”

They embraced her then, between their bodies. Kissing her mouth. Kissing her hair. Holding her even as she wept softly in joy. And she gloried in the thought that this would be the grandest adventure, yet.

Another adventure to share. Theirs, together. Forevermore.

AT THE LAIRD’S COMMAND

A Sword and Thistle Novella

Laurel Adams

~~~

Laird John Macrea had three problems.

The first was that he was in love with an entirely unsuitable woman. The second was that his castle was besieged. And the third was that he couldn’t stop thinking about the first problem long enough to solve the second.

As for the siege—well, he’d trusted too much that allies would come swiftly to his aid. It was often jested that the Macrae clan served as the
coat of mail
for the more powerful Mackenzies; John had trusted the Mackenzies would return the favor if ever the castle at
Eilean Donan
should be under siege.

But the siege had lasted on past Christmastide with no word of reinforcement and the situation was bleak. The enemy was demanding his clan’s surrender, generally.

And his head, specifically.

The laird wanted to keep his head, for all the usual reasons, but also because he’d need it to defend the unsuitable woman that he loved. A woman he had, in fact,
made
unsuitable. She’d been a simple highland lass, the wholesome daughter of a crofter. Heather was her name. And he’d wanted her from the first flower of her womanhood. With raven hair and enchanting violet eyes, she had seemed to him the sweetest, most innocent, most pure thing in God’s creation. And given the very
impure
nature of the his desire—a desire that manifested itself in a much darker way than with most men—he’d never intended to lay a finger upon her.

No. Tender-hearted virgins without lands or powerful fathers were not for the likes of Laird John Macrae. The needs of his body were meant to be sated in bawdy houses where brothel girls weren’t likely to be shocked by his rough ways. The needs of his line were meant to be satisfied, only if necessary, with a marriage for political alliance. And the needs of his heart—well, he’d told himself that he didn’t have a heart.

He’d convinced most of the clan of it as well.

He believed it too, until Heather…

“Can’t you sleep?” she asked, groggily, from the bed beside him, daring to take the liberty of stroking his cheek.
God
, but he loved the feel of her touch. The warmth of her long, slender fingers upon his cool cheek both soothed him and stirred his ardor.

“Just a bit restless is all,” he confessed, for there was nothing worse to make a man restless than being caged up in a castle defending against a siege. The waiting—constant waiting to see what the enemy would do next—was enough to drive a man mad. “But don’t trouble yourself about it, lass. I’ll drift off beside you soon enough.”

“Are you certain?” she asked, her voice sweetly soft in the dark. “You said—you said once that you don’t sleep easily with someone beside you. I can go to my own chamber. I should hate to be the reason for you to lose sleep, my laird.”

She
was
the reason he was restless, though not because she was spending the night in his bed, and it pained him to have her think otherwise. “Stay,” he said, turning to kiss her palm, which had picked up the scent of lavender from the linens.

Stay and never leave my bed.

Never leave my side.

Stay with me and be mine for all your days.

These things he could not say to her, of course. But he could not stop thinking them, either.

“Are you cold?” she asked, curving her body tighter against his side and bringing the blanket with her. The gesture was meant only bring him warmth against the winter, but it actually filled him with heat. With only her thin nightclothes between them, he felt the brush of her pillowy breasts against his ribs, the tickle of her womanly thatch against his hip.

He growled a bit in response. “No, not cold. Not anymore, anyway. You always warm me up nicely, lass.”

She laughed, softly. “As it happens, I might know of a way to cure your restlessness, too.”

He turned upon his pillow to face her. “Do you now?” he asked, with interest, in spite of himself.

“Oh, you’ve taught me many things…but I’ve some ideas of my own.”

He tried not to betray his anxiety about what her ideas might entail. The laird was a man who knew exactly what he liked when it came to sexual pleasure. He didn’t take suggestions. And yet, this girl—this surprising girl who had opened herself freely to his every depraved desire—made him wonder. “What ideas might those be, lass?”

He heard her swallow. Was she nervous? That made him even more curious.

