Scottish Highlands, 1740
“Someone is going to pay dearly for this!” Margaret hollered as she struggled to lift her head, fighting the tension in her neck and shoulders. The rope that bound her wrists to opposing elm trees was still firmly in place, chafing her skin whenever she tried to move. At least I’m still alive.
It was a bloody miracle too. She’d put up a good fight, but she proved no match for the three brigands who’d jumped her on the road from Bare Brook. They’d come from behind and surrounded her, dumped her from her horse and dragged her into the thick of the woods. Her captors had been less than gentle about it as they’d tied and gagged her, leaving what were sure to be nasty bruises on her arms and legs as they tried to subdue her. One finally had enough—he threatened in Gaelic to cut off her extremities and leave them for the wolves. Another had heartily agreed.
Deciding false compliance would get her further than being dead, she’d ceased fighting. All she could do was send a silent prayer heavenward and bide her time, knowing they’d have to turn their backs at some point. She’d get the bonds to loosen just the slightest bit, and then she’d slip away. Unfortunately, the heathen who’d tied her had the skills of a sailor, and the blasted knots weren’t going to move. She hadn’t anticipated the bandits leaving of their own volition, either, and they’d taken her best horse with them.
Bloody, bloody bastards!
She wanted to spit, but the sweaty strip of cloth tied around her mouth stopped her from doing so. So help her, when she got loose she’d find those rotten blackguards and…
Birds in a nearby tree halted their chattering, and an eerie silence fell over the woods. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she scanned the area with wide eyes, wondering where the danger would come from and in what form.
She didn’t wonder for long.
Daylight’s last rays glinted off the steel of a claymore as it emerged from beneath a canopy of branches. Her eyes followed the length of it from the tip to the ornate hilt. It bore a striking resemblance to one she’d seen before, but it couldn’t be. Fate wouldn’t be so cruel.
Margaret could taste the bitter irony as Alexander MacKay appeared in the small clearing in front of her, brandishing his weapon with the agility of a true Highland warrior. The sight of her brother’s closest friend should have been a relief, but she’d been at odds with Alexander for far too long.
A knavish smile danced upon his lips as he drew closer, a hint of merriment shining in his azure eyes. “Ye dunna look much like a wood nymph, Miss Margaret,” he teased in his thick Scottish brogue. “Are ye out for a leisurely stroll?”
His long brown hair swayed in the slight breeze, freed from the leather tie that usually held it back. With a good day’s growth of whiskers and his six-foot-four frame, Alexander was nothing short of intimidating.
Where had he been half an hour ago when those bloody cretins dragged her out in the middle of nowhere?
“Geh mm ungha hrrr!” Margaret demanded, the cloth gag garbling her words.
Alexander’s grin grew wider. “Well, now, I’m thinking I like this arrangement,” he murmured, raising her chin with two fingers. “I canna hear ye blatherin’ this way.”
She hauled her foot back to kick him, but he deftly skirted away.
“Och! If that’s the way ye like to play, Miss Margaret, I guess ye have no need of my help.” Alex slid his claymore in the scabbard strapped to his back and turned to leave.
Surely he was bluffing. Granted, he was walking purposefully toward the direction from which he’d come, but he was just trying to get her goat. The Mighty Highlander wanted to make the English Wench beg, was all. She’d bet her horse—if she still had it—he wouldn’t make it as far as the edge of the woods before he turned around.
He didn’t stop. The tyrannical, egotistical swine disappeared behind a cluster of birch trees.
She blinked incredulously. What was she to do now? As loath as she was to admit it, he was the only chance she’d have of getting free. How he’d stumbled upon her was anyone’s guess; they weren’t in the middle of Hyde Park, for heaven’s sake. Her options were limited.
Swallowing her pride, Margaret hollered to him.
Silence.
She screamed again and stomped her feet, carrying on in an unladylike fashion. It didn’t matter what he thought of her antics, or even what he required in the form of payment, as long as he came back and got her out of those damn restraints. Every muscle in her arms, shoulders and neck screamed at her.
Still nothing but silence.
Margaret closed her eyes and let her chin drop to her chest. She’d done it now. Knowing Alex, he was probably on his way to tell her brother where to find her. Once her parents were informed she didn’t stay the week with her friend, Fiona, being tied to trees would seem the kinder option.
