The Highlander's Mail Order Bride (Scottish Highlander Romance) Read online

  “That’s it…right fucking there…YESSSSS.” That orgasm made my body convulse and I looked like a fish out of water. My tongue was sticking out of my mouth and my mind was awash with these flashing lights that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

  “Elizabeth… I think this is yours… Damn it.” His cock was now giving in to that feeling and it didn’t matter if he wanted to hold back or not. I was going to make him a shell of a man and then I would build him back up from the ground up. I could not allow my brother to get the best of me and I was glad that Patrick was willing and able to put him in his place. It did make me relax and enjoy the sweet release of endorphins. His seed was scorching hot and I could feel every single stream, as he let himself go finally.

  “It is mine and you’re giving me the one thing that I can’t get anywhere else.” His chest hair was matted with moisture and he was now lying on top of me still joined together at the hip. His cock was still inside, not ready to leave the comfort of my womanly embrace. He fell in my arms and I soon felt his retreating member taking its final bow. It left me with a permanent reminder in my mind and in my body. He was breathing in my ear and I was enjoying the aftermath of the moment. Touching myself, I could feel remnants of his sauce clinging to my lips.

  He didn’t see me do it, but I wiped it clean and I savored the taste. I was always about the finer things and a fine wine is not something that I am a stranger to. This was better than that and if I could bottle this taste, I could probably make a fortune. Women from every village would come calling for just one bottle and would give anything to have it. It was an interesting thought, but not very realistic, when I began to think about it.

  “If you’re thinking that I’m sleeping, then you are wrong. I’m just gathering myself and getting my second wind.” This made me think that he had designs on doing it again. I wasn’t sure if I was up to that, but with a man like Patrick, I was going to have to be ready for just about anything. “I don’t think it’s going to take me very long to get back to fighting form. Elizabeth, most of your English chaps probably are lying on their side and snoring by now. They would think that they had done their job, but it was nothing compared to what the woman really wanted.” How he could know what a woman wanted was beyond me. He was a Neanderthal, a primal beast and I don’t think that I would have it any other way.

  He did make good on that promise and his flag did once again lay claim to the inside of my thighs. He gave it 100% and by the time the light of day was upon us, I was completely exhausted and in no shape to do anything, but lie there. “I don’t even have the words to describe what I’m feeling, Patrick. You were able to go all night and I thought that I was going to pass out from sheer pleasure. I didn’t, because I didn’t want to make you think that you had the upper hand.” He cupped my face in his hand and brought his lips down for one more lingering kiss.

  “You were insatiable and if that is what I get every night, then you can be assured that this is where I will be. I could barely keep up with you. You say that I was the one that was uncontrollable, but I’m not sure that I can believe you.” Our bodies showed the effect of what we had done together and there were marks on his body. I had scratched him and there were marks on my body where he had scratched me. This was a relationship that was built on a give and go.

  I did get pregnant and I did have his baby and two years later, I returned back to England a changed woman. I found my brother to be cowering away from me. Whatever Patrick had done to keep him in line was doing that and a whole lot more. He was nothing like the domineering young man that I remembered. I soon found that this was not where I want to be and I walked away and went back to Patrick.

  I thought that he would be surprised, but he only opened his arms and welcomed me back into the family. My son Conner was sleeping soundly and I still couldn’t believe that I had actually considered abandoning him. He was my life and Patrick was my heart and there was no way that I was going to walk away from what made me who I was today.

  “I knew that you would be back. I also knew, Elizabeth that you needed to do that to get it out of your system. There was a moment there that I thought you were going to stay away. I hope you know that you’re the best thing in my life.” We stood there on our land watching Conner play.

  I touched my belly to inform him without saying any words that there was another one on the way.

  THE END

  Please enjoy this free collection as a gift for reading!

