The Highlander's Harlot (Sword and Thistle Book 1) (9 page)

For Ian’s benefit, he asked, “And do you think you’ll be curled up and weeping tomorrow, lass?”

“Only if you don’t do this to me all over again,” I replied, kissing him back.
 

He chuckled, kissed both of my hands, and nuzzled against my cheek. Then eyed Ian, whose eyes smoldered from across the room. And I wondered if he would have me next. I even dared to hope, for a moment, that they might both have me together. The laird noticed, and held me tighter. “You want her. I know you do. But just like this clan, she’s mine.”

Ian glowered. “So is that what this is about? You want to rub my face in everything you have that I want and can’t have?”

My laird pulled the blanket over him and leaned on one elbow, his expression taking on one of sympathy for his cousin. “I want you to know what kind of man you’ve given your fealty to, Ian.”

“I know you,” Ian said. “Known you since we were bairns together.”

“And we were friends then, weren’t we?” my laird said, and for the first time, I realized how much it pained him to have lost that friendship. “I’m a hard man, with faults. With strange urges, yes. But I’m still the lad who was your friend. I’m not a rapist or an abuser of women—at least not the way you think I am. If you still think so, after what you’ve seen tonight, then I release you from your oath, and you may leave the castle freely.”

Ian seethed. “You’ve got a war band coming from the Donalds and you need every sword you can get! Even a half-crippled one, still bleeding from a wound.”

“I know,” the laird said. “But I won’t force a man to fight for me who doesn’t want to anymore than I’d force a woman to my bed.”

“I fight for clan
Macrae
,” Ian said, his throat working. “Which means that I fight for the clan’s laird. And that’s you, you sick bastard.”

The words were harsh, but the sentiment in them was surprisingly tender. I’d never heard any man call another a sick bastard with such affection before. And Ian’s eyes misted over, as if he, too, had been pained by their long estrangement.

It was so tender a moment, I nearly forgot that I was naked on a bed beneath my laird, his sweat cooling on my body, my tenderest parts still pulsing with desire. He noticed, and kissed me again, this time, with something that felt like more than lust. And he kept kissing me, so tenderly, that Ian let out a little snort of impatience. “You want me to stay or go? You’re kissing her like you love her.”

“I do,” John Macrae said, staring down into my eyes. “She’s brave and beautiful in her rawness, and as willing to sacrifice as any of our swordsmen. So you might as well go, because I’ll be a while abed…”

No injured man ever fled a room faster than Ian Macrae, leaving us alone, leaving me reeling with the words I’d just heard. John Macrae loved me?
Love
. Like in the poem he’d helped me learn to read. A beautiful thing that whores weren’t supposed to have, but then, rules didn’t apply to the Macrae. He didn’t need me to say it; he knew I loved him too. I wouldn’t have surrendered to him this way if I hadn’t. But now he was bashful in light of his admission. “I know I said I’d share you, lass, but I’m not sated of you yet. And have this fear, in truth, that I never will be.”

“Nor will I be sated of you,” I said saucily, happy as I’d never been happy in my whole life.

Thank you for reading
The Highlander’s Harlot
!

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DISCLAIMER: The characters in this story engage in some risky behavior and make some questionable decisions; it should go without saying that this behavior is not to be encouraged in real life. But that’s the beauty of fiction; they can do this, and we can enjoy thinking about them doing it, without anyone getting hurt.
 

In the meantime, please enjoy the following excerpt from a more modern tale of lordly possession,
Claimed by the Crown Prince!

