Page 25 of Highlander’s Torn Bride

Alexander bit his lip as he moved along her folds, slipping against her before, at last, he began to ease into her. She gasped, and he pressed his lips against her, absorbing each gasp and cry as he slowly eased himself deeper.

When he reached her barrier, she winced, for he had no wish to hurt her, even if it meant he was opening her up to an entire new world of pleasure that he hoped to bestow upon her. She seemed to sense it too, as her grip on his shoulders tightened.

Alexander pushed forward, pushing through the resistance as quick as he could with the hopes that it would make it easier for her.

“Ah!” she cried out, digging her fingers into his shoulder with such ferocity that he was sure she would leave a mark.

“I’m sorry,” he said, kissing her softly while he held still, letting her once again adjust around him. “It’ll never hurt again; I promise.”

Margaret nodded, her hands moving up to entangle in his hair and draw him back to her lips. As he kissed her, he pulled back, then went forward again, each movement painfully slow. Whenever he went back, he pressed himself a bit deeper than he had gone before, until, finally, he was fully sheathed within her and, to his delight, she let out a soft moan.

With that encouragement, Alexander began to quicken his pace, whispering, “Move with me.”

Margaret did, her hips responding to each of his thrusts with a perfect counter. Her hands moved along his chest before reaching his hips, grabbing him hard as if she intended to hold him inside her forever, her thumbs pressing into the tender skin above his groin and making him release a few moans of his own and thrust with a bit of extra fervor. It had never been like this before. It was as if she was made for him, and he for her, their bodies so perfectly responding to the other and their hands finding those places that the other needed touched at the exact right moment.

She threw her head back, and he could fill her starting to lose control beneath him. “Alexander,” she called out, her trembling becoming a hard massage against him as he moved.

It was all the more he could take. With a final groan, he thrust into her and released while Margaret gasped, all of her now shivering. Alexander collapsed himself onto her, hoping to feel each of her movements as she came down from her own release. When she seemed to be finished, he rolled off of her and onto his side, and she immediately curled herself against him.

He pulled his plaid around them though it now felt so warm in their small hiding place that he did not think she needed it. But he had to admit that he liked the feeling of her beside him, tied to him in the cocoon of his plaid. Within moments, her breath deepened, and he knew she was asleep.

Who the hell was Margaret Gunn?

It was a question that was becoming harder and harder for him to answer. Spoiled, independent, arrogant, insightful, sexy, and—

Not mine, he thought with a heavy gulp.

But that couldn’t be true, she was here beside him, wasn’t she? Someone had taken her, but she had come back. And, when she did, she had given herself to him.

There was no way that she hadn’t felt the same things that he had when they joined. There was no way that she hadn't realized that it had not been normal, but rather something far better.

People like them did not end up separated. They were the ones that were given songs.

Alexander told himself all of this while he pulled her close, desperately trying to believe it.

8

That morning, she had awoken in his arms just as the sun began to lighten the sky.

He had been staring at her, his thumb gently tracing along the edges of the bruise that had formed on her cheek. Margaret reached up to brush a bit of his hair from his face and, in the process, his eyes went to her arms, which were crossed with raw red marks from the ropes that had bound her. Alexander stared at them for a moment, with Margaret somehow finding herself unable to move. Then he slowly sat up and slipped out from under the plaid, saying something about how he had to go relieve himself, and she felt the swift and immediate cold of his absence in more ways than one.

She dressed quickly, feeling slightly embarrassed as she kept finding more bruises and marks on her skin from the previous day’s adventures. Some, like the ones on her arms and legs, she knew were from Gavin and his men. Others, like a soft round mark on her chest, made her blush. Those were Alexander’s work.

When Alexander returned, he wrapped his plaid around her to protect her modesty and led her by the hand out the forest. It took them surprisingly little time to find the caravan, which had parked itself on the edge of the forest only a couple of miles away, though Alexander explained that Jonah would have known of the rock and thought to park the caravan near it.

Ann rushed out to meet her, tears in her eyes as she begged for forgiveness for not seeing the deception sooner. Margaret patted her head, whispering her forgiveness, though she also insisted that there were none to give. When she finally released a sniffling Ann, Alexander had left her side.

“What is it?” Ann asked, and Margaret could only shake her head.

With their laird and lady back, the men of the camp began to make a hearty breakfast with porridge and milk purchased from a farm nearby. Ann watched over the cookfire, lashing out at any who attempted to influence the seasoning or stir the pot without her consent. Margaret sat and watched this, her eyes occasionally flicking over to Alexander, where he sat talking with Jonah.

“There had to have been at least thirty,” he said.

“Really?” Jonah asked. “Unusually large force for outlaws.”

“Aye. The lass said that their intention was to try and separate us, though,” he stopped, his eyes darting up to meet hers, “she didna ken the reason.”

Margaret winced and looked away, ashamed of herself. Alexander must have known that she had hidden the better part of the truth from him. Lying, as much as it was becoming a habit, was not a strong suit.