HIGHLAND PROMISE (THE SONS OF GREGOR MACLEOD)

Chapter Two

Darach wanted to kill the lass – or at least toss her in the loch and end his misery.

As weak as she'd been yesterday, today she wouldn't sit still, rubbing her soft ass against the vee of his thighs as she squirmed on the horse in front of him, craning to look at the view through a break in the trees, turning to talk to the others, reaching for the stallion they'd stolen from Fraser.

He was in a state of perpetual arousal, and it was apparent she was oblivious to it; unaware she excited him something fierce when she touched his thigh or leaned forward to whisper in his steed's ear. If they were alone, and if she were willing, he'd lift her skirts and plunge deep inside.

She wriggled again just as he imagined her soft, wet channel surrounding him, and his cock swelled so tight it was all he could do not to cry out.

Aye, he would tup her good and hard 'til she stopped squirming and moved her hips with his. Or maybe he'd spread her so wide, she couldn't move at all, just accept his hard length until she reached her peak and convulsed around him.

And she would. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name. Caitlin was a very curious woman and took pleasure in sensual things.

They'd camped last night beside a loch high in the mountains, taking a long loop back through the forest in hopes of confusing any trackers. The conflict would come, Darach longed for it to come, but for now he would take the time to see Caitlin safe.

She'd succumbed again to that unnatural sleep right after he'd given her his pledge, failing to wake even as they dismounted. He'd wrapped her in his extra plaid and laid her by the fire then settled close to her. When she called out his name in the night, flinging wide his plaid, he reached her immediately. Heat poured off her body, and her limbs trembled beneath her sweat-soaked dress. She looked around, unable to focus, her big, blue eyes glassy.

"Darach!"

"I'm here, lass."

"Darach!"

"Hush, Caitlin. I have you. You're going to be all right."

A strong smell issued from her body. A herb of some sort. He'd smelled it many times in the sick rooms after a battle.

Christ Almighty, not only had they hit her, they'd drugged her, too. The Devil help them if they'd raped her. He'd kill every one of them.

"We need to cool her. The fever is too hot," Lachlan said.

Lifting her gently, Darach hurried with her toward the loch. Removing neither his boots nor his plaid, he splashed into the icy water, then lowered her beneath the waves.

He'd taken off her shoes earlier but had left on her hose and arisaid for warmth. Now the wool dress was soaked. She'd need something dry in the morning when she recovered – and she would recover. He'd given her his oath to keep her safe.

Unfastening the brooch on her right breast, the pleats came loose. The garment floated away, leaving only her linen chemise. He removed her hose, gathered the plaid, and tossed them onto the shore. Gare and Brodie picked up the wet clothing.

"Hang them to dry by the fire and bring me another plaid." His men returned to camp leaving Lachlan on the narrow beach.

"Shall I join you, brother?" he asked.

"Nay, Lachlan. She's barely decent. She wouldnae want another man to see her like this."

The lines of her body showed through the garment that covered her. He distantly noted how wee she was, although she was long past the age of childhood. Maybe twenty, maybe younger. Her breasts were well formed with dark aureole and protruding nipples, her waist small, her hips rounded. Her woman's mound showed against the wet shift.