Free At The Laird's Command (Sword and Thistle Book 3) by Laurel Adams Page A

as she tried to give it to him.
    “He may have come to harm, Ian.” And that was no lie. What the laird had asked Davy to do was dangerous. Near suicidal, in fact. At this very moment, Davy could be floating dead in the loch. Drowned or worse. “He might have fallen, or been pulled down from the wall in a skirmish…”  
    Ian blanched at the suggestion. The laird was surprised to see Heather pale at the thought, too. John hadn’t thought she cared anything for his men…then remembered that Davy was betrothed to her sister. Remembered too that he had promised Davy to find a way to protect both women, even if he was dead.  
    Well, that’s what he aimed to do.  
    That’s why Ian was here.  
    Ian shook off the thought of Davy’s demise, taking a sip of the wine. “Surely no harm can come to Davy. He has more lives than a cat.”
    The laird hoped so, for all their sakes. But he wasn’t counting on it. Which is why he was going to give over the body of the woman he loved to the man who would be his heir. “I asked you here tonight to make a point, Ian.”
    “As is usually the case,” his kinsman muttered.
    “Heather displeased you this afternoon.”
    Ian’s grip tightened on the goblet. “It’s forgotten.”
    “But she would like to make it up to you,” the laird insisted.  
    John met Heather’s eyes and she divined his purpose, going to her knees on the fleece throw upon the floor by Ian’s feet. Ian let his gaze settle upon the bonny lass, temptation written all over his face. He drank again, as if his mouth had run dry. Then he asked, “And you are of a mind to let her?”
    “I am of a mind to command it.”
    Ian’s spine stiffened. “Of her or me?”
    The laird realized he had taken the wrong approach. Ian would not like to think a girl had been commanded to bed with him. It would injure his pride and afflict his sense of honor. Ian would never have an unwilling girl, which was to his credit. But more importantly, Ian would not accept being commanded to anyone’s bed himself.
    So John tried again. “What I mean to say is that tonight, what she wishes to do with you, by my command, she may do. And don’t pretend to me that you don’t want her, Ian Macrae. I have seen the way you look at her—especially when she doesn’t know you’re looking.”
    At that, Heather turned her head slightly, as if surprised by this revelation. Or perhaps she feared that Ian might see reluctance inside her; she had promised that he wouldn’t. The laird was counting on that.
    Ian cleared his throat. “What a man wants, and what he can or should have aren’t the same…”
    He trailed off, however, as Heather crept forward, her bare breasts swaying slightly as she pressed her cheek to Ian’s knee and whispered, “The night you watched us, I wished for you to join us…”
    Did she speak truly? The laird had considered sharing her with Ian that night, of a certainty. But he’d been too overcome with emotion to do it. He had wanted her for himself. He still did. And he waited for a stab of jealous fury that never came.  
    For her words inspired aroused interest rather than resentment in him.
    And in Ian…well…Ian looked down at her, wet his lips, set down the goblet. There was a flush of arousal on the man’s neck, and he was erect for her if the tent of his plaid was any indication. Even so, the laird calculated an even chance that his kinsman was going to simply stand up and walk out the door.  
    Instead, Ian asked, “Is that what you want now, lass?”
    “What I want now is to give you great pleasure. Very great pleasure,” she said, repeating the laird’s words, giving them the ring of harlotry.  
    And before Ian could decide to rise and go, she slipped her hands beneath his plaid, pushing it up, bringing her lips to the tip of Ian’s swollen member. His kinsman jolted at what the laird knew to be the hot, wet mouth that Heather used so well. Then Ian let out a muffled groan as the lass deepened