Battle's Bride

Samantha Winston

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Kay goes to Scotland after just one thing -- a hot Scottish man, preferably in a kilt. She doesn't count on finding her dream man three hundred years in the past. Battle is the Lord of the manor, a man who takes his duties to h...
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Kay goes to Scotland after just one thing -- a hot Scottish man, preferably in a kilt. She doesn't count on finding her dream man three hundred years in the past.

Battle is the Lord of the manor, a man who takes his duties to his village and castle seriously. Then he meets a woman from the future and suddenly his world is tipped upside-down. What starts out as a plot to save his castle turns into a disaster.

Kay warns him that his clan is doomed, and the only way to save them all is to strike out across the sea for the New World. But facing a feisty woman from the future and a far-off foreign land is nothing compared to the problems of a curse, a witch, and a nervous groom.

“There's no place like home,” whimpered the woman in his arms.

“Aye, that's the truth,” Battled agreed. She looked pale, and her lips had started to turn blue with cold. He sighed and hugged her closer. “We're almost home. Only another hour.”

Her eyes flew open. Green and brown, and as clear as water running over mossy stones. And terrified.

“There now, don't go having hysterics again. I'll get you home soon, and you'll tell me how you came to be in Maevis's place on the bonfire.” As he spoke, he wrapped his heavy woollen blanket around them both. The thick, boiled wool was nearly waterproof, and soon the combined warmth of their bodies stopped her shivering.

He pulled the wool a little higher, so that her head was covered, and turned his horse toward home. His horse knew the way and picked up its pace, breaking into a ground-eating canter.

“I never rode a horse before,” said the woman. She sounded a bit odd.

“Are you all right?” Battle looked down at her.

She blinked. “Fine, thank you. This is the most amazing dream I've ever had. I don't think I've ever thought of being tied to a bonfire or wrapped in a woolen tent before.”

“Aye, well, why don't you try to rest a bit? Close your eyes and go to sleep.” Battle hitched her up a bit more, as she'd started to slide off his lap. She didn't weigh much, and he was strong enough to carry her all the way home. He'd done this before with a heifer with a broken leg, and it was far easier carrying a soft, agreeably scented woman. Her perfume, a light fragrance that reminded him of spring flowers, tickled his nose.

“I must be in a very deep coma,” came her voice again. “And if I'm dreaming, it's all right to say that you're a very handsome guy.”

“The name's Battle, not Guy,” said Battle. He shifted again. Her scent and the feel of her warmth and soft curves made his cock stiffen. In their position, it pressed right up against her buttocks. He tried not to think about that. He tried to think of things that would make his unruly cock calm down. He'd always been proud of the fact he didn't masturbate and could control himself. The priests had scared him with tales of blindness, and since he was in charge of his castle and outlying village, he couldn't risk going blind. He never touched his cock. He controlled it with his mind. Let's see... what could he think of? Usually thinking of the priest did it, but this time, the priest kept turning into the pretty lass on his lap. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine something repulsive.

“You know, you have a hard-on,” the woman continued with a little giggle. The giggle made his cock even stiffer.

“A hard-on? What's that?” Battle asked, opening his eyes and looking at her. Big mistake.

She twisted her head around and stared at him with her clear, mossy-green eyes. Her pink lips curled in a saucy smile. “You don't know? Well, that does it. I'm dreaming. The hunkiest male I've seen in ages puts me on his lap and carries me away on his white horse.” She nodded. “It is a white horse. You are the handsome prince on a white horse with a humungous hard-on.” She giggled again. “I mean you have a hard-on, not your horse.” She moved, pressing more of her anatomy firmly against his cock. “Hmmm. That feels good. I wonder if I can get my underwear off?” She reached down, and before he could figure out what she was up to, she wriggled her hips and lifted her dress up to her waist.

“What are you doing?” Battle hadn't fallen off his horse since he was a lad. But if she kept up her antics, he was going to take a tumble. Already he was having trouble keeping his breathing normal, and he'd lost most of the feeling in his legs and arms; all he could feel was her hands gripping his cock right through his kilt. His cock was now the center of his universe. He felt a wave of blistering heat wash over him, and he had to gasp for breath. “Stop that!” He tried to let go of the reins to pull her hands away, but for some reason, his brain refused to listen.

“Skittish, aren't you?” she said. “Let's see. I've heard that men don't wear anything under their kilts. Is that true?” She found the fold of cloth that closed his kilt and pulled it back. “It's true; it's true!” she cried, and burst out laughing. “Oh, my. This is a wonderful dream.”

Copyright © Samantha Winston


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