  Surrendering to the Scotts

  A Scottish and Medieval Romance Collection

  By: Midnight Moon Publishing

  Stolen by a Highlander

  Chapter One

  “Fetch me my ale!” Angus hollered, slamming his thick fist on the solid wooden table. Freya scurried into the kitchen to fetch her husband’s tankard, her long red hair flowing behind her. “Idiot woman!” Angus’s voice followed her.

  “I’m sorry, husband, I did not expect you to return quite so soon.” She looked down at the ground as she answered him timidly. Angus lifted his eyes up to her and a scarlet rage spread in to his cheeks.

  “Whoring yerself to the village, eh?” As he spoke spittle collected in his beard. Freya looked down to the hard stone ground, not daring to look up, and shook her head.

  “No, husband.”

  “Dare you argue with the man of this house?!” Freya shook her head again, silently. “Fetch me my meal before I flog you, woman!” Freya nodded quickly and hurried back to the kitchen.

  Life in the small stone hut was little to write home about for Freya. At fourteen, the beautiful porcelain skinned redhead had been married off to Angus for a minimal dowry, something that Angus would forever resent. In the end however, the choice to marry Freya had been his own. He found her long red hair and her soft complexion irresistible. He had been more than happy at the time to accept her parent’s minimal pittance to secure the child bride.

  Then, six years into their marriage, when Freya’s face had begun to show the signs of being a browbeaten blacksmith’s wife, Angus had become increasingly dissatisfied. He longed for the pearlescent skin of her earlier years and he loudly protested her parents’ frugal dowry whenever he got the chance.

  Over the years Angus had made sure that his own dissatisfaction with his young bride became that of his village as well. As a well-respected blacksmith there was little that Freya could do to fight the rumors that Angus frequently began in his drunken ramblings. Freya could not walk through the street without hearing whispers of her own infidelity.

  The truth was, however, that it was Angus who was the infidel. Freya could hardly understand how anyone would think that she would dare dishonor a man like Angus. If only they could see the sheer power of his anger, she thought, perhaps they would understand. Instead the village chose to turn a blind eye to the drunken blacksmith. Nothing was said when he ripped the corsets of young serving wenches at the tavern. Rather, laughter would ensue.

  For Freya though, there was nothing as devastating as watching her husband publicly humiliate her with his drunken debauchery. Many a night she would weep in their bed as she heard Angus return from the tavern with another young woman in tow. She would listen as he took her over their kitchen table and the very next morning she would be forced to serve breakfast to them both on that very same table.

  “Here you are, husband.” Freya lay the plate of mutton and bread on the table in front of him and waited with bated breath as he examined the plate.

  “Ernn,” Angus grunted in satisfaction and picking up his spoon and a chunk of bread, he began shoveling food sloppily into his mouth. Freya smiled, happy to see her husband contented and relieved to be out of the spotlight.

  Fetching her own smaller plate, Freya sat across from Angus at the table and delicately spooned a piece of mutton into her mouth.

  “You eat too much!” Angus grunted, small chunks of food flying from his mouth. Freya nodded and pushed her plate away from her despite the hollowness in her belly. �
�Give me that!” Angus grabbed for her plate and pulled it towards him, scraping its contents onto his own. “You think I work so that you can waste food?”

  Freya shook her head. “Forgive me husband.”

  Her eyes cast down to the cold stone floor as she listened to Angus greedily eating her supper as well.

  Freya’s life before Angus had been simple. Her diet had consisted of vegetables and bread. Meat was rarely affordable for her overburdened family. As one of nine daughters, Freya was always destined to be married off to anyone who would take her, in order to lighten the load at home. She had always imagined that it would be a handsome man who chose her though, a man with love in his heart and a gentleness about him. Every day as she tended her family’s small tract of land, she would fantasize about her husband-to-be whisking her off to a romantic castle in the hills. She would titter with her sisters as they shared stories of the qualities that they hoped their husbands would share.

