Lord of the Highlands

The thought sickened him. Will felt as though he was dying from the inside, and he’d not be surprised if, in the moment of their farewell, he were to breathe his last.



Fighting his misery, he wrapped his arms more tightly around her. Pulled her as snugly to him as he could, savoring the fit of her back against his belly, her ass pressed against his groin.



He supposed he could’ve found them a second horse, but he’d wanted to feel her close like this. Having her astride before him felt such a wickedly improper thing, with her skirts hiked up to afford illicit glimpses of calf and knee. He savored the shift of her shoulders on his chest and the soft give of her breasts against his arms. He fantasized that he was her second skin.



They headed downhill now, and Will leaned back to balance them. Pulled her back with him. They reached the bottom of the hill and he straightened, leaning forward into her, holding her even tighter, closer.



She made a small, pleased noise, and his hands gripped, pressed under her breasts.



“Will . . .” The breathlessness in her voice had him instantly rigid. “You know,” she began, shifting against him, “Will, this is giving me ideas.”



“Oh aye.” He was well acquainted with ideas. He’d been having them since the moment they’d first met. Waking dreams that plagued him, day after day. He felt like a damned schoolboy, stealing renegade glimpses of breast and hip. And now here she was, flesh and blood, pressed against him for the taking.



He cupped her breast, kneaded it, and felt a rush of blood in his head, the desire for her dizzying. The knowledge that he could just take her, have her, unmoored him.



“Lower,” she said, and he recognized that husky timbre in her voice. It was the sound of Felicity’s want, and his already hard body quickened even more in response. “Lower, Will.”



Could she really mean . . . ?



“I know you said we can’t stop.” Felicity took his hand, nudged it down. “But we don’t need to. Just touch me,” she told him softly.



There was a moan, and Will realized it must’ve been his own. He didn’t require any more urging from her, and brought his hand down. Nestling it between her legs, he damned her thick skirts that once again stood between him and her sweet flesh.



He was fully erect now, and the rub and tangle of his plaid irritated him. Yet again he’d be forced to ride his climax through the maddening chafe of wool.



“Wait,” she said, and he froze, stopping at once. He cursed himself for being a boor. Had she not wanted him to touch her so? Had he somehow misunderstood?



She took the reins, clumsily pulled the horse to a stop.



“What—?” he began.



But Felicity swung her leg over, settling herself sidesaddle, and the words froze in his throat. She twisted her body, anchoring herself on one of his shoulders.



“What,” he exclaimed, “what in God’s name are you—?”



She muttered curses under her breath, struggling and hiking at her skirts. With a violent tug, Felicity flipped her gown up. With a naughty giggle, she was clambering around to face him atop the horse.



“Good Lord, woman, I . . .”



She shoved his plaid up, and cool air hit him, a shock on his burning flesh. And then, God help him, she mounted him. Took him into her, and her wetness drew him deep, and God help him, it felt like where he belonged.



“Felicity, love.” Stroking up her back, his hands spanned the width of her, and he savored the feel of this strange, delicate creature in his arms. He caressed the silk of her hair, and kissed her cheeks and brow and lips. He couldn’t see enough of her, couldn’t taste enough of her. “You are too much.”



“Trot,” she said.



“What?”



“Trot, Will. Make the horse trot.”



“Och, no,” he managed. “You’ll kill us both.”



And he continued to kiss her instead, and though his body raged, he set aside a small sliver of his mind, concentrating on keeping her balanced over him, on keeping the horse calm below.



She laughed a husky little laugh he recognized, and Will knew he was in trouble. And then, as he suspected she might, Felicity kicked the horse herself. Her legs, these soft, smooth, pale legs of a woman, began kicking away, slamming her heels at the horse’s belly.



Will was their only connection to the horse now, and he held Felicity firmly, bearing her weight, his arms bracing her to him. His legs holding his seat steady.



Their horse was a docile creature, and he stepped into a reluctant walk. Still, Felicity’s heels slammed away, and Will grew even harder despite himself, the feel of her tight body writhing over him more than he could bear. She slammed her heels and the horse broke into a sluggish trot.



Will groaned, fighting to keep ahold of himself. His fingers gripped her soft flesh, and a distant part of himself worried he clung too hard. But she gasped her pleasure, tangling her fingers hard in his hair.



He was losing control. Needed to keep control. This was implausible, unimaginable.



