Page 13 of Dorchad

His voice dropped to a softer, huskier depth that had nothing to do with being cold or threatening. Did anyone know he could sound like this? It made her knees go wobbly. Did he even realize how sexy he was no matter how he spoke?

Rebecca reached back to grip the edge of what was pressing into her buttocks, and discovered he’d backed her into a wooden panel with shelves that had been carved with different recesses. For a moment she imagined him lifting her onto the lower shelf and stepping between her thighs to come into her, which made her pussy grow instantly, shockingly wet.

Stop. You’re not reading an erotic novel. This is actually happening to you. Act the way you want him to treat you.

“Even you admit you’re not a bad man, Chieftain.” She lifted her chin to level her eyes with his, which had gone so dark they seemed endless, like the night sky. “You helped me when I was in trouble, and you cared enough to bring me into the castle for my protection. That’s why I won’t listen to anyone talk garbage about you.”

“Do you wish to provoke me? For we’re alone now.” Dorchad’s eyes glittered with heat, not coldness, and he grabbed her under the arms and lifted her until she was sitting on the shelf, just as she’d imagined. He then stretched her arms up, pushing her wrists into two recesses above her head. Moving between her thighs, he kept her pinned there with his weight. “I could do anything I wish to you here, and none shall come to see or stop me.”

“I know,” she whispered, too mesmerized to move. It was as if he’d looked into her mind and was about to carry out all of her fantasies.

“You dinnae.” He leaned in, pressing the front of his trousers against her crotch as he put his mouth next to her ear. “Imagine me stripping and binding you and facking you here and now. Dragging you naked to my chamber after, and shackling you to the foot of my bed. Nightly I’d use your pretty mouth to stroke my cock until you must swallow my cream over and again.” He reached down and slid up the skirt of her gown to mid-thigh. You’d never again wear so much as a shift over your soft, pretty body. You’d exist only to pleasure me.”

The warmth of his breath made her insides melt. So that’s why I exist.

“You’ve come to my world. Females live at the pleasure and mercy of males, even more so here among the MacRune.” As he spoke the soft velvet of his lips grazed her earlobe. “We decide what to make of you, wench.”

When he drew back Rebecca forgot to breathe. Although he was trying to scare her, he didn’t know that she fantasized about being just such a woman in just such a world. Submitting absolutely and entirely to a lover, exactly as he’d described, had been her dream. He was also speaking about his fantasies, she was sure of it. Should she tell him about hers? No, it was too soon. Would he even understand her anyway? Dark excitement streaked through her, piercing the fear of exposing herself to a stranger—except she knew this man.

She knew Chieftain Dorchad MacRune because she’d been dreaming of someone like him since she had discovered herself and what she wanted.

“Is that what you want?” Rebecca asked, just to be sure. “To make me yours?”

He stared down at her for so long she thought he might just carry out his threats. His eyes narrowed as he breathed in, and moved just enough to rub the erect ridge of his cock against her damp panties.

He’s going to have sex with me right here, right now, Rebecca thought, aghast and almost ready to climax. And I’m going to let him do it.

Dorchad pulled her wrists free and yanked her off the shelf before backing away from her.

“You’re crazed.” With that he turned on his heel and strode out.

“Jeekehs.” Her knees finally gave out, and she dropped to the floor. “I think you’re right.”

Fifer MacAlen stood on the battlements of his stronghold, Dun Maor, and let the cold breeze wash over him. Sunlight loved him silently, adding golden glints to his red hair, and gilding his pale skin with a ruddy glow. He lifted his face to drink in the light, closing his eyes as he listened to the forest.

Your duty awaits. Why do you linger doing naught?

As laird of the MacAlen Clan he carried endless responsibilities, none of which he could shirk. He ruled over hundreds of clansmen, vassals and tenants who in return brought him all their grievances for him to judge. Local merchants and traders came to him to secure deals, not only for their own goods but those produced by the clan. Then there was his most crucial task, assigned to him by the king, to watch over this region of the highlands and those who might take advantage of the villagers and crofters who dwelled here.

Most days his obligations numbered more than he could count; lately they’d grown onerous and weighty as well.

Sometimes he imagined abandoning this life, and leaving the clan in the hands of his second so he might return to the small seaside village where he had been born. No one there would expect him to rule over them. He could build a cottage and go back to work in the brine pits making salt. He might even meet someone he could love with all his true heart, as he had once in his boyhood.

Only I cannae as long as those iniquitous bastarts remain in the highlands.

He opened his eyes to look out at the dark smear of the island in the center of Loch Caillte. Ever since the MacRune Clan had come to the highlands and built their castle, he and his clan had been watching them. Their king had commanded the MacAlen remain vigilant, for no one knew these dark, angry men, or what they might do to the surrounding villagers and crofters. Thus far they had been unfriendly and aloof but evidently peaceful, seeming to wish only to be left alone. They had never once given the king cause to order the MacAlen to go to war with them.

Fifer wished rather than knew that fragile, unsteady peace would continue.

Everything that he’d believed had changed when the dark Fae queen had paid a visit to Tair MacRune. The watchers and witnesses to the event had claimed they had engaged in some manner of parlay, although none had been close enough to overhear what the immortal monarch had wanted of the MacRune. Now it seemed the renegade clan might leave their island at any moment to carry out some mission, perhaps on behalf of the monstrous monarch, with the MacAlen the only force that might stop them.

“My lord.” Ivor, the clan’s war master, came to stand beside him, his unbound black hair blowing about his long, narrow face. Restless and ever alert to any kind of worry, he barely slept these days. “Any sign of trouble?”

“No’ yet.” He always had to choose his words carefully, else he alarm the rest of the clan. “The MacRune, they’ve no’ left their stronghold for a full moon now. I reckon we should recall our watchers from the loch blinds.”

“Leave them at their posts a little longer, my lord,” Ivor suggested. “From the reports last night, ’twould seem another rift formed briefly and dropped another female from the sky to the waters near the island.”

“A second woman?” When his war master nodded Fifer dragged a hand through his hair. “Did someone recover her body?”