The minutes that passed felt like hours as she contemplated her fate. Her father would have her hide for lying to him. And when he found out she’d been traveling alone and lost her horse… Well, suffice it to say the outcome was just too painful to contemplate.
A large, warm hand patted her bottom and Margaret’s heart lodged in her throat. She readied herself to kick at the person who’d caught her unaware, praying she could fight him off. When she whipped her head to the side, a broad, muscular chest consumed most of the view. Her heart didn’t slow when she realized it was Alexander. His shirt was opened partway down his chest, and she allowed herself a moment to admire him.
What a shame he’s such a blackguard.
“It’s only me, lass. I hid my horse, in case they come back.”
How did you know there was more than one? She wanted to ask, but the gag made it impossible.
“I suppose if I’m to ask just what the hell ye were doing at Bare Brook, I’ll be needin’ to remove the gag, no?”
Margaret nodded.
Without much effort, he removed the offending cloth. She immediately spit to get the wretched taste out of her mouth, then exercised her tongue. God Almighty, her jaw hurt. “Bloody Hell!”
Alex waved a finger at her in jest. “Tsk, lass. If ye see fit to spit such filthy words out of that mouth, I’ll have a mind to find another occupation for it, just to shut ye up.”
Margaret stared at him, his insinuation invading her mind like an old enemy returning to settle a score. He never discovered her little secret. He had no idea the intimate acts she’d watched him perform with Fiona, or the jealousy that rose within her every time his thick cock disappeared inside her friend. He never knew because the arrogant lout was too busy chasing every loose skirt in the countryside to notice how Margaret had felt about him then.
And she couldn’t forgive him for it.
“Will you untie me already?” Margaret bit out, wishing she had a more cooperative savior.
Alex withdrew his sword, and for a heartbeat she wondered if he planned to skewer her with it. She closed her eyes tightly as he swung the mighty blade and sliced the rope binding her to one tree. There was nary a pause before he delivered the same fate to the fastening on the other side, freeing her at last.
Margaret cringed, her muscles balking at the sudden necessity to move on their own. It was difficult to choose whether she wanted to thank him or curse him for her release.
“All better, lass?”
She untied the knots and let the rope drop to the ground. Rubbing her sore wrists, she spared a moment to glower at him. “Never better.”
He circled her, assessing for himself. “Now that yer hands are free to talk with, why were ye at Bare Brook? And by yerself, no less?”
“I was out for a ride,” she answered simply, making sure her hands didn’t move about as they usually did.
Alexander eyed her speculatively. “Out for a ride, hmm?”
Margaret nodded, but didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she focused on the marks on her wrists.
“What kind of a ride are we referring to, Miss Margaret? The kind where ye straddle a horse, or the kind where ye straddle yerself over a man’s cockstand?” He looked around the small clearing. “I’m no’ seeing a horse, lass. I’m tempted to think it the latter.”
Margaret’s jaw dropped. “I can’t believe you’d even infer such a thing! And for your information, Mr. MacKay, I arrived on horseback—but those scoundrels took my mare. I’m guilty of nothing.”
“Och! You don’t expect me to believe that, do ye, lass?” Alex shook his head. “There are but two activities for a woman at Bare Brook—to have a man bury himself in yer warm, sweet pussy, or watch while someone else does. Are ye telling me ye went to watch?”
The heat spread in her cheeks like a brush fire. “What kind of lady do you think I am?” she questioned, forgetting to keep her hands still. “I can’t believe you’d think so little of me. Why would I want to watch? Besides, I don’t even know what goes on at the brook. How would I know such a thing?”
She bit her lip as she realized she was babbling. And with her hands too.
The gleam crept back into his eyes. “Well, now. If I remember correctly, ye ramble on when yer lying…which makes that an unwitting confession.”
Margaret lifted her head defiantly. He didn’t need to know she’d lost her courage along the way and turned back. Let him think she went. “If I went to Bare Brook to participate in the…er, activities, it isn’t any of your business, now, is it?”
His eyes darkened, and though she’d thought herself adept at reading his moods, this one eluded her. Alex crossed his arms and studied her—a thorough head-to-toe perusal. Margaret wasn’t sure if he expected further confession or was assessing her worth. Either way, his intense scrutiny made her uncomfortably wet.