  Then had come Angus. He was a well-paid man, the only blacksmith in the village, and Freya’s parents were happy to marry her to him. Freya had been hesitant. He certainly didn’t resemble the husband she had imagined. Angus was six feet tall. His red beard was bushy and matched the color of his long, curled hair. Freya’s father was eager that they should marry however, and one week after their meeting it was done. Freya had secured herself a future with a well-paid man and her family was happy to let her go.

  “You will come with me to the tavern!” Angus pushed his plate across the table, the oily juice of the mutton sloshing over its sides.

  Freya didn’t much want to go to the tavern; at least at home the ridicule from her husband was concealed from the public eye. She knew that if she declined Angus’s order the repercussions would be far worse than public humiliation, so she meekly nodded and stood to do as her husband commanded.

  The tavern was dark and filled with a stench of ale and sweat. The walls echoed with drunken laughter. Freya didn’t much feel like laughing as Angus pulled her through the front door and pushed her in the direction of a table. She perched on the wooden bench as Angus pushed his way towards the barkeep.

  “Oy!” A gruff voice next to Freya grunted. She didn’t look up. “I said oy!”

  She dared lift her eyes. A bedraggled looking man with greasy black hair was staring at her closely. He licked his dry cracked lips loudly. “I bet I can guess what your pussy tastes like.”

  Freya felt her cheeks reddening as she looked quickly away. Never had she longed for Angus to return so much as she did at that moment. “Did you hear me?”

  The man leaned closer, his boil-covered nose almost touching her now. She flinched. “I said, I bet I can guess what your pussy tastes like.” He laughed lecherously. “I got this as says you’ll let me stick into you out there…” He slid a coin across the table and jerked his head to the side entry of the tavern.

  Freya gulped and turned away, her eyes desperately searching for Angus. “Oy!” The man’s voice was getting louder and Freya was beginning to fear for her own safety. He leaned in, his mouth pressing close to her ear. She could smell the sweat on his body and it made her stomach lurch. “Your husband says you’re a whore, so take the money whore, and let me stick it in ye.”

  Freya closed her eyes tightly and pressed her lips together, wishing the man would just go away.

  “Donald! Is the lady keeping you entertained?” Angus slammed a tankard of ale on the table, its contents spilling over. The greasy haired man looked up at Angus with a smile as he reached over and grabbed a strand of Freya’s hair between his fingers. He smiled, revealing just a few rotten teeth.

  “I was just trying my luck with your whore!” He laughed and then sniffed loudly. “Thinks she’s too good for me.”

  Angus laughed this time as he sat on the bench opposite Freya and Donald. “She’s too good for no one. Tell me, what was your offer?”

  Angus picked up his ale and took a deep gulp. Donald pushed the coin across the table towards him, and Angus picked it up and eyed it before fixing his blue-eyed gaze on Freya. Holding Freya’s frightened gaze for a moment, he then shifted his eyes back to Donald.

  “I wouldn’t sell you scrap for that!” Angus laughed and flicked the coin back at Donald. Donald sniffed again as he caught the coin and shoved it in to his pocket.

  “Ehh, a man can try.” Angus laughed again and nodded his head.

  “That he can.”

  Freya pulled her arms close to her body in an attempt to create some space between her and Donald. Donald saw her and moved closer, putting his hand on her upper thigh and squeezing it tightly. Freya looked up at Angus hopefully, but found his eyes locked instead on one of the tavern wenches.

  “You dirty wench!” Angus shouted as he grabbed the arm of a young dark-haired girl in a tight corset. She tumbled backwards and Angus pulled her in to his lap. She laughed loudly as she slapped at him playfully. “Oh, Angus!”

  Angus leaned in and kissed her neck roughly, rubbing his rough beard against her soft pale skin. “Angus stop! You’re such a beast!” He laughed as he let her go and she paused for a moment before jumping out of his lap.