“We must . . .” he began, and then realized he’d forgotten what he was going to say. It was as if a madness was overtaking him. He was deep in her, so deep.



She grew still, and he watched. Fascinated, reverent, he watched as her face grew flushed. Her eyelids flickered shut and her breathing hitched, halted. And then she shouted her climax.



“Will!” she cried, and it echoed through the valley. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew they needed to be careful.



“We must,” he began again, but was unable to speak, so instead put his fingers over her mouth to quiet her. He slowed the horse to a walk, and began to move in and out of her, in time to the gait of the horse.



Felicity bit his fingertip. She opened her eyes, catching and holding his gaze as she sucked his finger in and out of her mouth. Her tongue was rough, her cheek smooth, and Will fought his own climax as memories of his cock in her mouth jerked his body.



She was going to be the death of him. This gorgeous, shocking, unexpected gift would be the death of him, and he’d go a happy man.



Felicity sagged in his arms, her hips rocking in an exaggerated sway. Inhaling sharply, she ground against him, and he could tell she was winding up once more. He felt a rush of her wetness. Her body stilled, and he knew she was close.



He pulled his finger from her lips. He could wait no longer. Clamping his mouth over hers, he took her breath with a kiss as he shot himself into her, riding Felicity as she came in waves over him.



Chapter 28



They’d arrived at the Cameron clan’s Tor Castle. Laird Ewen Cameron was huge, with black hair and blue eyes and the chiseled look of a romance novel cover model. But it was the ginormous sword poking up from between his shoulders that currently held her attention.



“He’s not going to try and use that on Will, is he?” Felicity’s eyes shifted from the laird, to his wife, and back again.



“My husband likes to carry a big stick.”



“Uh-huh.” Felicity eyed Lily Cameron, noting the toddler’s pudgy hand held in hers, the baby on her hip, and poor thing, the belly ready to burst with her third. “I’ll say he does,” she blurted without thinking.



But instead of laughing, Lily narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. Even after Felicity turned away, she sensed the woman assessing her, could see her poufy white- blonde hair out of the corner of her eye.



“Och,” Will gave a good-natured growl, “I’ve known Ewen since he was a stripling. If he tries to move on me, he knows I’ll give him a sound thrashing.”



Ewen’s deep voice exploded into laughter. “Have a care, Rollo, or I’ll use your wee staff to skewer you and eat you for supper. Now come. We’ve much to discuss. Lily can show your woman around.”



His woman? A Neanderthal and his baby- machine wife. Great. Where the hell had Will taken her?



She gave Rollo her best please-don’t-abandon me look, but he just smiled in return, traipsing off with Ewen, and leaving her with the blonde and the two kids.



Felicity realized Lily was still watching her, light dancing in her eyes. What’s her deal?



The laird’s wife giggled and said, “My husband can be an acquired taste.”



Felicity could only stare dumbly. American accent? Recovering, she asked, “You’re not from around here, are you?”



“No.” Lily smiled at her. “And I could tell from the get-go that you’re definitely not either.” She hiked the baby higher up on her hip. The kid seemed huge already. If the size of the laird was any indication, the woman was going to need some serious chiropractics when all this baby making was done. “Now come on,” Lily said. “I’ll have one of the maids show you your room.”



“Uhh . . .” Oh goody, she thought. More household staff for her to be nervous around. More impenetrable accents and strange looks.



“Ah.” Lily gave her a quick nod. “Got it. Let me just drop the rug rats with Kat, and I’ll show you around myself.”



It was when Lily took extra time to carefully explain the finer points of castle plumbing that Felicity finally began to relax. Who’d have thought a castle would have such a cool little stone toilet? Once you got used to the freezing air blowing on your bum, that is.



By the time Lily dug up an old gown for her to borrow, the two of them were chatting as if they were old friends. “Seriously,” Lily said, pushing the gown into Felicity’s hands. She rubbed her belly, adding, “I’m not going to be fitting into any real clothes anytime soon.”



“Well, seriously,” Felicity mimicked the other woman’s word with a smile, “I don’t see how I’m going to fit into this either.” Smoothing the dress out on the bed, Felicity tucked at the bosom, creating imaginary darts. “If you haven’t noticed, you’ve got a lot more going on upstairs than I do.”



Lily giggled, then asked, “East Coast or West?”



“Excuse me?” Felicity spun, staring at the woman. Will had alluded to other women traveling back in time. Could this be one of them? “What did you just say?”