Lairds And Their Lassies: Taboo Scottish Historical Erotica Bundle Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  TEASER

  Copyright

  PART ONE HUNTED BY THE HIGHLANDER

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  PART TWO LUST OF THE LAIRD

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  PART THREE A TEST OF HER FAITH

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  HUNGRY FOR MORE?

  FREE PREVIEW OF ‘THE LAIRD’S NEW BRIDE'!

  LAIRDS AND LASSIES

  Bonnie Brand

  Copyright © 2015 Bonnie Brand. All rights reserved.

  Logo Image © photochatree, bigstockphoto.com.

  Cover Image ©Nattle, Bigstockphoto - Dejavu, Bigstockphoto, Romancephotos, Depositphotos

  TEASER

  FROM HUNTED BY THE HIGHLANDER

  But alas, I could not move an inch, and I was entirely at this brutish man’s disposal.

  ‘Take me, highlander,’ I whispered. ‘Take me here, against this tree.’

  The highlander’s hand started to squeeze my buttock, to squeeze it with all its might, until his fingers were pinching my flesh red raw, making me squeal in agony, begging him to stop hurting me… and then he stopped. ‘I have sworn an oath,’ said the highlander, finally. ‘I swore I’d return ye with yer maidenhood intact. I am here to protect ye, and to keep ye pure.’

  As he said those words, I felt his body pressing up against mine, the smooth, hard kilt pressing into my back, and something else, something smoother, and softer, pressed up against my buttocks, trying to push its way between them, like a snake trying to find a way into my sex.

  ‘Och, highlander!’ I cried out. ‘I don’t care about yer damn oath. Put yer snake inside me!’ I had never spoken such filthy words, and the words seemed to drive the highlander wild. He grabbed me harder, pulling my hair back and causing my head to yank back in pain, and then taking the trunk of the tree in both his hands and pushing himself against me. I felt the snake grow again, to almost twice the size, its bulbous tip pressing up against my soft pink pussy lips, so close to entering me, causing my thighs to tremble with anticipation and lust…

  FROM LUST OF THE LAIRD

  Suddenly, he pushed my arms round behind the trunk of the tree, and removed his belt. He tied my arms behind the tree, and I half feared that he was going to run and leave me here, within striking distance of my parents’ cottage. I could even see the cottage from here… I hoped my parents could not see me.

  ‘I have a problem, Jenny…’ said the Laird, stroking the hair away from my clavicle, taking a step away from me to take me in, chained to the tree like his prisoner. ‘I have an appetite that far exceeds that of other men.’

  He began to remove his blood-red hunting jacket, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on me. ‘And you make me hungrier than ever,’ he said, hanging his jacket on a nearby branch.

  ‘Why me?’ I asked, my breath catching fearfully at the back of my throat.

  ‘You are a wild creature,’ said the Laird, unbuttoning his shirt, ‘just like me.’ He threw his shirt to the floor, and reached out towards me, stroking my nightdress, his coarse, manly hands working their way up my inner thighs, closer and closer to my glistening sex.

  He was so close to me I could smell him, the animal lust of him.

  ‘I am going to take you, Jenny, and I am going to take you often,’ said the Laird, his fingers now on my bare pubis. I shivered at his touch. Suddenly, his fingers touched the outer lips of my delicate wee pussy, and I gasped. The Laird’s eyes widened, and he groaned. ‘You, my dearie, are the only one who can even begin to satiate me.’

  FROM A TEST OF HER FAITH

  ‘But doctor,’ I began.

  ‘There are no buts, dear, not unless ye have something to hide from me?’ said Mother Superior.

  ‘It’s not that,’ I said. But there was. I knew that deep inside me, the doctor’s touch had caused arousal. I’d never had a man’s hands on my body before, and the gentle but firm way he’d examined my arms and legs had made my wee erotic centre start to moisten with the dew of lust. I’d touched myself before, even though I know onanism is a sin. I’d played with my flower on a number of occasions, but only briefly, and I’d always left myself wanting more. Never had anyone seen the engorged state that my wee kitty got into when I thought of men, never had anyone touched me there.

  ‘Well?’ said Mother Superior.

  ‘No,’ I said, shame burning in my face, ‘I have nothing to hide.

  I took hold of the knotted ends of the cord which held my habit together, and pulled at them gently, unhooking the fabric from round my body. The doctor and Mother Superior watched me carefully, and I saw them feasting on my body with their eyes as I undressed. The material fell from me straight down onto the dirty floor of the room, the habit of which I’d been so proud just a few hours ago discarded and filthy on the ground. I stood in front of the only in my bloomers and brassiere, cold and vulnerable.

  This book may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the copyright holder. This story contains explicit content that is intended for adult audiences only. All characters involved in sexual situations are 18 years of age or older.

  PART ONE

  HUNTED BY THE HIGHLANDER

  Chapter 1

  I’ve always been more headstrong than my sisters. There’s Isobel, the eldest of us three lassies, who’s always been my father’s favourite. After my mother died in childbirth (while giving birth to me, as it happens: the youngest), Isobel stepped quickly into my mother’s place. She’s always stood by my father’s side, agreeing with everything he proposes, telling him what excellent ideas he has, how skilled he is in battle. She’s a real goody-goody, my eldest sister.

