Lucan Munro, has the power of a Celtic god. He can conjure his heart’s desire from thin air. But can he save the woman he loves from a demon hell-bent on claiming her soul?
Neala Comyn, wife of a powerful laird, wants to end the pain and suffering of an abusive marriage. She is a woman without hope, believing God has forsaken her. When she is kidnapped by a rival laird who claims to be a god himself, her faith is further shaken. Could Lucan Munro be the salvation she has prayed for? Or will her sins condemn her to eternal damnation?
From his vantage spot he saw her tiny bare feet touch the floor next to the bed. He crawled backwards in the opposite direction. She rushed across to the table beneath the window and began an onslaught of such proportions, he wondered again where she found the strength. He opened his mouth to speak, but thinking better of it, clamped it shut again. She appeared completely without reason, lost in her heated rampage. Perhaps it was best to let her calm down on her own.
“Ye gorbellied,” she threw the box containing his seal, “toad-spotted,” then the ink vial, “malt worm!” ending with the empty food tray that crashed against the tub only a breath away from his head.
Lucan had had enough. He was laird of the mighty clan Munro. He was not about to let some slip of a lass make him cower in his own chamber. He rose from his hiding place wrapping the plaid around his waist as he did so. “Now see here -”
They both jumped when the door burst open. Lucan turned to see Evie standing at the threshold, her mouth open wide in surprise. “Get out,” he bellowed at her. The maid barely had the door closed before the clay pitcher Neala had been about to throw at him crashed against it, shattering to pieces.
He took the opportunity of her distraction to close the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around her, trapping hers against her body. She struggled like a cat who’d fallen into the burn, cussing and spitting insults at him that would rival the most battle-hardened soldier.
“Where did ye learn such language?” Lucan fought to control her, ignoring the effect her squirming against him was having on every inch of his body. He had not been with a woman since well before he had brought Neala here, and his cock responded eagerly to the pressure against it.
He fought the sensation, recognizing the debauchery in being aroused by a woman so obviously without her wits. He twisted away, clenching his thighs and trying to fill his mind with thoughts of his long-dead mother, the repairs that need to be done to the kitchens, his prized mare that was on the verge of birthing a new foal. Anything to take his mind off the increasing hardening of his body. If only she would stop writhing against him. He fairly growled when she deliberately pressed her thigh against his groin. He tried to shield himself, turning his body at an angle, but it was no use.
“What’s yer pleasure t’night, m’laird? D’ye want me to fight ye?” She pressed harder, painfully against him. “D’ye want me to play the whore?” She reached between them and boldly grasped his erection in her hand, squeezing it through his plaid and glaring up at him with the look of the devil. “Is this what ye want?”
Lucan clamped his teeth together, grinding them until an ache developed in his jaw. He would have thought her a strumpet of some renown if not for the tear that trickled from the corner of her eye and slid down her cheek. His grip around her waist softened. He reached one hand up to her face, wiping the single tear away with the pad of his thumb. The gesture only brought more tears. His heart ripped in half.
“Why did ye save me?” Her cracked voice was barely more than a whisper. “Another month and I would have been dead.” She closed her eyes and went limp in his arms.
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