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‘Tis a gift, he mused. Now he had just to convince his rampant cock that they would both need to wait a while longer for gratification.
* * *
Roselyn was awake and perching on the end of his bed when he next opened his eyes. She had wrapped his plaid about her and looked very fetching indeed in the McGregor colours of green, yellow, and ochre, and bathed in the warm early morning sunlight which streamed through his window. Her head was bowed; she appeared pensive.
“Lass, are you all right?” He propped himself up on one elbow.
She turned in the direction of his voice. “Yes, I… I was thinking that perhaps I should return to my own chamber.”
“Oh?”
She shook her head briskly and made to rise. “It would not do to be found here. Not fitting.”
“Wait, Roselyn.” He deliberately gentled his tone. “Why are you in here? I can hardly believe that you lost your way.”
“No, I did not. But—”
“You think too hard, lass. The question before you is a simple one… do you wish to share my bed or not?”
She stood at the foot of his bed, awkward, unsure, gnawing on her lower lip in a manner he found quite irresistible. “I do. That is not the problem, my lord.”
“I have told you, my title is laird, not lord. And if sharing my bed be your wish too, then we have no problem.” He paused, then, “If you still think you should leave I shall not stop you. But you might prefer to return to my bed and I promise you will find pleasure in it. I know which I would prefer.” He turned back the cover and beckoned to her, but of course she did not move. “Roselyn, come back to bed,” he commanded softly.
She hesitated for just a moment then scrambled back up onto the mattress. He guided her to his side then tucked the blankets around both her and the plaid.
“I like you in my colours.”
She pressed her body up against his. “What are they? The colours?”
“Green, near enough the same shade as our bonny loch, and a fine, bright yellow to signify the sunshine. We get little enough here so we McGregors decided to capture some in our plaid. The dark amber colour is for the bracken on the hills surrounding Duncleit.”
“It sounds beautiful.”
“Aye. As are ye, my little English wench.”
She tilted her face toward him. “You do not mind then? That I have no sight?”
“I tend to forget about it. It is a part of you, lass, an’ I would not change you.”
“There is naught amiss with my eyes. I believe I might yet regain my sight.”
“Aye, well, that would be a fine thing. But just in case you do not, I shall ask auld Robbie the carpenter to erect a barrier along the edge of the platform in the great hall.”
“You do not trust Freya to keep me safe?”
“I prefer to put my faith in a few planks of solid Scots pine. What about you, lass? Do you trustme?”
“I do, my laird. I truly do.”
“‘Tis just laird. And ye will not regret it.”
He rolled her onto her back then slowly peeled away the plaid which covered her shoulders. Roselyn did not seek to prevent him baring her to his gaze, even when he pulled the tartan lower to expose her breasts. “Lady Roselyn, I find you have become most precious to me an’ now that you are to remain wi’ me here I shall make it my business to see you kept safe. And happy.”
“Blair…?”
“Aye, lass?” He lowered his head to draw the tip of his tongue across her nipple.
“Oh!” She arched her back.
