Page 13 of Claimed by the Clan Chief

He jerked forward, crunching on the leaves. He had to go to her, tell her he would hold her tight. He would claim her, love her, make her his in every sense of the word. Dear Lord, he’d have her screaming his name every damn night for the rest of her life if that was what she wanted.

She stilled when noise he’d created reached her.

Her eyes widened and she drew up her legs, hiding her cunny.

The atmosphere changed instantly. The wanton abandon evaporated and in its place fear spun around.

“Who’s there?” She stood, grabbing the handkerchief she’d been previously clutching. “Show yourself.”

There was dread in her voice. Her slim shoulders were hunched and the outline of her bare breasts just visible through the thin material of her nightgown.

“Who is it?” She spun around, staring into the darkness. Her gown stuck against the damp orbs of her pert buttocks.

McTavish froze and remained as hidden as possible. He was glad the light of the moon didn’t reach his hiding place.

“For the love of the black goddess,” she muttered, reaching for a cloak and slinging it around her shoulders.

McTavish watched on as she blew out her candles, gathered her basket then rushed from the clearing. She passed within twelve feet of him, but didn’t pause. Didn’t see him. Instead she carried on running until he could no longer hear the sound her bare feet made on the woodland path.

He blew out a breath then stepped into the clearing. The grass was flattened where she’d squirmed, thrashed, moaned, and pleasured herself. A few pink petals lay by the rotting trunk as though they were the remnants of her climax. His nose filled with the scent of flowers and spice, cloves maybe? And he could smell her too—the sweet, honeyed tones of womanhood.

“You’re a captivating one,” he said, running the sole of his boot over the compressed grass. “But you’d fair captivated me before this spell was ever cast.” He chuckled then again adjusted his sporran. His cock was fully erect and getting uncomfortable beneath his kilt.

Reaching down, he pulled up the material and took the length of his shaft in his hand. He moaned at the sensation of his cool palm around the hot flesh. “Oh, dear Lord.”

There was only one thing for it. If he had any chance of getting back to the castle in comfort he’d have to sort himself out the way Isla just had.

“In the name of the king,” he muttered. When the heck had he last needed to masturbate? It had been years, surely. Yet this vixen had him tied up in knots, and was making him behave like a damn teen again.

He began to stroke himself, clenching his buttocks as he did so. It wouldn’t be long. He was so aroused, so hard. She did that to him, this beautiful lass who was so much more than a mere maid.

What will it be like when we’re together for real? Naked, sweating, pounding against each other.

The image in his head dragged a groan from his throat. He sped up, working his cock harder. There was no preamble. He was on a set course. He needed to come and release some of the pressure in his cock and balls.

Within minutes he was nearly there. Sweat caught on his forehead. The sound of friction on flesh filled his ears, competing with his wild pulse. He gritted his teeth and stared down at the tip of his glans as it appeared from his fist with each rapid movement.

And then it was there. He held his breath, chest fully expanded, and gave in to the pleasure of release. Cum shot from the tip of his cock, dragging ecstasy with it.

“Ah, Isla…” He screwed his eyes shut and tipped his head to the moon. “Let this be a spell I’ve cast upon you, to make you mine. To have your total and absolute soul-consuming surrender.”

He was breathing fast as two more thick ropes of semen landed on the grass where Isla had been lying. He wished she was still there, watching him, kneeling with her mouth open, taking him, taking his seed on her lips, her tongue, her face.

Another groan caught in his chest and bubbled upward. He let it go, float into the night. He was in love. There was no doubt about it. Never before had he felt this way. It was a combination of protectiveness, fascination, obsession, and lust.

“Iwillhave you,” he murmured. “And sooner rather than later, and I will have you forever, Miss Isla Dunoon.”

He stepped back, opened his eyes, and let his kilt fall into place. Although his cock felt better, he was still needy. Until he came inside the lass who’d stolen his heart, he wouldn’t truly rest. It was a damn shame he had to leave for Edinburgh so soon, but perhaps there’d be a chance at Kendal’s wedding, the next day, to have a few minutes alone with her, and explain his intentions.

God, he wanted her. And he would have her.

He slept well, his time in the forest seeming to finally persuade his body to rest.

When he woke to the sound of the castle preparing for a wedding, he stretched, naked, and looked out of the window. Beneath him the courtyard was a flurry of activity. Guests arriving along with yet more casks of ale. Horses were being brushed and fed and a carriage polished.

He sighed and reached for his kilt, pulled it on. He had other things to do but had assured the laird he’d be delighted to attend the wedding and delay his trip to Edinburgh. Which suited him—he wanted to see Isla, get her alone too.

He scrubbed his hand over his stubbled jawline then threw a log on the fire. A chip of wood flew out and flicked against his bare chest. He wiped it away and noticed again that the wound on the front curve of his shoulder was inflamed. Damn the foolish Red Coat who’d thought McTavish could be captured and taken south as a prisoner—a Red Coat who’d paid for his foolishness with his life.

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