  And then there’s Rosemary, the lassie in the middle. She’s terrible at making decisions, and always opts to go for ‘whatever everyone else thinks is best’. She doesnae so much ‘sit on the fence’ as live on the blasted thing.

  And then there’s me: Kyra. Eighteen years auld, with eyes as dark as the night sky, and a temper as fiery as the pits of hell. I’m the young rogue, the one my father calls the ‘black sheep’. I know he loves me, and he wants the best for me, but I wish he’d let me make my own decisions sometimes.

  The main thing I want is freedom. Is that too much for a young woman to ask? I’d like the freedom to travel, freedom to acquire new skills, and freedom to marry (or not marry) whoever I wish.

  But father has other designs for me. My father thinks that just because he is the Laird of Argyll that he can tell me what I can and can’t do. I mean, really! Of all the rotten luck… I had to be born a Laird’s daughter! The daughter of a Laird is expected to be meek and bonny, existing only to be passive wee objects for the pleasures of men. We’re expected to get trapped at the top of castles, and rescued by highlanders in kilts. And we’re expected to marry ugly wee French men with moustaches and bad breath.

  My father says that my marriage to the Comte de Lyon is a match made in heaven. That finally it would allow the Scottish kingdom and the French to come together as one, to create peace between the two nations. He has already created peace between Scotland and Sweden, via my sister Isobel’s marriage to the disgusting Monsieur Prins Arnulf, and peace between Scotland and Germany, via Rosemary’s marriage to Herr Prinz Leopauld, who, t
hough quite handsome, is the cruellest and most foul-tempered man I have ever met.

  I sometimes think my father wishes he had some ten thousand daughters to spare, to marry off to each and every prince and count across the entire Seven Seas, thereby creating ‘peace’ between all men on earth.

  Except that ‘peace’, as my father calls it, comes at a price. How can one call it ‘peace’, when it involves so many unnatural marriages, joining men and women together who fight, who cheat, who lie and who despise one another? For me, marrying the Comte de Lyon would not mean peace at all. It would mean war.

  And that is why I have run away. I have packed a bag, with enough haggis and cheese to last me a fortnight, and I have ridden away on my trusty horse, Silver, to start a new life somewhere I can truly be myself, and truly be free.

  The only problem is, I have been riding for three days, and, as I sit here writing in my journal, wrapped in a shawl and shivering as the forest all around me turns to dusk, I am actually beginning, for the first time in my life, to grow rather afeart. To wonder if perhaps running away was in fact a rather foolish idea… for if I don’t find a way out of this forest soon, it will surely kill me… and I am too young, too bonny, and too full of adventure to die yet!

  Chapter 2

  Oh, journal! The most terrible things have happened to me since I last wrote here… and the most wonderful things too!

  I have been kidnapped! But let me not get ahead of myself. I have a tendency to do that ye know, but ye will forgive me, when ye see how exciting my current predicament is.

  After I finished writing my last journal entry, I sat beside my horse, Silver, who lay beside me, and we shivered as the night grew cold and still around us. Every so often, I would hear the crunch of leaves, or the flapping of wings, or the screech of a crow, and I could scare myself half senseless, thinking some murderer was on the loose, out to get me, or that a prowling wolf might find and kill me, ripping apart my bowels for his breakfast.

  Several hours after the sun had set, I was just beginning to rest my heavy eyes, when I heard the crack of a twig a furlong or so away, and then I heard the sound of footsteps. Animals’ footsteps. A big beastie. A giant beastie.

  The moon being only the faintest crescent that night, I could barely see around me, but I held my breath, and after some minutes during which my short, unhappy life flashed before my eyes, I saw a silhouette looming over me. A giant silhouette. And then… the silhouette spoke.

  ‘Lassie,’ said a gruff and unholy voice, atop a great mountain of a creature, which appeared something like a horse, only it was at least twice as tall as Silver. ‘I am under strict orders to take ye into my custody.’

  ‘Orders from who?’ I asked, trying to hide my trembling voice.

  ‘From the Laird of Argyll,’ said the voice, and a huge, hulking man jumped down from his horse then, standing over me, he lit a torch. I saw him then, his blood-red tartan kilt, his rough, dirty skin, his bugling muscles, and his face: rugged, arrogant, sharp. He had red hair and thick stubble upon his face, and I could see, in his eyes, that he had seen many battles. And, so far, he had won them all.

  ‘Who are ye?’ I asked impetuously, desperate to make it clear to this man that I was not his property to take hither and thither - that I was a noblewoman, and that I could go where I pleased.

  ‘My name is not important,’ said the man. ‘I am a highlander, and I am here to carry out yer father’s orders.’

