Chapter 5

Sorcha

I had always thought myself strong.

The hours after my abduction— our abduction —proved me wrong.

Blessed Virgin, orcs ! The monsters of my childhood stories! They'd stolen through the stones and, with the help of one of our wicked kinsmen, taken us back to their realm…far beyond saving. Father's men would return empty-handed, and, if the legends were true, he would have to wait a full moon's cycle to raise an army to save us.

Would he?

Roxanna and I were only daughters. He had a half-dozen more at home to make alliances, and our brothers would be even stronger. Would he risk a war to come through the stone circle pathway and rescue us?

Nay .

The realization emptied me more than the abduction itself. One moment my back was straight, my chin was high, and I was staring forward, determined not to rest back against the warm chest offering me support. I would not give my captor the satisfaction of my surrender.

One moment I was brave, and the next…

The next, my situation came crashing down on me. I whimpered and curled forward, feeling the harsh sting of tears behind my eyelids. I didn't want to cry, not in front of him …but I couldn't seem to help myself.

Roxanna and Effie were out there, as alone and defeated as I was. Even if I could escape, how could I get to them? How could I save them? The orc—Drakolt—had said I would see them again in fourteen days.

But a fortnight was a long time to be alone with a male like him. A male whose hardness nudged against my arse each time I shifted positions. He wanted me.

How soon until he took me?

The thought of being held down, of being taken against my will by such a monster… I clutched my stomach, willing myself not to vomit the evening meal I'd shared hours ago with Roxanna and Effie.

Because while rape held no appeal to me, this male did . I could not understand it. He was an orc . But something inside me had responded to him in a way that surprised and terrified me.

Drakolt was huge, aye, but he had only touched me gently. His scent was clean, and although I couldn't bear to turn around and face those tusks or the pointed ears which marked him as other , I could admit him handsome in a savage sort of way.

Was that why my pulse was hammering in fear and confusion and deep down, a sort of excitement I didn't want to name?

"Sorcha."

His voice was soft and deep, and I couldn't deny it made me want to turn to him. The same something that had tugged at my chest during the attack, the same something which had flared when I had placed my hand in his, terrified of that huge battleax strapped to his back…now it made me want to lean back against him.

I should not want that.

I should fight him. I should prove to him I was brave and strong and not afraid of the huge cock I could feel probing at my back.

"Sorcha breathe . "

How did he know my name? He had used it during the attack. John must have told him about me. The orc had said he was there for me , and John had called Roxanna and Effie extras . Now these monsters had two more prizes—

"Lass!"

Suddenly his arm tightened around me, pulling me back, squishing me against his chest. Impossibly, I could feel his strong heartbeat through the silk of my gown, and I stiffened, ready to fight him.

But he took a deep breath. "Breathe, Sorcha. It'll be aright."

His brogue washed over me. He sounded so different from the Tarbert men, but his voice was not… bad . If I disregarded the green of his arm, I would think ‘twas a human who held me. A human male who cradled me in his arms, trying to…to comfort me.

When he took another deep breath I felt it, and unconsciously mimicked him. When he exhaled, I did as well, and then ‘twas second nature to inhale in tandem with him.

"Good lass," he murmured. "That is better."

As my breathing slowed, I realized I was relaxing against him. I thought for a moment about struggling, fighting him. But I was tired and my heart could take no more. Mayhap I could rest for a moment, a few hours at most, then go back to being strong.

"Sorcha," he said again in that deliciously low voice I could feel reverberating through his chest and mine. "Ye're safe. I give ye my word."

Unconsciously, I shifted, nudging his cock. He didn't make a sound, but I felt his soft hiss against the top of my head. I froze, but after a moment realized he wasn't going to do anything… So I shifted again on purpose.

This time I scooted a bit sideways, so my weight rested atop his left thigh. His cock jumped, but again all he did was suck in a sharp breath.

It seemed…it seemed as if he was telling the truth. We were merely riding. He was not going to rape me here in the saddle, no matter how aroused he might be.

