Chapter Thirteen
Elspeth could scarcely think at all with Cyrus's firm mouth claiming hers. His powerful, masculine presence propelled a staggering craving through her. Good lord! Was he a warlock who had bewitched and paralyzed her?
His taste was a potent combination of virile male with a hint of fiery Scotch. His chin whiskers rasped her, making the kiss ever more relentless. Hard body pressing against hers, he cupped her face in one hand while his hunger dove deep inside her.
In that moment, it seemed he gave her something she didn't even know she'd been missing. Something she'd never believed existed.
With his forceful kisses, he tugged at her, body and soul, demanding something she could not name.
Was it desire? Passion? She had heard of these but never felt their heady allure.
But now she did and could not believe the power they held over her… the power he held over her. How was it possible that Cyrus had awakened such a great and yearning need inside her?
"M'laird!" a guard shouted from below.
Breathing hard, she tore herself away from Cyrus. Though she tried to clear her head and make sense of what had just happened, she couldn't. 'Twas madness. She pushed by him to descend the stone steps.
"Elspeth?" His tone was halfway between a growl and a demand.
Ignoring him, she lifted her skirts off her boots and rushed down. She needed a few moments to breathe and compose herself.
MacNeil moved out of her way as she emerged from the stairwell.
"Are you well, Chief?" he shouted upward.
"Aye!" Cyrus's boots clunked down the steps behind her. "Lady Grey, have the healer look at your wound."
"Aye." She didn't slow down but instead headed toward her chamber. He loved ordering people about, didn't he?
"The lady was wounded?" MacNeil questioned just before she closed the door behind her.
Glancing again at her minor injury, she saw that the blood from the small nick had dried. This was what she should be most concerned about—someone trying to kill them. But the fact that Cyrus had kissed her overshadowed the peril.
Why?
Was it because he was also a danger to her? Not deadly, but if he sought to insinuate himself into her life like the last earl who'd bargained with her to be his mistress… nay, she couldn't think of it. Cyrus was to be married to Lily. He would never make such a proposition to Elspeth.
Or did the kiss make her forget everything else because it had been so astounding? She had never before enjoyed a kiss she'd received and had never understood why songs and poems were written about them.
But with Cyrus… good heavens, even now her lips felt scorched. No man had ever had such a provocative effect on her. What the devil was it? Carnal attraction? She had not known such a thing could be so powerful and enticing to a woman. She had thought kisses and coupling distasteful activities to be endured by women while men obviously enjoyed them. Had she been mistaken? Had she simply been with the wrong men?
She shook her head. Surely these were mere idiotic thoughts that sprang into her mind. But she could not get him out of her head.
What was it about Cyrus? He was handsome, of course, but she had met several handsome men before. 'Twas something more. His demanding attitude? Nay, it rather annoyed her. She had never expected to be drawn to such a man. Mayhap 'twas his tall, brawny warrior frame and his Highland clothing. She was rarely around such men.
That had to be it. She had felt how hard and well-developed his muscles were, how strong his hands. And his extreme concern when she'd been nicked by the deflecting arrow. When the intensity of his darkling gaze bore into her, she could scarcely breathe.
His devilish kiss lured her and caused her to imagine further carnal delights that would prove her undoing and destruction. The physical interactions she had always found distasteful might instead be delicious with him.
As a powerful and fine-looking earl, he probably already had multiple mistresses himself. 'Twas no wonder he saw his potential marriage to Lily as a business arrangement and didn't care about the lass's feelings or his own. She knew Lily to be a sweet girl and would never wish to infringe upon their match.
No matter how repugnant being Dalacroy's mistress had been, she would've done near anything for her family. She knew she'd made the right decision. Her siblings had prosperous lives of their own now, and so did she. Her son was doing well at the academy and had a bright future. Fear prickled through her when she imagined herself and her family being in such dire straits again. She never wanted that to happen.
Being the earl's mistress had not been pleasant, but 'twas no different than being a wife, in her experience. In fact, the earl had been several years younger than her husband, more handsome, and far less stuffy. However, both had been at least twice her age. Dalacroy had been in his forties when she'd met him. Clearly, Cyrus was far younger, perhaps in his early thirties and in his prime, she had to admit.
A knock sounded at her door. Her heart leapt… with fear or excitement? "Saints." She let out a breath. Mayhap 'twas only the maid… she hoped. "Who is it?"
"Cyrus." His voice was a deep rumble through the thick oak door.