CLAIMED BY THE CROWN PRINCE

Laurel Adams

~~~

Nicole first heard about the prince’s harem in
Scandal Sheet
, the rumor-mongering magazine she’d been hired to take photos for. Given the rag’s reputation, she didn’t give the stories much credence until she saw it covered on a television talk show. The western media was fascinated by the harem of the party-boy crown prince of Qumari. How did he lure modern American women to his tiny island nation to become his plaything?

It helped that he was handsome, of course. Prince Bashir Al-Jazar was tall and dark, with a muscular physique that spoke of personal trainers. He’d been educated in the states, knew how to charm American women, and was catnip for the paparazzi.

What Nicole knew from the magazines was that it was the prince’s habit to offer the prettiest girls he met a six month vacation in Qumari. And when Nicole’s best friend Mandy met the crown prince’s in an LA nightclub, he made that same offer to her.

Mandy was beside herself with eagerness, but Nicole had protested, “What’s wrong with you? You do realize that he wants you for a sex toy!”

Mandy wouldn’t hear it. “And he can
have
me as a sex toy; he doesn’t have to pay me to take a trip to his island to do it. Prince Bashir’s eyes are like chocolate and his voice is even more delicious. If he’d wanted to fuck me, he could’ve done it right there in that night club. I’d have let him. But he just wanted to talk; he knows everyone and he’s interested in everything. Did you know that he was a pre-med student at USC?”

She sounded half in love with him already, and Nicole couldn’t talk her out of it. But when Mandy said that she’d be allowed to bring a guest, Nicole wasn’t about to go with her. “Mandy, even if this weren’t a crazy idea, I just got this new job with
Scandal Sheet
. I can’t just drop out of my life for six months, even for an all-expenses-paid vacation.”

“But we’re best friends. We do everything together!” Mandy had protested. And her last words before getting on the plane were, “You’re going to regret not coming with me to Qumari!”

When the letters came, describing how much fun Mandy was having on her trip, Nicole half-wondered if she’d been foolish not to go along. It’s not every day, after all, that a girl gets an offer to see an exotic part of the world and doesn’t have to pay a dime to get it. Mandy’s letters described lolling on the beach, meeting famous people, and only occasionally seeing the crown princes at a party or function. She said she was having the time of her life…

…but then the letters stopped.

Nicole went with Mandy’s family to the authorities, but once the police confirmed that Mandy was, in fact, alive and well, there was nothing else that could be done. Qumari was a foreign country, so they had no jurisdiction.
 

Nicole wished she could think of some way to help. Then it came to her. Anything having to do with the crown princes fascinated the media, so Nicole offered to go under cover for
Scandal Sheet
and give them the juiciest story she could find. Of course, they’d have to help her smuggle in a hidden camera and vouch for her safety.

The boss loved the idea, and it was surprisingly easy to arrange once she wrote a letter to Mandy saying that she’d like to come out and visit. Nicole was a pretty girl; prettier than Mandy even. She was long and leggy and all-American in a way she hoped the prince might find exotic. And when she received her invitation in the mail, delivered in an expensive carved-wood box, she found herself a little eager for the adventure.

Getting off the plane, she was greeted by polite, uniformed guards, who informed her that cameras were not allowed. Luckily, they didn't find hers where the magazine had secreted it in the handle of her purse. She was driven by limousine to a very luxurious mansion filled with women from all over the world. Thailand, Ethiopia, the Philippines…let it not be said that the prince did not have diverse tastes.

Some of them were rich, some of them were poor, but all of them seemed to be having a good time. Nicole asked to see Mandy, but was told that her friend was one of Prince Bashir’s favorites, and now stayed in the palace.
 

As for Nicole, she was allowed to spend her days doing anything she liked. She went to the beach to deepen her tan. She bought all manner of baubles with the money the prince’s gave her. She read books and talked with other women. The only real
rule
was that at night, every night, the women were required to make themselves pretty and go to a dance club where the prince partied with his guests.
 

Nicole wasn’t required to do anything there but dance and meet people, really. Which left her more than a little confused. The whole thing was less sinister than she had suspected and probably wouldn’t make for a very good expose. Instead, Nicole was enjoying exactly the sort of carefree vacation that Mandy had promised, and that she’d written about in her letters.
 

But why had the letters stopped?

“I haven’t even met the prince,” Nicole complained one night.

One of the other women explained, “Lots of ladies come to this island and leave without ever spending time with him. The parties and dance clubs are just a way to show off to his associates that he can buy and bring all sorts of women to his island. At the end of the night, he might choose a woman out of the crowd and take her off privately…”

Now
this
was what Nicole wanted to know. She leaned forward so far that her frosty drink almost spilled. “And?”

“Those women almost always return the next day stating that either nothing happened or that just a little kissing went on.”

“Just a little
kissing
?”

“The prince likes female company. He likes to talk and enjoy himself. He doesn’t need to force anything. I mean, look at him!”

Nicole had to admit, there was a certain magic about the prince here in his own country. The entire island treated him like the royalty he was, with escorts, and curtseys, and fluttering hearts. There was a thrill whenever she saw him from a distance. There was something about the stride of a man who knows he owns everything he sees. About a man whose guards are wary and a little fearful. About a man whose power is subtle but real. It was easy to be caught up in it, and Nicole started to fear that if the prince was to whisper the right words in her ear, even
she
might melt and succumb to his seduction.

It wasn't until the second week that she saw Mandy at one of the night clubs. Nicole was thrilled to see that her friend was, indeed, perfectly healthy. But Mandy was dressed differently. Slightly less self-consciously sexy than usual. Her clothes clung to her more tightly, and when she walked through the crowded nightclub, men casually put their hands on her and she let them.

“Mandy!” Nicole called, pushing through the crowd.

But the moment her friend saw her, Mandy blushed a deep scarlet, and turned to leave. This reaction wasn't what Nicole expected and so she followed Mandy out. But the prince’s guards stopped Nicole just as her friend stepped into the prince's car and was driven away.

That night, Nicole found a note under her pillow.

Leave
, it said.

Had Mandy left that note? If she had, Nicole wasn’t about to leave her friend in trouble. She was an American. She had a hidden camera. A whole magazine editorial staff was looking out for her. She was going to get to Mandy no matter what she had to do…

Read Claimed by the Crown Prince

LAUREL ADAMS
writes hot, dark, sexually transgressive tales of dubious consent. With her bite-sized serial stories, she likes to push boundaries and leave her readers tingling and titillated.

CLAIMED BY THE CROWN PRINCE

Prince Bashir is rich, good-looking, and has a penchant for luring young American women into his harem...

As a newly-hired photographer for an international gossip rag, Nicole bets she can make a fortune off any pictures she takes of Prince Bashir, who is he fascination of the western media. But when Nicole's friend falls under the spell of the party boy prince, Nicole warns against becoming his plaything. Her friend goes off to the tiny island nation anyway and stops sending letters home. Worried that something terrible has happened, Nicole sets out on a mission to save her friend only to be claimed by the prince himself!

Claimed by the Crown Prince