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But the laird treated me that night as if I were of great value to him. He took me to his chambers and sat next to me, holding against my cheek a cool pouch from the ice house while Brenna washed the blood from my face and arms. “The dress can’t be saved,” the maid murmured, with a sigh. “This blood can’t be washed out.”
“I’ll buy her another,” the laird snapped. “Just take it away. I don’t want her looking at the bloodstains all night.”
With that, he dismissed her, so we were again alone in his chambers. Me still trembling and in my shift, but not because I was afraid of him. “What’s going to happen now?”
“The Donalds are going to try and throw themselves at this castle and find themselves drowning in the sea, as always happens,” he said, confident, his shoulders squared.
“To my father, I mean. Please know that he hates the Donalds. Always has. He wouldn’t have sheltered them willingly. They had my sister hostage—”
“Lass,” he said, to stop me from my rambling panic. “Set your mind at ease on that score. I’m just pleased to learn your wretch of a father has a care for at least one of his daughters.”
I nearly swooned as the pain slowly spread from my jaw up into my head. “I’m feeling a bit dizzy from the blow.”
“You should rest,” he said, rising at once to scoop me out of my chair. Though I was sure I could’ve walked there myself—mostly sure, anyway—he lifted me up into his arms as if I weighed not more than a feather, then carried me to the big bed where we had kissed all those nights ago.
Then he laid me down upon his pillow as gently as a mother might put a bairn into cradle. “You don’t mind me in your bed?” I asked, softly. “I could go back down to the chambers you gave over to me before, if it would please you.”
“It wouldn’t please me,” he said, smoothing my hair. “I want you here tonight, where I can watch over you.”
I made room in the bed for him and he crawled atop it. He took my hand in his and I felt cherished. Cared for, in a way I’d never been in my whole life. So I kissed him, hoping it would crowd out my worries for my sister and the man who lay bleeding below stairs for my sake.
He groaned at the kiss, but returned it, with as much gentleness as he seemed able. He pressed the length of his body against me, and I felt a familiar and delicious thrill of his skin to mine. I loved the feel of him, the scent of him, the way it seemed as if he were some dangerous beast upon a tether that might snap any moment. But he held those impulses back, tracing his fingers down my bodice, reaching up beneath my skirts and hoisting one leg over his hip. Whatever he was going to do, I wanted badly, and I hissed when his hand softly stroked between my legs. “Ah, does that feel good, Heather?”
A little sob of overwrought pleasure was his answer. I’d never thought to feel someone touch me there—at least not known that it would feel so exquisitely warm and pleasurable. His strong fingers probed me delicately, finding a spot that caused me to cry out. Oh, yes. I wanted him to touch me there again, and when he did, I made fists of the bed covering, thrashing my head at the wicked delight. A moment more, and I was rocking against his hand, desperate, for something…for somethin
g…and then it happened. The searing climax that forced the air from my lungs, and left me clutching him, crying his name.
“My laird!” I cried, shuddering still in pleasure. “I didn’t know I could feel such a thing.”
That made him laugh a little. “Didn’t you? Aye, you’re more innocent than I ever guessed.”
Perspiring and dizzier than before, I moaned a bit, squeezing his hand between my thighs as the lingering tremors shook me. Meanwhile, he looked enormously satisfied with himself. But I couldn’t be content. My heart thumped wildly and I knew he was aching with desire, because his erection made a tent of his kilt. And his eyes, oh, they smoldered.
“Just enjoy it, lass,” he said, softly, when I tried to reach for him.
“But I want to touch you,” I whispered, my hands sliding down his body. “I want…I want…I want to give you as much pleasure as you just gave me.”
“You did,” he said, simply.
But I couldn’t imagine how.
Then I wondered if this is what he’d been trying to say to me all along. That he couldn’t take pleasure as a normal man or woman might, not with gentle kisses and stroking and touching. That he needed something more. That he needed the nakedness of a woman’s shame. And I was willing to give him mine. “What is it that you need from me? I would do it, if I knew.”
“But I wouldn’t take it from you,” he said, softly. “I’ve already taken enough. Because you’re a vexing woman—one who surprises me anew every single day.”
“What can you mean?”
“I believed you to be a good, gentle, obedient girl. A simple girl who would acclimate to her circumstances and accept her fate. But in the time I’ve known you, you’ve not only changed from a meek and shrinking girl to a saucy wench, but into a hellcat besides.” He twined his fingers with mine. “Ian told me you waded into the fray with the Donalds without even a dagger. What the devil did you think you could do to those men with these beautiful little hands?”
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “I wasn’t thinking of anything but saving my sister.”
He gave a shake of his head, kissing me softly where a bruise was surely rising on my jawline. “How can such a delicate thing have the heart of a warrior? Too bad you weren’t born a lad—you’d have made a fine fighter for the clan.”
Feeling the pull of attraction between us, I dared to ask. “After what you just did to me, can you really wish I’d been born a lad?”
“T’would have made you less vulnerable to men. Men like me.” Staring hard into my eyes, he clenched his teeth. “I should’ve never let you go.”
“No,” I agreed. “You shouldn’t have. I wanted to stay with you.”