“I—I have a gift for you,” she finally said.

“A gift?” he asked. “But it’s past Christmastide.”

And what a lean, grim, Christmas time it had been, too, with everything rationed in the castle and no goods coming in or out. His fault; all of it. Well, at least all of it that wasn’t the fault of the Donald and MacDonald clans who wanted to take the castle from him.

Heather didn’t seem to be worried about that. With a bit of mischief in her voice she said, “I couldn’t have given you
this
gift at Christmastide…or during the day. In truth, I’m a little frightened to give it to you now.”

He brushed a tendril of her dark hair away from her face, hoping to see her expression in the firelight, “Well, then, now I
must
know what it is.”

She rolled away from him before he could see her face clearly. Then she rummaged about over the side of the bed, returning to press a bundle wrapped in twine into his hands. “Should I light the candles for this?”

“I’d much prefer you didn’t,” she said, shyly lowering her violet gaze. “It’s a thing meant for the dark.”

Curiouser and curiouser…

The laird tore the twine with his teeth and cast aside the linen wrap, his fingers tracing along what seemed to be wood. In the dim light of the fire, he held up the mysterious object, which felt very much to him like… “A spoon?”

“It’s a stirrer,” she said, bashfully. “Or at least, t’was a stirring paddle.”

His whole body gave a start. A paddle. She’d given him a
paddle
. What a reckless lass to give a man like him such a gift. Surely she must know what he would want to do with such a thing! The laird’s prick hardened immediately. He was instantly aroused at the very thought of it, even though his emotions were a jumble.

In the dark, she rambled, “It’s—it’s badly scorched on one side and the cook said that it was ruined, so I swiped it before she could use it as firewood.” Heather took a deep breath. “But I didn’t ask her permission, so I s’pose I must be disciplined for it…”

The coquettish lilt to her voice was coming more naturally now than it did when he’d first seduced and debauched her. Truly, given all the ways in which he’d taken this girl’s body—even allowing his men to witness it—she ought to be as jaded as a brothel girl by now. But even this flirtatious suggestion, lewd as it was, carried a note of sweetness.

“Are you suggesting that I paddle you tonight?” he asked, his mouth going dry both with the temptation, and with the way both his heart and cock swelled with adoration. She knew how it excited him to dominate and discipline a woman. And she made herself obliging to those desires in every way. It filled him with even more tenderness toward her than it did desire. “I don’t want to hurt you, lass.”

“Yes, you
do
, my laird,” she said, daring to contradict him.

He kissed her very softly on the lips. “No. I want to give you pleasure.
Only
pleasure,” he said, trailing kisses down her beautiful neck. It was a lie, of course. That is not all he wanted to do to her. But at war within him were the tenderest feelings of protective love and the carnal desire to paddle her rump until it glowed red before taking her in every orifice and position possible.

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Torn Between Two Highlanders
!
I just love untamed and raw Highlanders who abide by their own rules, sexual and otherwise, don’t you? The next book in the
Sword and Thistle
series is
At the Laird’s Command
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LAUREL ADAMS
writes hot, dark, sexually transgressive tales. With her bite-sized serial stories, she likes to push boundaries and leave her readers tingling and titillated.

Historical Erotic Romance

THE HIGHLANDER’S HARLOT

(A Sword and Thistle Novella)

When her father is to be hanged by the laird, young Heather pleads for mercy. As a poor crofter’s daughter, Heather doesn’t have anything to offer the but her maidenhead—a payment Laird John Macrae is willing to take in exchange for her father’s life.

The laird intends to ruin her, to shame her father as punishment for his crimes. But when Heather returns to the castle to be debauched by the laird and his men, she finds that the laird is unexpectedly kind and protective.

Strangely reluctant to take what she’s offered, he warns that she won’t like the man he becomes in the bedchambers. But he’s awakened desires inside her that she never knew existed. Between lust and loyalty, Heather finds the courage to prove to the laird that whatever his darkest desires, she is the only woman who can fill them. And that his needs, no matter how depraved, can’t scare her away.