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“Ouch! It stings,” Dermid said as Tyra applied a salve to his cuts.
He was sitting on her bench in the longhouse, shirtless and casually dangling his legs over the side, just gazing at her as she used a soft cloth to dab the ointment under his ribcage.
“Lift your arm,” she said.
He did as requested, and Tyra worked on the abrasions across his ribs. She ducked under his arm and moved to his front.
“Your ribs are bruised. Whoever hit you had perfect aim.”
“Och, you should see the state he’s in. He is most likely dead now,” Dermid joked.
Tyra grinned. “Does it hurt when I press here?” she asked as she applied pressure with her palm to his rib.
“No, but it does hurt somewhere else.”
She raised her brow and asked, “Where?”
Dermid took her hand and placed it over his heart. “It hurts right here, my heart. It aches for you, Tyra,” he whispered.
Tyra pulled her hand away and rolled her eyes. “Dinnae play games Dermid. Tis serious.”
Dermid reached out to draw her nearer, so she was standing between his thighs; one arm was looped around her back. “I am serious, Tyra. Whenever I see you, I ache... in two places.”
“I dinnae want to ken the other place,” she said.
Changing tack, he said, “Well, in all seriousness, I do ache in the other places as well, which is why I came to see you.”
Tyra was skeptical. She tried to move out of his grasp, but he held her firm.
“Dermid, you need to let me go and cease this silliness.”
“What if I dinnae want to let you go?” He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “You’re a bonnie woman Tyra.”
Dermid tentatively leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “You’re the kind of lass a man marries and makes bairns with.” He kissed the area below her ear and pulled her even closer as he followed a trail of kisses lower.
Maybe it was because she had felt so rejected lately by Lachlan or because Dermid was easy on the eyes; Tyra was not sure why, but she did not push him away. It felt good being with a man who was not always angry with her. A man who desired her.
Tyra closed her eyes as Dermid pulled her even closer, and his hands began to roam. Tyra let him, but she felt torn between the need to be wanted and the sense that his touch felt wrong to her somehow.
Dermid whispered in her ear, “Come home with me, Tyra. I want you in my bed.”
She opened her eyes at the word ‘bed’ and realized she did not want that with Dermid or just any man. She quickly extricated herself and nudged him away.
“I’m sorry, Dermid, but I cannot do that.” She quickly changed the subject. “I dinnae need to apply a bandage to your ribs. They are tender, but time will rid them of the bruising. If that is all for today, then I think tis best you go,” she said, taking on her role as a healer again.
Dermid was silent, contemplating something. Then he said, “I desire you, Tyra, I always have, but I will not press my suit... until you are ready to welcome it.”
“I will not welcome it, Dermid, so unless there’s something else that ails you, I have much to do.”
Taking a different approach, Dermid said, “There is one more thing. I think my attacker might have kicked me in the pecker. My bawsack is really bruised, and I’m afraid nothing down there will work again. Could you see to just make sure it’s hale?”
Tyra gave him a skeptical look.
“I am in earnest. I am hoping my cock is not broken because I need my bollocks to sire bairns.”
Tyra folded her arms and kept staring at him, and Dermid did not flinch. His face remained stoic.
She sighed. “All right, I’ll have a look.”
Dermid slowly lowered his trews and lay back on the bench. “Tis just the groin area really that needs some attention.”
Tyra went straight into healer mode. Amelia had taught her how to administer to that area. She placed a cloth over it, providing a barrier for her hand, and then she applied pressure around the underside of his groin as she tried to feel for any lumps.
“Aye, right there, Tyra, that exact spot. Och, I feel it getting better already, lass.”
Tyra looked closely for any lesions. As soon as she touched his member, it swelled in her cloth-covered hand and rose to attention. “Och, Tyra, you’ve healed me; my cock works just fine!”
“Bloody guttersnipe! You tricked me.” Tyra scowled as Dermid burst out laughing.
At that moment, the door flew open, and Lachlan stood on the threshold. He glared at the sight before him. He roared, “Get away from her!” and then he lost his ever-loving mind.
“Lachlan!” Tyra screamed as he launched himself at Dermid.
Dermid tumbled off the bench and rolled head over naked arse on the floor as Lachlan followed with fists flying.
***
“I AM SORRY, TYRA.”
“Are you? Are you sorry? Look at what you’ve done to my cottage, Lachlan!” Tyra yelled.
Lachlan was standing in the middle of the longhouse surveying the carnage he had wrought fifteen minutes earlier. The bench was broken. Several pots and jars lay smashed on the floor. Their contents oozing on the ground. A partly broken chair was hanging from a rafter.
“I will clean it,” Lachlan said.
Tyra just shook her head. She was standing by the table mixing a salve for his cuts.
“And look at the sorry state of you. Your eye is swollen, you’re bleeding all over my floor, and you broke Dermid’s pecker!” she shouted the last five words.
Dermid was passed out on the table with a cold compress on his head and his groin.
Lachlan chortled, then stopped when Tyra gave him a death stare.
“What were you thinking tearing in here like Black Donald himself? I had just treated Dermid’s cuts.”