  Before I even had the chance to protest, the terrible man lifted me onto his shoulders, and then, with one swift, muscular movement, I felt him heave me up atop his enormous horse, and then he jumped on it behind me, so that he was holding me tight between his sturdy legs, pushing me far up the saddle, so that the pommel rubbed painfully at the top of my thighs.

  Then, I felt something far more unsettling. I felt a thick, scratchy rope being tied quickly around my waist, so that the brute was tying me to him!

  ‘What on earth do ye think ye are doing?’ I cried.

  ‘Ye are my captive,’ he said, ‘until I return ye safely to the castle. We will find somewhere safe to rest soon, and then it should take one day and one night to get back from here.’

  ‘But I have been gone for days!’ I protested. ‘I am further away than that!’

  ‘Ye have been travelling in circles, lassie,’ replied the brute, patronisingly,. ‘It didnae take me long to hunt ye down.’ And with that, he rode off, leaving my poor Silver behind, sleeping on the forest floor, all alone, as I was taken off to my fate in the woods with this roguish stranger.

  Chapter 3

  I was so shocked and weary after the highlander found me, that amazingly, I fell into a deep, deep sleep. When I woke again, I was already back upon the horse, tied to the highlander, as I had been last night, as if I had never left the creature. And when I say ‘creature’, ye may rest assured I am referring to the man, rather than the horse, for this man was barely a man at all. He was more of an animal than the four-legged beast he rode upon!

  ‘Ye had better not have touched me in the night,’ I declared haughtily, as we rode forwards, still travelling through the endless forest.

  Behind me, the highlander laughed. ‘Ha! Ye really think I’m interested in touching the Laird’s property?’ he asked. ‘I am here to hunt ye down and deliver ye home safely, lassie, and that is all.’

  ‘No need to say it so rudely, ye brute,’ I responded, sick to the back teeth of this man, desperately trying to think up a hundred ways to break free of him.

  As the day wore on, it grew warmer, and the highlander barely stopped to rest. Once, he stopped to allow his horse to drink a wee water from the river.

  ‘What’s his name?’ I asked, looking at the fine chestnut stallion, thinking of my poor Silver despondently.

  The highlander, drinking from a flask, refuelling himself as well as his horse, ignored me. He wiped his mouth, skelped his lips together, and then pushed the flash to my mouth. ‘Drink this,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’ I spat rudely. ‘So I can keep myself alive, in order to marry some odious man and live a life of misery back at the castle?’

  The highlander pushed the flask between my lips. ‘It’s whiskey, ye fool. Drink it for pleasure.’

  My eyes widened at the feeling of the metal flask being forced between my lips, and now that I knew that it contained whiskey, I didn’t need much persuading. I took a grateful sip, and coughed, then instantly enjoyed the warm sensation that ran through my blood.

  The highlander took the flask away. ‘His name is Italy,’ he said, gesturing towards the horse.

  ‘Italy?’ I replied. ‘What sort of a name is that for a horse?’

  The highlander remained quiet for a moment. ‘I’ve heard stories from men who have travelled there. I’ve heard it is a bonny place, full of beautiful lassies and rich treasures.’

  I thought about this for a moment, feeling a sort of welling pressure building up in my chest. ‘So yer horse represents yer dreams and ambitions,’ I said quietly. ‘Ye have named yer transport after yer destination.’

  The highlander yanked the horse’s reins hard, clearing his throat with a gruff cough, and we rode on in silence. An hour or so later, as the midday sun began to beat down on us, I grew swelteringly hot in my thick, court frock. This one was embroidered with three rich layers of silk, followed by one of linen, and another two layers of some other glorious fabric besides. Being tied to this hot and heavy man wasn’t helping, and there was sweat (I’m not sure if it was mine or his) running down the nape of my neck, trickling down my back, making me fear for my own health.

  ‘I am too hot,’ I told the highlander, and he jerked the horse’s reins, making us come to an instant standstill.

  ‘Take off yer frock,’ ordered the highlander.

  ‘Not a chance!’ I snapped. ‘If ye could just stop grabbing me so tightly, maybe I wouldnae get so hot…’

  ‘Not a chance,’echoed the highlander
. ‘As long as we are in this forest, and as long as ye are under my charge, we are in great danger. I may need to protect ye. Take off yer dress.’

  ‘Ye are nothing but a brute…’ I tried to protest, though I knew it was pointless. The highlander was right. My father would be furious if the man in my charge lost hold of me simply because I complained of the heat. And he was right. He probably was protecting me. It would put both our lives in jeopardy. So I reached down to my waist, and began lifting the hem of my dress, but it got caught halfway up, due to the rope tied around me, fastening me to the highlander’s body. ‘I can’t seem to…’ I said.

  The highlander let go of the reins, and took hold of my dress. Then, in one swift movement, without even bothering to loosen the rope, or find a way to lift my dress over my head, he ripped my bonny golden gown, revealing my think, silk undergarment, a short and rather provocative dress underneath. I’m sure I saw his eyes waver upon my bare skin - my shoulders and the top of my chest, and my bare arms, which were completely revealed to him, just inches away from him, so easy to touch, should he want…