Free A Highlander in Her Past by Maeve Greyson

Ye’re quite a bit like her.”
    She reminded him of a horse? Trish clawed at the itching skin burning at the back of her neck. If he ever set her down, she was going to kill him— after she stripped off the torturous dress setting her skin on fire. “And how, pray tell, do I remind you of a mare you once owned?”
    Maxwell’s face finally split into a blinding smile as he settled Trish on the carved wooden bench waiting at the bottom of the stairs. “My sweet little mare was quite the beauty. All who saw her loved her. But ye’d best take care when drawing close to her stall or ye’d discover the viciousness of her bite.”
    The viciousness of her bite? Trish clenched her teeth with an irritated grind, as she rubbed her itching back against the jagged carvings of the bench. She’d show him bite . “You’re quite the charmer, Maxwell. No wonder your sweet little mare tried to bite you. Whatever happened to her?”
    Maxwell grinned and before Trish realized what he was doing, slid his hand down the back of her dress and scratched the elusive burning itch prickling just out of reach between her shoulder blades. The very itch she’d been dying to scratch ever since donning the cursed dress.
    Oh lord have mercy. Please don’t stop. Trish shivered and without thinking, flexed her back and turned into Maxwell’s hand. “Lower and more to the right.”
    Maxwell’s grin stretched wider but he complied, treating her burning flesh to the heavenly relief of a well directed scratch. “Aye. Yer just like my little mare. Ye’re both divine sweetness and fully tamed as long as ye’re scratched in all the right places.”
    Trish released an ecstatic shudder.
    Leaning forward, she braced her hands on her knees and shifted her body into his magical fingers like a cat directing its master’s caress. “Less talk and more scratching. Every time you open your mouth, all you do is piss me off.”
    Maxwell shook as his deep laughter exploded through the halls of the keep. Tucking his chin with a single nod, his eyes sparkled with amusement as he angled closer and adjusted the direction of his satisfying touch.
    “As ye wish, my little mare. As ye wish.”

Chapter Nine
    Maxwell scanned the winding paths trailing about the private gardens. Thank the gods no one appeared to be about. He returned his gaze to Trish’s shapely derriere, seductively swinging from side to side in her revealing pair of close fitting trews.
    God’s beard. Maxwell scrubbed his face with one hand, ending the motion with an absent-minded pulling of hair on his chin. Did all the women of Trish’s time walk about in such revealing clothes? Lore a’mighty. From the back, the skin tight clothing showed the cleft of her buttocks and the view of the front hinted at the treasures waiting to be enjoyed.
    Maxwell adjusted his swollen member to a less obvious fold of his kilt and prayed for a sudden blast of cold Highland wind to give him some relief. Perhaps he’d best remain outside even after Trish decided to go in for supper.
    Trish’s laughter rang out as she lobbed an odd-shaped ball across the garden to Ramsay.
    Maxwell grinned as he eased closer, taking care to move down an alternate path shielded by a row of carefully planted firs. The young trees barely reached his chin, the perfect height to observe Trish while she took in a little fresh air and played with the boys.
    Maxwell chuckled at how Ramsay and Keagan took right to the lumpy ball Trish had fashioned from scraps of leather. What was the word she’d used to describe the knobby orb? Base ball? Aye…that was it. Maxwell moved soundlessly closer to the trio, biting back the urge to laugh as Ramsay spewed a Gaelic curse word as the ball flew past his head.
    “Ramsay?” Trish shook a finger at the red cheeked lad. “I’m not positive about what you just said but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to use that word.”
    Ramsay ducked his head as he turned to run for the ball but not before