Alex opened his mouth to say something, paused and closed it again. With an almost imperceptible groan, he reached out and traced the cross hanging from the chain around her neck. “Bare Brook is far from a holy place, Miss Margaret.” His gaze followed his finger as it trailed farther down her chest, stopping at the hollow between her breasts. Of their own volition, her nipples hardened in expectancy.
Alex retreated as if burned, his blue eyes blinking away the shock. Had he not anticipated a response? A woman would have to be dead not to react to his touch, and Margaret felt very much alive.
The aching he left in his wake was more than enough proof.
Alex cursed himself. Why did he grow harder than stone every time Maggie Fraser was near? She was a bonnie lass, of course, but far too feisty for his liking. The girl couldn’t hold her tongue to save her life.
But she could hold certain parts of him any old day.
He shook his head to clear it. It would do him no good to favor the girl—she’d kill him in his sleep. Margaret never hid her contempt for him, and for the life of him, he had no idea what he’d done to earn her wrath. He’d met her just two years prior when her father was forced to move back to Scotland, bringing his English wife and their children with him. She’d seemed friendly enough at first, but it wasn’t long before she started going out of her way to nettle him.
For just a moment, he wondered if he did the right thing by untying her.
“Well, I’m not accomplishing a thing by standing here, am I?” Margaret yammered. “If I’m to make it to the brook by nightfall, I’d best start walking.”
Alex crossed his arms. “Ye’re not going, lass.”
“Oh really, Mr. MacKay?” she challenged. “And just how do you plan to stop me?”
He leaned forward, just inches from her tempting lips. The thought of her traipsing off to Bare Brook to fuck some other man didn’t sit well with him, and he’d be damned if he let her go. “By abducting ye.”
Before she could open her mouth to protest, Alex scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder. With added effort, he trudged through the thick growth of trees and delivered Margaret to his horse.
“I am not going anywhere with you. Put…me…down!” she hollered.
Alex chuckled. “If I set ye down, woman, I’ll see ye to your knees where ye can better serve me.”
“You wouldn’t…”
He swung her onto the horse’s back, following her in short order. “Is that a challenge, lass?”
Alex had expected a blistering retort, but Margaret was quiet. Too quiet. Sometimes it was best not to know what a woman was thinking. Was she so appalled by the thought she couldn’t form a retort? Or was she curious what it would be like to indulge in his fantasy? God, the thought of her sweet little mouth wrapped around his rod made him crazy.
Best not to think of it.
With a good deal of squirming, he settled them on the stallion’s back. Her pert bottom pressed against his crotch, bouncing relentlessly against him as they started down the road.
“You will not take me home,” Margaret informed him with conviction.
That wasn’t the direction in which they were headed, but he didn’t point that out. “Why’s that, lass?”
“They’re not expecting me until next week. I can’t bloody well show up now!”
With her body so warm and inviting against the front of him, it was all he could do to focus on what she was saying. “Afraid of what your da will say, hmm?”
“My father will have my hide if he finds out I lied to him.”
If I don’t have it first. “I’m sure his temper’s no’ as bad as that, Maggie.”
“Ha! You have no idea what he’s like.”
“Tell me, then.” Alex silently cursed as she shifted in his lap, causing the wool of his kilt to rub against his shaft.
“For lying, I’d be whipped. For being found anywhere near Bare Brook, I’d be locked in my chamber until he could marry me off to some old codger with a wilted willy.”
Alex was all too aware of her breasts, his hand resting just below them to hold her steady. A mere shift in position and he’d be cupping one. Was it worth the slap he’d get? Nonchalantly, he moved his hand a little closer. “He’s whipped ye before, I take it.”
Margaret nodded. “You can’t take me back. I won’t go.”
Under the pretense of shifting his weight, Alex allowed his hand to rest at the underside of her uncorseted breast. He was pleased she didn’t protest. “Where should I leave ye, then?” he asked, though he had no intention of abandoning her.
“I’m certain I can find my way from here,” she replied, her muscles tensing beneath his arm. “You needn’t worry about me.”
Alex shook his head and casually stroked the underside of her luscious bosom. “Have ye forgotten about the bandits already, lass?”
“I…I have not forgotten, MacKay, but surely they’re long gone.”
“That may be,” he began as his fingers inched upward, “but how many others are waiting to catch ye alone?”
Was it his imagination, or was she pressing herself against his hand? He raised his thumb, gently flicking her nipple as he did so. Her back arched like a bow, but she gave no indication she was distressed by his boldness.