Slowly, I exhaled, and with my breath, even more of my tension left. I was scared and exhausted and hollow. I should not accept his warmth, his comfort…but I didn't think I could resist.

When I allowed the muscles of my neck to relax, the back of my head tipped against his chest, and neither of us moved away.

His arm shifted around me until he was supporting my back and torso, rather than just my waist, and his skin was so warm…I closed my eyes .

"Sleep, lass. I'll keep ye safe."

And the tears pricked behind my lids again. I wasn't safe. Not with him. Not with the way my body was reacting to his.

"What do you want with me?" My whisper was ragged, harsh against the warm night. "What are you going to do with me?"

His arm tightened momentarily and I felt him hum low in his chest, so low I could not hear it. But all he said when he finally spoke was, "Ye're no' ready to hear that."

The tears leaked from behind my lids.

‘Twas as if his words had doomed me. I tried once more, desperately. "You could return me to my father?"

"Nay, lass." His other arm closed around me. "Ye're mine now."

Filled with hopelessness after that promise, I fell asleep.

Sorcha

To my surprise, I woke in the morning still in Drakolt's arms, still atop the horse, and still in one piece.

There was a bite to the air around me the same way I expected back home, and although I didn't recognize any of the landscape around me, ‘twas… familiar . Was the orcs' home world a mirror of ours, then? The lochs and craggy landscape giving way to the sea in the west? But now we rode toward the rising sun, which would be the mainland back home.

But despite the chilly air, I was warm. It took me a moment to realize that sometime during the night, my captor had wrapped me in a piece of tartan bearing the same blue pattern as his kilt.

He had kept me safe.

And although he said nothing to me, I realized he knew I was awake. He rode loosely, relaxed. When I shifted my weight, he inhaled sharply, and I felt his cock stir at my back. Did just knowing I was awake arouse him like that?

I wasn't certain how I felt about that, but I couldn't deny my chest gave a little squeeze of what might have been excitement.

Eventually, I couldn't keep still any longer. "Drakolt? I have to…stop. "

Immediately, he reigned in the horse. Mayhap my surprise showed as he unwrapped me from the plaid, because one of his brows twitched and the corner of his lips curled.

"Ye need only ask, lass," he told me as he lifted me down from the horse.

Despite the pressure of my bladder, I paused, hands on his strong forearms where they'd landed. His hands were still on my waist, and I should pull away…but instead I tipped my head back to stare up at him.

In the daylight, those tusks were not scary at all. In fact, they looked…intriguing. Primitive. Fascinating.

"And if I asked you to turn around and ride me back to my Father?"

His lips twitched again as he shook his head slowly, not dropping my gaze. "The veil is shut for another month, Sorcha. Ye're stuck here with me."

Unconsciously, my fingers flexed on his arms. I swallowed and forced myself to step away. Why did the idea of being stuck with him not fill me with the bone-deep terror I expected?

The rest of the day was surprisingly easy. We stopped when I asked, and I had the impression he wasn't pushing too hard. The horse picked its way carefully up scree-covered mountainsides and down into a small valley .

Through it all, Drakolt held me and answered my questions about his land. He told me about the different species of birds—some I recognized, some I did not—and the surprisingly similar trees. The horse we were riding, he said, was a descendant of the herds stolen from humans generations ago.

The land was as new and fascinating as he himself was.

We avoided speaking of the orcs themselves for the first few days. But on the third morning, after waking curled in his plaid beside a small stream—aching and cold from the hard ground—I asked about Roxanna and his brother who had taken her.

He told me about Varkaan's good nature and charming habits, and made me laugh with stories from their childhood, where Varkaan always seemed to be getting the best of his grumpy twin. Drakolt proved to me that although Korvak looked vicious, Effie would be safe with him.

I couldn't wait to see them again, but by now I understood why Drakolt was taking his time. There was a possibility some of Father's men had followed us, and he didn't want them to catch us.

By this point, deep down, I was beginning to wonder if I wanted them to catch us at all.

