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“Dinnae talk about me faither!” Cicilia snarled.
Alexander saw red. He tried to pull himself to his feet and once again slipped in the mud. He saw Cicilia’s lips twitch into a cold laugh at his plight, and his temper flared even more.
He scrambled to his feet, his thoughts all a haze, the mud clinging to him, making his thoughts scream like a white buzzing, his anger making things even less clear. Alexander launched himself at her, tackling her to the ground before she could hurt him again. His manners were suddenly forgotten.
The world froze as they fell. Cicilia let out a squeal, putting out her hands to steady herself. The only thing she could grab was Alexander, and as he hit against her waist, her arms went around his shoulders.
Her back hit the ground right in a pile of wet, dirty hay. All of a sudden, Alexander was straddled on top of her, his knees in the muck on either side of her legs. Her arms were around his neck, pulling him inadvertently closer, and their faces were close enough that their breath was all that separated them.
God above, I’ve nae been this close tae a woman since…
Cicilia blinked up at him in astonishment with those strange eyes, then she started to giggle. It was a much lighter sound than he’d come to expect of her, wiping away the hardness he’d seen and showing her relative youth. “Look at the state o’ ye!” she laughed.
Her laughter was moving her body in interesting ways
under his, making her lovely curves rub against his body. Despite himself, he found a smile working its way onto his face, too.
“At me?” he asked. “Have ye seen what ye look like? I think me knockin’ ye o’er actually made ye cleaner.”
“Och, hark at the mighty Laird,” she said, but the anger had evaporated, and her expression was sparkling. “It’s nice to ken ye can have a bit o’ fun sometimes.”
Her lips were full and so close, and for one second, one long, drawn-out second, he wondered what it would feel like if he just closed that tiny gap between them. It had been a long time since he’d kissed a girl, and strange as this one was, there was no denying something desirable in the way she held herself, and in the way her chest and hips curved…
Cicilia’s pretty mouth turned upwards into a coy smile, her strange eyes staring up into his. “Are ye gonnae kiss me, Laird? Sounds like a laugh, but hardly the kind o’ appropriate behavior ye were just chastisin’ me about.”
It was as though someone had poured ice down his spine. He jumped up as though shocked, glaring heavily at Cicilia as he did, taking a few steps backward.
What is this woman? What did she do to me?
Embarrassment—no, sheer mortification, of the sort he hadn’t felt since he was a teenaged boy—flushed through him. His mouth worked without sound for a few seconds.
Cicilia pulled herself to her feet, still looking amused, apparently unperturbed by the mess in which they both found themselves. She dusted off her trews, which only served to make them even dirtier.
“Nae answer?” she asked. “Well, if ye dinnae mind, then, I’ve got work to do.”
She turned her back on him, and the words came rushing out at once. “How dare ye act this way around yer Laird!” Alexander snapped. “Ye attacked me! I could have ye arrested for such a thing!”
Never mind yer improper, preposterous suggestion!
Cicilia didn’t even look back to him. “An’ ye attacked me back. We’re perfectly even,” she said nonchalantly. “I’m gonnae have the grace to forget that ye insulted me and me faither, but I’d like ye to leave me to me work.”
“Ye’re an impossible lass!” he growled at her. “I’m gonnae bathe. Again.”
He turned on his heel and stormed away, dark clouds forming in his head, but apparently, Cicilia couldn’t let him go without a parting shot.
“Be sure to enjoy yerself,” she trilled.
Filled with a deep black fury, he stormed towards the main house. He passed a bewildered Nathair as he did.
“Sandy, were ye yelling?” the Man-at-arms asked, looking up from his conversation with the girl. “We thought we heard laughter, but look at ye!”
Look at him, indeed. Laughter, indeed! It made his belly clench, thinking that anyone might even guess at the ridiculous scene that had just occurred in the stables. Bad enough that a woman of Cicilia’s age and stature should behave in such a way, but he? A Laird?
It didn’t bear thinking about.
His head was still awash with anger and embarrassment and a strange mix of hatred and desire. That just embarrassed him further. He detested the girl’s behavior and her peculiar appearance. That he’d almost let his base instincts overtake him was beyond humiliating.
An’ she keeps makin’ me think o’ Ilene, even though they’re nothin’ alike. That’s infuriatin’, as well. I dinnae want to think of Ilene.