“It didnae look like his cuts you were treating,” Lachlan snorted.
Tyra stormed over to him. She was livid now. She stood on tiptoes and got right in his face pointing her finger at him. “You dinnae have the right to enter my cottage and attack my patrons!”
“You had your hand on his cock!” Lachlan growled.
“I’m a healer. I was treating an injury.”
Lachlan scoffed, “From what I saw, there was nothing wrong with that part of him.”
“You are the most stubborn man I have ever had the misfortune to meet. Tis, not your concern what I do with my patrons in my own cottage. You dinnae attack, anyone, while I am treating them,” she yelled.
Lachlan watched Tyra rant and scold at him, and for some reason, it just turned him on. She was a spit-fire when mad, and Lachlan wanted to haul her over his shoulder, throw her on the bed and silence her with passion. He smiled at the thought.
“What are you smirking at? You think this is funny?” She whacked his arm.
“Ouch, no, love,” he said, immediately wiping the smile from his face.
Tyra just shook her head again. “Find a chair you have not broken and sit down. I’ll see to your cuts as well.” Lachlan did as told. Tyra returned and applied a salve to Lachlan’s eye, then she saw to his knuckles. She was fuming the whole time.
Lachlan just gazed at her and memorized every aspect of her loveliness.
“You’re going to help me clean up this mess, then return Dermid to the Keep when I’ve tended to him.”
“Aye,” Lachlan said, and he reached across and pulled a loose tendril back, tucking it behind her ear.
Tyra ignored the pleasant sensation and refused to make eye contact with Lachlan again.
“Tyra.”
“What?” she snapped.
“From now on, I will be present if you need to treat a man’s pecker.”
“What are you on about now?” She looked up in confusion.
“You heard me. You will not touch any other man’s nether regions unless I am here with you to make sure he does not take any liberties.”
“You’re daft. I will do whatever I please, and you have no say in it.”
She tied off the bandage and ignored him.
“Tyra, look at me,” Lachlan growled.
She gave him her eyes.”
“Tonight, we are going to have a talk about the future.”
“I dinnae want to talk about anything with you,” she huffed.
“Tis about my wedding Tyra, and I need you to tell me what you think my bride would like on her wedding day. Sorcha said, you have to help me.” His gaze bore into hers.
“Fine,” she snapped. “We can talk tonight.”
“In the hall.”
“Very well in the hall.”
“I’ll hold you to it, lass.”
At that moment, Dermid groaned as he was coming around. Tyra moved to tend to him.
Lachlan grabbed her arm and pulled her back towards him.
“I mean it, if you’re not in the hall tonight, I will find you.”
She thought about Lachlan’s wedding, and her heart sank again. She had forgotten that the most infuriating man on the planet still had an effect on her.
For the first time ever, Tyra envied his bride.
***
“AMIE! YOU HAVE TO HELP me. I have made a muckle of a mess.”
The MacGregor women were in Sorcha’s private chambers, and she was pacing the floor.
“What have you done, Sorcha?”
“You ken the plan I had to force Tyra and Lachlan together?”
“Aye,” Amelia replied.
“Part of the plan was to pretend Lachlan was courting a woman in the village, I heard there was a lady from the village. She has recently arrived; I’ve never met her before. I did not even find out her name. Bram’s men said she was bonnie; the women said she was friendly—”
“Sorcha, will you be getting to the point anytime soon?” Zala asked.
“Right, well I thought there’d be no harm in getting them to invite her to the Keep just to add to the ruse.”
“Well, that sounds harmless,” Clarissa said.
“It is anything but... it’s so terrible, I cannot believe it.”
Amelia asked, “So, what happened?”
“It turns out, the woman I chose just happens to be ....”
“Happens to be what?” Clarissa asked.
“Heather O’Connell!”
Zala sat up straighter and shook her head. “No, tell me it’s not her?”
“Who’s she?” Clarissa asked.
“It’s Heather? The Heather?” Zala asked.
Sorcha nodded and looked as if she was on the verge of tears.
“Damn!” Zala said and started pacing the room alongside her.
“Who the bloody hell is Heather O’Connell?” Amelia raised her voice in exasperation.
“Heather is Lachlan’s, first love. The one who ran away with his best friend on the eve of their wedding day. He was heartbroken. Walked around moping about Glenorchy until Brodie made him a guardsman,” Zala said.
“Good lord,” Amelia said.
“What are the odds? You have the worst luck, Sorcha!” Clarissa said in disbelief.
“Aye, Sorcha, you do beat all,” Zala said.
“Tis easily fixed. You can just uninvite her,” Amelia said.
“That’s the problem, Amie. She’s already here, and she is excited to meet Lachlan. What if he falls for her again?”
Amelia said, “Dinnae fash. It does not matter. Heather is a married woman, and Lachlan would never court a married woman even if he still had feelings for her.”
“She’s widowed now,” Sorcha said.
“Oh shit,” Amelia said.
“I tried to warn Lachlan this morn, but he was in a hurry. He has no idea she is here, and now he will never be with Tyra, and I have ruined both of their lives.” With those words, Sorcha burst into tears.
