Page 27

And then, his lips were there. The gentlest of kisses was followed by Kieran pulling her toward him so that Maisie’s back touched his chest. With nothing but her chemise and presumably a linen shirt between them, his plaid having been discarded, Maisie closed her eyes at the pleasure of being so close to him.

He kissed from her neck toward her shoulder, pulling the fabric of her chemise aside.

“That sound,” he said in her ear, “that you’re making. I would hear it from your lips all eve.”

“I would make it all eve if you were to continue.”

“Should I continue?”

Maisie truly did not know what to think. Or how to answer.

His hand came around the front of her toward her chin. Turning her head backward to look at him, Kieran repeated the question. “Should I continue?”

Maisie blinked. “I want nothing more than for you to continue. To kiss me. To hold me in your arms again. And yet . . .”

“And yet, your vow.”

She looked up, into his eyes. “Aye.”

“To never marry.”

“Aye,” she said again.

“Do you intend never to be with a man, then?”

Maisie could not help but stare at his lips. She wanted so very much to feel him again on hers. “I thought not to do so.”

“But now that you know it can be, and should be, pleasurable?”

She’d thought of little else all day. “I’ve no desire to raise a child without a husband.”

He did not answer at first. Kieran simply looked at her, for so long that Maisie nearly turned away, so intense was his gaze. What was he thinking?

“There are ways to find pleasure without making love, Maisie.”

Her heart raced, thoughts of what he might mean running through her mind. She wanted him to kiss her. To show her pleasure.

Maisie had so little of it these past years.

And yet? Where would such a thing lead? Likely to her wanting more. But Kieran was not long for the Red Stag. Once he discovered his true identity, he would leave, never to return. And she would be left with naught but memories. Already Maisie thought of his kiss too often.

She stepped away.

“And I would discover them with you,” she said, regretfully. “And then lament the loss of such promised pleasure when you are gone.”

It was more honest than she’d prepared to be with him, but so be it. How dearly she wanted to return to his arms. To kiss him and forget, for just one night, every worry she’d had since the day she’d left home.

Temporary pleasure. A fleeting thing that would not warm her through the winter when she was left with a broken heart. For there was no doubt, already she had begun to feel things for Kieran she hadn’t for any man before him.

It seemed as if he would refute her, at first. But he did not. Instead, Kieran—in nothing but a linen shirt that hung low at the neck, revealing too much of his chest beneath for Maisie not to look—turned away.

“I will sleep with my back to you, a pillow between us,” he said flatly.

And with that and no other words, Kieran pulled back the coverlet, got into bed, and positioned one of the two pillows just as he said he would. The other, he left for her head.

Instead of joining him, Maisie returned to the fireplace. Using the poker, she moved one of the charred logs. Adding another, she continued to stare at the flames, Kieran’s steady breathing telling her he was already asleep.

For her part, Maisie did not think she could sleep for some time. Had she made the right decision? Why should she not have allowed herself some measure of pleasure?