“Are you one of the ‘others’ wishing to catch me alone, MacKay?” she queried softly.
A smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “Perhaps. Does that trouble ye, lass?”
She released her breath on a sigh. “I’d rather take my chances with a rogue than face my father, thank you.”
He should’ve been insulted, but there was no sense in refuting the truth. He let his finger drop back over her nipple, evoking a quiver. “Ye will have to face yer da eventually.” With one finger, he began making lazy circles around the hardened bud. The hitch in her breathing was almost imperceptible as she leaned back against his chest, the sweet scent of rose water surrounding him. “He will want the truth, lass.”
It took a moment for her to answer. “I shan’t tell him everything.”
Alex continued to tease the nipple, wishing she was facing him so he could suckle there. “Do ye know how I’d react if ye lied to me, Maggie?”
“No,” she whispered, sounding pleasantly distracted.
He bent forward, taking the opportunity to nibble her ear before he spoke. “I’d take ye to yer chamber, ye ken?”
She nodded, the smooth skin of her cheek rubbing against his whiskers.
Alex pinched her nipple playfully. “I’d make ye bare yer arse to me, and I’d bend ye over that great bed of yers.”
Margaret’s words were barely audible above her breathing. “And…and then?”
“And then,” he said softly, “I’d take my bare hand and bring it down hard against yer arse, reminding ye what a naughty girl ye are for lyin’ to me. I’d spank ye ’til ye promised never to lie to me again.”
Her breathing was becoming ragged. “Is that…all?”
“Och, no, lassie,” he whispered. “That’s just the beginning.”
He wasn’t sure if she was aware of it, but she was grinding against him. “Tell me the rest,” she implored.
“Since ye’d no’ be able to lay comfortably for a spell, I’d be forced to fuck ye from behind, like an animal.”
“You…you would?”
“Aye. Slowly at first, teasing yer tight, wet pussy until ye begged me to thrust faster and deeper.”
“Alex,” she murmured, and he knew she was on the verge of climax.
“Aye, lass.” He abandoned her breast and slid his hand past her belly to cup her mound. Through the fabric of her skirt, he rubbed her clit in a relentless rhythm. Her body grew taut, fighting the inevitable conclusion. “Come for me, Maggie.”
Mere seconds later, she shuddered in his grip with the force of her orgasm. She clutched his thighs with her hands, her nails biting into his skin as she rode the wave of pleasure.
Aye, he wanted to take her just like that.
Clinging to him to prevent her balance from leaving with her dignity, Maggie righted herself on the horse. This was the first petit mort she’d had by another’s hand, and it was Alexander MacKay, of all people. How mortifying! Not once did she protest his wicked caresses or the naughty descriptions of things he could do to her.
It was true she’d gone to Bare Brook to observe others performing various carnal acts for gratification, wanting to learn the nuances of giving and taking pleasure. There was no better place to learn of such things, Fiona had said. It was easy to hide in the foliage behind the banks and watch to your heart’s content, and there was never a lack of entertainment.
With less than a week before the Duke of Westingham’s arrival, she had no time to lose. In the corner of London ballrooms, she’d heard many a whisper regarding the duke’s penchant for virgins. To her benefit, Margaret still possessed what he wanted most. When he reached the Highlands, she would use the knowledge gained at the brook to strike a bargain with him—her maidenhead, ripe for the plucking, in exchange for her uncle’s freedom. If she didn’t succeed, the eldest of her father’s kin was going to claim the family’s lands and sell it to a very unscrupulous Englishman.
Margaret wouldn’t allow that to happen.
The long ride to the brook had given her plenty of time to think. And rethink. Though she would move forward with her plan to seduce the duke, she was no longer certain being alone at the brook was a wise idea. No more than a stone’s throw away from the crossroad, she decided to err on the side of caution and turn back. It was only moments later when she was forcefully dismounted from her horse and hauled into the woods.
Rubbing a sore spot on her leg, Margaret now ruminated about what could’ve happened to her if Alex hadn’t come along. She was fortunate the men who’d stolen her mare weren’t looking for a maidenhead as well. She wouldn’t have had a chance against three of them. As it was, it had taken an interminable amount of time for her fear to turn into anger. And it was better that Alex had stumbled upon her and not some rowdy, half-abated pervert from down the road.