Amelia was instantly by her side. “Sister, calm down. Tis not good for the bairn.”
“I ken it,” Sorcha said. “I cannot help it. I keep crying, and I feel so bad. Tis my fault for bringing that unfaithful wench here,” she said while sobbing.
“You are overwrought with emotion tis all. Sometimes bairns can do that.” Amelia hugged her and soothed her gently. She glanced at Zala and Clarissa and mouthed, “Say something!”
Zala said, “Sorcha, dinnae fash yourself, I will make sure Lachlan ends up with Tyra even if I have to throw Heather in a bog pit.”
“Or push her into the freezing river,” Clarissa said.
That had Sorcha giggling through sniffles.
“All will be well. Lachlan was heartbroken when Heather left him, but it was years ago now, and I’m sure if he saw her again, anger, not love, would be the only feeling,” Zala said in a gentle voice.
Sorcha nodded her head. “That gives me some hope. I am so blessed to have you all here with me.”
“That’s what sisters are for. Everything will turn out well in the end,” Amelia said with a determined look on her face.
***
SEVERAL MILES AWAY, in an Inn at Glencoe Village, a weary pilgrim stood bare-chested by the fireplace. He had scars along his back, remnants of a severe whipping. On his forearm, he bore a tattoo. A spike head war club crossed over a mace. It was an emblem of a religious order. He wore a drying cloth around his waist, having just bathed. As he drank his whiskey, he stared into the leaping flames of the fire.
“Will you be standing there all night? I’m sure you’ll find more pleasure over here.”
Thoughts of his mission foremost on his mind, he almost forgot about the sultry wench currently naked and spread eagle on his bed.
He placed the empty cup on the mantle, then slowly strode towards the bed. He gazed down at the buxom woman who lay there. Her thighs splayed wide open for him. The reddish hue of her woman’s heat was unmissable. Her pleasure button protruded from her nether lips and glistened with her arousal. He gazed at her hardened nipples and succulent breasts as he licked his lips and released the towel.
She gasped at the sight of him. Curiosity and arousal combined as she studied his erect manhood. Its tip was pierced with a silver ball, and two more silver bars pierced through the sides.
He stroked himself to full length as he gazed at her.
“It has been a long time, my darling. I trust there has been no one else since me.”
“Aye, my love, only you.”
“If you are lying, I will ken it,” he said.
He leaned over and captured a nipple in his mouth as he tongued the flesh. Her breathing became erratic. Then he moved his hand between her thighs and applied pressure against her button with his thumb.
She moaned and threw her head back.
“You are ready for me so soon?”
“Aye, I need you. You have been away too long.”
“Have you taken the herb? I do not want my seed to take root.”
She nodded.
“Good,” he said as he joined her on the bed and settled his hips between her thighs. He placed his length at her entrance, and with both hands, he held her wrists above her head, then he thrust inside her and groaned with pleasure.
She gasped at the invasion, and the exquisite feeling of his piercings brushing against her inner walls sent her into a flurry.
“Aye, that feels so good,” she moaned.
Anger flickered across his eyes as he increased his thrusts. Before, he wanted to make it pleasurable and take his time, but now he just sought release.
His strokes became more brutal and rougher as he pounded deep inside.
He opened his eyes and watched her breasts bounce with each thrust. He lowered his head and suckled the tips while she shuddered beneath him. Her channel tightened against his length, which confirmed his earlier suspicions.
It was then the pilgrim plundered her body with abandon. She moaned in pleasure, but he had already lost interest. This was no longer enjoyable for him, but his body needed the release because he had been celibate too long, so he forced himself to find it.
She found hers before him, and that triggered his own. When it came, it hit him hard, and he groaned as he released his seed. He thrust several times until he was empty but remained buried deep. His eyes now seared hers.
“My love?” she gasped, still coming down from her orgasm.
He put a hand across her throat and squeezed.
“You lied Liosa, there have been others since me.”
Her eyes bulged with fear at the truth of his words. She reached up, trying to pry his hand away as she tried to get air inside her lungs.
He simply watched her struggle. She tried to scratch him and kick, but he held her firm. Panic flickered with the realization that she was about to die. Her struggle became weaker. Her eyes began to flutter and roll upwards with the lack of oxygen.
“Dinnae lie to me again,” he growled into her ear. Then he pulled out and released her neck.
The pilgrim got out of the bed and walked over to where her delicate garments lay. Garments his liege bought for her. He heard her coughing and wheezing, trying to force air into her lungs. He did not care. He picked up her clothes and threw them at her.
“Leave before I kill you.”
Liosa nodded and flew off the bed, grabbing her things.
The pilgrim retrieved a wet cloth from his bucket and cleaned himself. He threw the material back in the water and strode naked towards the fire again.
He heard the sound of running footsteps as the door closed with Liosa’s hasty exit.
“Unfaithful bitch,” he muttered.
He poured himself another cup of whiskey and sipped it as he stared back into the flames. His disappointment at Liosa further proof that women could not be trusted, least of all the woman he sought.
Into the void of an empty room and the sound of the crackling fire, he said, “Miriam Ferguson, I am coming for you.”
***