Riding with Drakolt, hearing about his world…somewhere along the way, it had turned from a te rror into an adventure.

The sort of adventure I had hoped for—but afraid I would never have—when I left Father's keep to marry Laird MacDonald.

And that adventure had rather a lot to do with the male at my back. The male who held me so safely, who kept me warm, who allowed me my space and comfort and didn't force himself on me at night, even when I did wish for a warm set of arms around me.

But that doesn't mean he didn't touch me.

Och, nay, he touched me.

At first, I thought the touches unintentional, mere brushes. His fingers might caress my neck for a moment when he gathered my hair to push it to one side when it blew in his face. Or his hand might drop to my thigh when he held the reins, his knuckles teasing the sensitive skin through the layers of gown and chemise.

But after a few days of our leisurely journey, I began to doubt the accidental nature of these touches.

Drakolt's palm cupped my side, his hand big enough that his thumb rested against my back and his finger caressed the ticklish area under my ribs. Then, when he would brush my hair from one shoulder, his fingers would linger, tracing the upper ridge of my ear and making me shiver. He would lower his chin, as if bringing his lips closer to my skin, and I could feel his breath on my neck.

His hand would stroke from my knee to my hip, linger on my thigh to squeeze once, twice, as if testing my strength. I would stiffen, offended, then melt slowly back against him when no further assault came.

Assault, aye, because that was what this was: an assault to my senses.

Drakolt was both hard and soft at once, and despite days on a horse—days in which I knew I felt less than fresh—he still smelled of that same intriguing scent that made me want to bury my nose in his skin and identify it.

And every single time his fingertips touched my skin, or he proved his strength by holding me tighter, something deep within me jumped to life. My core warmed, dampening at his nearness.

How was it possible I could become aroused by such a monster?

And how mortifying ‘twould be if he knew .

As ‘twas, Drakolt treated me well, although as a prisoner. I was not allowed much privacy, and he never left me alone—we ate only the provisions he had packed. He treated me as if I was his , and there was no argument to be made. A foregone conclusion; he could treat me as he saw fit .

To my deep shame, I did not hate that.

It was the fourth day of our journey, the clouds looming over the sea at our back, that his hand crept up my body once more to land on my right breast. He cupped it nonchalantly, as if it belonged to him. As if I and my body belonged to him.

I couldn't swat him away.

Instead, I stiffened, every piece of me focused on the feel of his heavy hand on my breast. My bodice was dirty and wrinkled and askew, but he seemed content. I kept my gaze straight ahead, wondering if he could feel the way my heart hammered beneath his hand.

Slowly, his fingers began to move, kneading, exploring. He worked aside the lacing of my bodice and in a swift motion, pulled aside the silk panel to expose the chemise to the air.

I felt faint at his nonchalance, certain he would rip the linen of the chemise, touching me more lewdly…but he did not. The linen offered some protection from the heat of his fingers, but not much.

It was the way his breathing had altered that made my core flood with liquid desire, surely. That, and the way the pressure of his fingers increased, squeezing, kneading, palming me as if my body was his to do with as he pleased .

I shut my eyes, praying, although I was unsure of my petition. That it would be over soon? Or that I would not reveal how aroused I was by this careless ownership by a monster?

And then…

And then .

He found my nipple. Through my chemise, his thumb and forefinger closed around my nipple and rolled until even I could feel the way it pebbled. I couldn't stop my groan of need as I arched into his hold, simultaneously thrusting my breast into his palm and my arse against his cock.

Which was hard.

He was touching me, claiming me, the way a male took a woman he desired.

And I was panting with confusion and need and desire myself, uncertain what this would mean for my future.

Was I giving in to my captor? Allowing him to touch me this way? Allowing him to take me this way?

All I knew was that, in that moment, memories of the illustrations and descriptions from A Harlot's Guide to the Forbidden and Delightful Arts flashed through my memory…and for the first time I'd found a male I wanted to try them with.

God help me, I was lost to the bliss of his touch.