  “You’d better watch out, next time I’ll have a surprise waiting for you!” Angus reached down and grabbed at his crotch with roaring laughter. The wench squealed and scurried off in to the crowded room. Angus continued to laugh breathlessly as he watched her go.

  Freya felt Donald’s hand sliding further up her thigh until he slid it between her legs and began to rub her. Angus caught a glimpse of the movement.

  “Wife!” he hollered so loudly that a silence fell over the tavern. “Wife, why do you let another man touch you where only your husband should?”

  Donald pulled his hand away quickly and Freya didn’t dare to look up. She knew that the entire room was staring, Angus had made sure of that. “Well?” He boomed. Freya shook her head. She didn’t dare accuse Donald of being in the wrong. She had learned long ago that it was far easier to take the blame than to try to deny it.

  “I am sorry, husband.” Her voice was timid as she dared let her eyes glance up to Angus’s face. His cheeks were red and his eyes stared at her intensely.

  “That’s what you get,” Donald sneered, “when you wed a girl like her. A loose woman.”

  Silence fell as Angus’s eyes shifted over to Donald. Freya thought for just a moment that perhaps Angus would defend her, that he might hit Donald to defend her honor. He laughed. He laughed such a loud and booming laugh that the rest of the tavern began to laugh as well. Soon the walls of the tavern were echoing with laughter again, only this time it was all directed at Freya.

  She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and she wanted nothing more than to run back to their home. In a split second, amid the uproarious laughter she found the courage to jump up from the bench. Shoving her way through the laughter she pushed against the tavern door and fell forward into the afternoon sun.

  When she arrived home she was breathless and her face was streaked with tears. Freya knew that when Angus returned home she would have to face the consequence of his public humiliation. For the time being however, she sat in front of the mirror calming herself as she combed her luxurious long red hair. Though tears still streaked down her face she watched herself in the mirror and smiled.

  “Someday he will learn to love you,” she said as she looked into her teary blue eyes.

  To Freya’s relief and heartbreak, when Angus returned home he was too engrossed in the serving wench he had brought with him to remember to punish Freya. Freya listened as he laughed drunkenly and the young girl laughed along with him. If only they knew, Freya thought. If only they could see what he was really like they wouldn’t laugh like that. She rolled over in bed and pulled the blanket up over her face. The thin material did little to muffle the noise though.

  “Now that is what a woman’s body should look like!” Angus roared from the kitchen. Freya knew that he was purposefully being louder than usual. “Come here
you wench!” She listened as the girl squealed while Angus grabbed at her the way he used to grab at Freya.

  Freya heard the thud of the girl being bent over the kitchen table and she squeezed her eyes closed. She tried to think of the days she had spent with her sisters instead, the days that they had imagined their perfect husbands. She tried to imagine being free.

  Chapter Two

  Freya had just opened her eyes when the first screams came through the small window in the bedroom. At first she was sure it was the sounds of Angus and his latest conquest rubbing more salt into her wounds as they frolicked in the street. When a series of screams followed however, she knew that she was wrong. The screams were not those of levity, rather those of terror.

  Quickly jumping out of bed, Freya threw open the door to the bedroom, searching for Angus. What she found instead was the front door of their cottage standing wide open and Angus and his wench both gone. They had left her all alone. Freya looked around frantically for something, anything to defend herself. She had heard screams like these only once before and she knew that she needed to arm herself and find somewhere to hide if she was to survive.

  Freya had been seven the last time that the Highlanders attacked the village. She remembered clinging to her sisters as they hid in the dirt cellar. The screams overhead were louder than anything she had ever heard before. She hadn’t forgotten them in all these years. For two days Freya and her sisters had hidden in that dirt cellar, too afraid to come out in case the Highlanders returned. Her father and mother had to bring them their food and water there and it was only when a neighbor visited that the girls could be coaxed out with the help of his small dog. Freya remembered asking her father how they had survived the attack and he had shrugged and told her that perhaps God had seen how little they already had, and had taken pity on them.