Margaret closed her eyes. Yes, it could’ve been far worse.
Her embarrassment was momentarily forgotten as an earlier question recurred to her. “Alex, why were you in the woods? And with your sword drawn?”
He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I was afraid for ye, lass.”
“Afraid? For me? Why would you think I was in danger?”
She felt him stir behind her. “I passed three lads on the road, and one of them held the reins to yer horse.”
“How did you know she was mine?”
“The blanket on her back was from yer bed.”
Startled by the revelation he’d recognized something from her chamber, she wanted to ask about it—and yet she didn’t want to know. Margaret prayed he hadn’t been on her bed with Fiona… She’d have to burn everything in the room to erase the image.
Alex continued. “I commented on the fine piece of horseflesh and asked where they’d procured the animal. One said it was his brother’s, another said he won it at the brook.”
“Idiots! Couldn’t they at least get their story straight?” Her anger was quickly returning as she thought about her horse being stolen right out from under her by a roving band of imbeciles.
“I knew something was amiss, so I continued in the direction from which they’d come.” His warm hand left the sanctuary of her belly to swat away a fly. Much to her relief, he returned it in short order, hauling her a bit closer to him in the process. “There were swirls in the dirt where they circled ye, and marks in the grass where they’d dragged ye off the road.”
There was a pause, and she swore he shuddered before recounting the rest of the story.
“Despite our differences, Margaret, I was verra relieved to see ye unharmed.”
In regards to any tender feelings he may have for her, she realized this was as close to a confession as she was likely to get.
Pity it wasn’t nearly enough.
Alex cringed at how maudlin he’d sounded, but there was naught he could do about it now. He had been worried about her. There were any number of malicious acts committed in this part of Scotland, and it wasn’t often the victim lived to tell about it.
Maybe the cross she wore around her neck had protected her.
Well, it certainly hadn’t discouraged him in the least. He’d made a quick transition from rescuer to heathen and, he admitted, it didn’t bother him as much as it should have. The beautiful lady sitting between his legs was the daughter of a man he revered, and the sister of his closest friend. He was playing with fire, and he should care.
But with Margaret close enough that he could smell her scent and touch her amber locks, he was tempted to throw all caution to the wind.
Alex mentally shook himself. This wasn’t the time to be distracted by Miss Margaret Fraser. He was on a mission to enlist the help of one of his clansman, and needed to find him quickly. He had no more than a week to prepare for the arrival of his enemy. And once the duke crossed into the Highlands, the bastard’s head was his.
* * * * *
The nearly full moon had chased the sun away, leaving a cloudless twilight sky above them. Alex veered onto a path through the woods, bringing them into a small clearing. “We’ll stay here for the night. Tomorrow we’ll decide what to do with ye, hmm?”
He dismounted from the stallion and held his arms out to Maggie. Despite her independent nature, her sore muscles welcomed the assistance. They must’ve ridden for two hours—and that was in addition to all the riding she’d done since the wee hours of morning. Between that and the beating she’d received by the band of heathens, she felt as if she’d been run over by a stagecoach and a whole team of horses.
When her feet touched the hard earth below, she let out a groan.
“What? What is it, lass?”
Maggie shook her head. “I’m a little sore, but I’ll be fine.”
In the moonlight, she saw him raise an eyebrow. “Sore? I dinna think I hurt ye…did I? When I carried ye, I mean.”
“Nay, it wasn’t you. My body isn’t used to being abducted, is all.” As an afterthought, she added, “Twice in one day, no less.”
Alex murmured something under his breath as he turned away.
Maggie wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. She was conversing with her latest “abductor” as if they’d always been friends, not to mention the fact that he’d brought her to orgasm by his hand. And the fact she hadn’t put up a struggle or uttered a word in protest was the icing on the cake. That would be a fine one for the gossipmongers of London! And to think, just a short time ago their whispers would have mattered to her.
So much had changed since their family moved to Scotland. At first, she’d been angry and bitter. Who in their right mind would move from London to the Scottish Highlands? It wasn’t until they arrived that she and her brother were informed of their uncle’s incarceration, and their help was needed. Though she understood her father’s reasons for moving them, it took time to get acclimated to the Highlands. Once she’d made several close friends, she realized it wasn’t so terrible. And a day with Fiona was more entertainment than she’d see in London all week.
Alexander MacKay knew that better than anyone.