Highland Captive Read Free

nursemaids
as a bogey to scare their charges into obedience. Her laugh had an hysterical
note to it, however, so she abruptly stopped.
    Clutching
Leith whose breathing grew more terrifyingly rasping, she began a slow rocking
motion. It was vital that she retain her wits, but she feared that they were
beginning to slip. Being held captive in a damp, black hole that was far from
fresh of smell was hard to endure. To be kept there to watch her brother slowly
die was a torture beyond bearing. At this point, she mused, she would willingly
sell her soul to Satan to gain some care for Leith. As she began to pray for
the Black Parlan’s return, she wondered if she was doing just that.
     
    Catarine
Dunmore stretched very much like a contented cat. It had taken a lot of time
and work to get the Black Parlan into her bed but it had been worth it. He made
all her other lovers seem like fumbling boys or eunuchs. Watching him as he
stood staring out the window, she let her gaze greedily roam over his large,
muscular frame. She had him now and he would not slip away. A well-earned
confidence in her ability led her to believe that one night in her bed would be
enough to secure him.
    “Come
back to bed, Parlan,” she purred, licking her lips when he turned, giving her a
full view of his endowments.
    Eyes
so dark brown they were nearly black studied the woman on the bed with little
expression. Parlan did not like Catarine but could not deny that she had
serviced him very well indeed. There was, however, something repulsive about
her insatiable appetite. He cared less about the state of her emotions, but he
did not particularly care to be seen as little more than a well-proportioned
staff that happened to have a man attached. She could no doubt have done as
well with some inanimate object shaped appropriately.
    Inwardly,
he sighed as he moved toward the bed where she wantonly displayed her
indisputable charms. They did nothing for him now that his need had been
dulled. Noting the anger that settled upon her lovely face as he reached for
his clothes, he began to form his farewell. It had to be phrased carefully for
she was attached to his family. If he insulted her in any way, her anger would
be formidable and he did not want to be troubled with it. Her kin were anxious
to get her wed and that made her a little dangerous.
    As
he pulled on his trunk hose, he watched her sardonically. She would probably
accept an offer to leave his pintle behind, he mused bitterly. After her
avaricious attentions, the poor abused fellow would likely be useless for a few
days anyway. He smiled to himself at the track his thoughts had taken. Parlan
knew he could not really complain. He had succumbed to her invitation solely
because he wished use of the skill for which she was so well-noted.
    Even
six months ago he would have climbed back into her bed, ready for more. Lately,
however, he suffered from a malaise of dissatisfaction. Once his initial lust
was sated he lost interest in the woman. At but eight and twenty he felt sure
his virility was not waning. The problem was not how much he wanted but what he
wanted. It was plainly not to be found in the arms of Catarine Dunmore.
    “Ye
cannae mean to leave now. The night is still young.”
    “Aye,
but the dawn comes early and I begin the long trek back to Dubhglenn then,” he
murmured without glancing her way.
    “Ye
truly are leaving?” It was difficult but she managed to keep from screaming the
words in anger and frustration.
    “I
must. I have been gone near to a month and ‘tis folly to leave Artair in charge
for so long.” He frowned, caught up in thoughts of all his brother could do
wrong in his absence.
    “Surely
ye need not fear that he would try to usurp your place.”
    “Nay,
but he plays the role too seriously and with little thought. I have plans afoot
and I cannae risk his ruining them.”
    She
knew better than to ask what those plans were. Sitting up, she adjusted her
hair so that it did not