The Highlander's Game
“On your knees, Lass. I'm afraid I cannot let you go anywhere.” Callum stood above Jocelin, holding the sword she'd brandished in a foolish attempt to threaten the laird's nephew Andrew.
Looking worse for wear, her dress muddied during her capture, Jocelin's mouth went dry, but not due to fear. The moisture left her mouth and cascaded down to the tight space between her legs. It was a sensation she'd not felt before and one she couldn't stop herself from enjoying.
Imprisoned for her feeble attempt to thwart the perverse advances of the laird's impish nephew, Jocelin awaited her sentencing, prepared to fight the injustice tooth and nail. Unlike the other young women in her small tight-knit village, she had the reputation of being bold and brash. That reputation did her no favors. She spent most of her days under the watchful eye of her brother, who made it his mission to keep her from sullying the family name any further.
“Lass, I will not tell you twice.” Callum's tone hinted at seduction, adding to Jocelin's minor unease.
“I will not get on my knees.”
Another man, far smaller in frame and with many more years on him, stepped forward, kicking dirt onto Jocelin's already soiled clothing. “Do as he says, wench!”
Quick to protest, Jocelin opened her mouth, only to take notice of the rugged, handsome Callum. From the top of his head to the broad shoulders and beyond to his muscled chest and arms, Jocelin was fixated on him, unable to respond to the older man's snide command.
Callum bent, offering her a firm hand. “To your feet.” Mesmerized by him and tingling from the warmth in his hands, Jocelin stood, abandoning all reason, her cheeks flushed as their eyes met.
“What will you do with me, sir?” She prayed that he wouldn't notice the trembling in her voice.
“Claim you, of course.” With that, Callum turned, leaving Jocelin and the smaller man standing face-to-face.
“But, sir...” Jocelin didn't know what to make of what he'd just said. She had no words left to speak. The tingling in her body heightened to levels that made her knees shake. Somehow, her worse nightmare had become something more and she wasn't quite sure whether or not to fear that something more or to crave it.
Calling behind him, Callum cried out, “Daniel, leave her!”
The smaller man studied her for a moment, eager to speak, but seemingly at a loss for words as well. Wanting to keep up the illusion, he spat in Jocelin's direction before turning on his heels to follow the stronger, much more handsome Callum.
The moments following that rather unusual encounter left Jocelin confused and intrigued. What had Callum meant? Was her life in danger? Surely, she would be punished. She'd accepted that possibility, but never expected that she could be claimed as if she were a possession and not a human being. Even in the midst of all the troubles that surrounded them with the former Polnoon Castle falling into decay at the hands of thieves and rogue bandits, Jocelin tended to believe that there were far more important issues to be dealt with than a young lass like herself.
Her only crime was brandishing a sword. It's not as if she'd used that sword on Andrew. As much as she would have liked to tear into his flesh, she wisely chose not to, knowing that she and her family would pay the price for such a grave mistake. Instead, she feigned prowess with the sword and was able to dissuade him from touching her inappropriately again. Now, she found herself in a cage, like a wild beast, awaiting her
“On your knees, Lass. I'm afraid I cannot let you go anywhere.” Callum stood above Jocelin, holding the sword she'd brandished in a foolish attempt to threaten the laird's nephew Andrew.
Looking worse for wear, her dress muddied during her capture, Jocelin's mouth went dry, but not due to fear. The moisture left her mouth and cascaded down to the tight space between her legs. It was a sensation she'd not felt before and one she couldn't stop herself from enjoying.
Imprisoned for her feeble attempt to thwart the perverse advances of the laird's impish nephew, Jocelin awaited her sentencing, prepared to fight the injustice tooth and nail. Unlike the other young women in her small tight-knit village, she had the reputation of being bold and brash. That reputation did her no favors. She spent most of her days under the watchful eye of her brother, who made it his mission to keep her from sullying the family name any further.
“Lass, I will not tell you twice.” Callum's tone hinted at seduction, adding to Jocelin's minor unease.
“I will not get on my knees.”
Another man, far smaller in frame and with many more years on him, stepped forward, kicking dirt onto Jocelin's already soiled clothing. “Do as he says, wench!”
Quick to protest, Jocelin opened her mouth, only to take notice of the rugged, handsome Callum. From the top of his head to the broad shoulders and beyond to his muscled chest and arms, Jocelin was fixated on him, unable to respond to the older man's snide command.
Callum bent, offering her a firm hand. “To your feet.” Mesmerized by him and tingling from the warmth in his hands, Jocelin stood, abandoning all reason, her cheeks flushed as their eyes met.
“What will you do with me, sir?” She prayed that he wouldn't notice the trembling in her voice.
“Claim you, of course.” With that, Callum turned, leaving Jocelin and the smaller man standing face-to-face.
“But, sir...” Jocelin didn't know what to make of what he'd just said. She had no words left to speak. The tingling in her body heightened to levels that made her knees shake. Somehow, her worse nightmare had become something more and she wasn't quite sure whether or not to fear that something more or to crave it.
Calling behind him, Callum cried out, “Daniel, leave her!”
The smaller man studied her for a moment, eager to speak, but seemingly at a loss for words as well. Wanting to keep up the illusion, he spat in Jocelin's direction before turning on his heels to follow the stronger, much more handsome Callum.
The moments following that rather unusual encounter left Jocelin confused and intrigued. What had Callum meant? Was her life in danger? Surely, she would be punished. She'd accepted that possibility, but never expected that she could be claimed as if she were a possession and not a human being. Even in the midst of all the troubles that surrounded them with the former Polnoon Castle falling into decay at the hands of thieves and rogue bandits, Jocelin tended to believe that there were far more important issues to be dealt with than a young lass like herself.
Her only crime was brandishing a sword. It's not as if she'd used that sword on Andrew. As much as she would have liked to tear into his flesh, she wisely chose not to, knowing that she and her family would pay the price for such a grave mistake. Instead, she feigned prowess with the sword and was able to dissuade him from touching her inappropriately again. Now, she found herself in a cage, like a wild beast, awaiting her
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