Read Online At The Laird's Command (Sword and Thistle Book 3) by Laurel Adams - Free Book Online
Authors: Laurel Adams
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Ian to protect Heather against the enemy unless he could somehow be made to be sentimental about her…
It hurt John to think what he must do to make that happen. It burned a searing hole possessive rage in him. But he must accept that pain of jealousy as his due. It was no less than he deserved. After all, he had created this mess.
He would bloody well clean it up…
“The lass is to me no more than she should be,” the laird said, forcing himself to meet his kinsman’s gaze. “Believe it. Come to my chambers this evening and I will prove it to you.”
~~~
HEATHER
That night, I poured over a book of old Norse runes, fascinated by the drawings. I didn’t think this jar could possibly be as old as the Vikings who pillaged here long ago—if it were, what an archaic treasure it would be! More likely it was some relic of more recent witchery, and given the accusations I’d heard against my sister for her knowledge of herbs, I might be wise to smash it upon the ground or throw it into the loch.
“What’s in the jar?” the laird asked, startling me.
I could never seem to accustom myself to how silently he moved for such a big man. Nor could I really accustom myself to being discovered in his rooms without feeling the need to apologize, as if I didn’t belong there. “I—I’m not certain,” I replied. “Some sort of powder. Nothing for you to trouble yourself with.”
Because he did look troubled. There was a new wrinkle in his brow, a weary slump to his broad shoulders. He was a man carrying much weight, and so I rose to help him out of his cloak. Shrugging out of it, he eyed me hungrily. But instead of devouring me in a kiss, he sat at his chess board and beckoned to me with one hand. “Come. Play with me.”
He’d taught me this game. I was getting better at it. But I should think he’d had enough of thinking and strategizing for one day. Still, I did as I was bid and opened the game by moving my chessmen in a way he hadn’t anticipated.
“ Och ! Bold move, lass. Mayhaps even a little reckless.”
“As I was today?” I asked, sheepishly.
“You ought to be disciplined for that,” he said, not lifting his eyes from the board. “Go fetch the paddle.”
I swallowed, remembering how, in his hands, that paddle had become the instrument of the devil. I had wanted him to use it on me. I wanted it still. But that didn’t stop me from trembling a bit in anticipation of the pain. “Yes, my laird…”
I rose to fetch it, my legs a bit wobbly under me as I contemplated both the way being spanked with it was likely to make me cry, but also relieve me of my guilt. Very humbly, I laid the paddle on the laird’s plaid-covered lap, then waited for him to make his move.
He pushed his queen into place, lifting his eyes to me. “I very much enjoy paddling you, Heather.”
I nodded, my eyes dropping to the floor.
He reached for my hand. “It’s a good tool that both serves as a true deterrent to misbehavior while giving us both so much pleasure as it did before, is it not?”
I nodded again, silently.
“But, lass, it’s not the only means I have of disciplining you. And asking you to bend over my knee is not the hardest thing I will ever ask of you.”
I felt a quiver of arousal in my belly at those words. What was so very wrong with me that whenever the laird proposed to do some dark and wicked thing, I was not only frightened, but filled with a pulsing, throbbing, desire to experience it? Surely the churchmen would condemn me for it. But then, as a harlot, I supposed I did not need to worry what the churchmen thought!
“Lass,” the laird said, very seriously. “I must ask for your obedience tonight.”
Quite proudly, I asked, “Have I ever disobeyed you, my laird?”
He raised a brow, then smiled. “Once.”
I gasped, my pride stung. “ When ?” I demanded to know.
“The first time you took me into your mouth,” he said, pulling me forward to kiss the tip of my nose with
It hurt John to think what he must do to make that happen. It burned a searing hole possessive rage in him. But he must accept that pain of jealousy as his due. It was no less than he deserved. After all, he had created this mess.
He would bloody well clean it up…
“The lass is to me no more than she should be,” the laird said, forcing himself to meet his kinsman’s gaze. “Believe it. Come to my chambers this evening and I will prove it to you.”
~~~
HEATHER
That night, I poured over a book of old Norse runes, fascinated by the drawings. I didn’t think this jar could possibly be as old as the Vikings who pillaged here long ago—if it were, what an archaic treasure it would be! More likely it was some relic of more recent witchery, and given the accusations I’d heard against my sister for her knowledge of herbs, I might be wise to smash it upon the ground or throw it into the loch.
“What’s in the jar?” the laird asked, startling me.
I could never seem to accustom myself to how silently he moved for such a big man. Nor could I really accustom myself to being discovered in his rooms without feeling the need to apologize, as if I didn’t belong there. “I—I’m not certain,” I replied. “Some sort of powder. Nothing for you to trouble yourself with.”
Because he did look troubled. There was a new wrinkle in his brow, a weary slump to his broad shoulders. He was a man carrying much weight, and so I rose to help him out of his cloak. Shrugging out of it, he eyed me hungrily. But instead of devouring me in a kiss, he sat at his chess board and beckoned to me with one hand. “Come. Play with me.”
He’d taught me this game. I was getting better at it. But I should think he’d had enough of thinking and strategizing for one day. Still, I did as I was bid and opened the game by moving my chessmen in a way he hadn’t anticipated.
“ Och ! Bold move, lass. Mayhaps even a little reckless.”
“As I was today?” I asked, sheepishly.
“You ought to be disciplined for that,” he said, not lifting his eyes from the board. “Go fetch the paddle.”
I swallowed, remembering how, in his hands, that paddle had become the instrument of the devil. I had wanted him to use it on me. I wanted it still. But that didn’t stop me from trembling a bit in anticipation of the pain. “Yes, my laird…”
I rose to fetch it, my legs a bit wobbly under me as I contemplated both the way being spanked with it was likely to make me cry, but also relieve me of my guilt. Very humbly, I laid the paddle on the laird’s plaid-covered lap, then waited for him to make his move.
He pushed his queen into place, lifting his eyes to me. “I very much enjoy paddling you, Heather.”
I nodded, my eyes dropping to the floor.
He reached for my hand. “It’s a good tool that both serves as a true deterrent to misbehavior while giving us both so much pleasure as it did before, is it not?”
I nodded again, silently.
“But, lass, it’s not the only means I have of disciplining you. And asking you to bend over my knee is not the hardest thing I will ever ask of you.”
I felt a quiver of arousal in my belly at those words. What was so very wrong with me that whenever the laird proposed to do some dark and wicked thing, I was not only frightened, but filled with a pulsing, throbbing, desire to experience it? Surely the churchmen would condemn me for it. But then, as a harlot, I supposed I did not need to worry what the churchmen thought!
“Lass,” the laird said, very seriously. “I must ask for your obedience tonight.”
Quite proudly, I asked, “Have I ever disobeyed you, my laird?”
He raised a brow, then smiled. “Once.”
I gasped, my pride stung. “ When ?” I demanded to know.
“The first time you took me into your mouth,” he said, pulling me forward to kiss the tip of my nose with
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