With one last longing look into his eyes, Catriona clutched the book and hurried from the library, removing herself from the path of temptation.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Great Hall buzzed with low conversation as Kenneth and Sorcha Forbes stood near one of the blazing hearths with Malcolm, Ewan, and Duncan, the five of them drinking hot, spiced wine.
The Forbes were well wrapped up, ready to begin their journey home as soon as their carriage and escort was ready.
“The roads south should remain passable if the rain holds off,” Kenneth remarked, sounding not entirely convinced of his own words.
Ewan tilted his head and chuckled. “I admire yer optimism, Kenneth, but this is the Highlands. Expectin’ the rain tae hold off is a bit like askin’ fer a miracle,” he joked.
The men chuckled, and Sorcha laughed softly into her wine, her blue eyes dancing at Ewan over the rim of her cup.
Malcolm exchanged another clasp of forearms with Kenneth. “Thank ye fer comin’. Ye’ll always find a warm welcome at me keep.” He smiled at Sorcha, adding, “The both of ye.”
“Thank ye for a lovely stay, Laird Gordon,” she told him, graciously returning his smile. “Ye’ve been a generous host, and it’s been a real pleasure meetin’ ye all, especially Catriona.”
“Aye, ye must come and visit us soon,” Kenneth put in. “Mayhap when ye’re nae so busy with yer “trainin’ exercises,” eh?” he added with a knowing smirk.
Duncan nearly choked on his drink. Ewan cleared his throat, throwing an amused glance at his brother.
Somehow, though discomfited that Kenneth had twigged something was going on, Malcolm managed a calm smile. “Thank ye, Kenneth, ye can count on it, now we’re officially allies.”
Thankfully, before Kenneth could respond, a servant approached and bowed.
“Me laird, the Forbes party is prepared tae depart.”
“Grand,” Malcolm said.
The servant hesitated. “Shall I send a maid fer Lady Catriona tae come and bid farewell?”
Without thinking, Malcolm said, “Nay, I’ll go and fetch her mesel’,” dismissing the man with a nod. He could have bitten off his tongue when he saw Duncan’s eyes land on him, his friend’s keen, green gaze narrowing fractionally.
“Ye seem unusually eager tae volunteer,” he observed mildly.
Malcolm forced himself not to tense. “I merely wish tae ensure me guests are nae kept waitin’.”
“Hmm.”
The skepticism in Duncan’s voice nearly had Malcolm breaking out in a sweat. Before further questions could follow, he handed Ewan his wine cup and excused himself.
“I’ll return shortly.” He strode from the hall, conscious of four curious pairs of eyes burning a hole in his back.
Christ alive, what a bloody fool I am!
By the time he reached Catriona’s chamber, he was already questioning his own sanity. Unusually flustered, he knocked once then pushed open the door.
And stopped dead.
Catriona stood beside the bed only half dressed, one hand clutching the loose bodice of her gown against her breasts.
She startled visibly, exhaling in obvious relief when she recognized him, her slender brows knitting. “Malcolm?” Then, more warmly, “Malcolm.”
He stood frozen to the spot, staring as her lips curved upwards and slowly, very slowly, her grip on the fabric slackened, so that the neckline of the bodice slipped lower in unmistakable invitation.
Malcolm forgot how to breathe, transfixed by her pearly pale skin, the graceful curve of her shoulders, the tantalizing swell of her breasts barely concealed by the translucent cotton of her shift. His entire body tightened violently.
“Dear God,” he said softly.
