Читать книгу My Fair Highlander - Mary Wine - Страница 6

Chapter Three

The man moved too silently; there had to be something unnatural about him.

Jemma felt frustrated with her own thoughts, finding them too somber for her liking. Men such as Gordon Dwyre were still only men; she’d felt his heart beat and his breath filling his chest. He was as real as she.

Instead of comforting her, that thought only blew across the coals of longing that were left from being pressed up against him.

Her gaze swept the Scot from head to toe, picking out all the details that made him so silent when he moved. Strength was etched into his body, proving that he was more a man of action than words. He still wore his kilt, but the pommel of his sword was no longer sitting above his right shoulder. She didn’t make the mistake of thinking that he was now less dangerous.

The man embodied the idea. It was in the way he moved and the manner that he held his arms. Ever so slightly away from his body, his fingers hooked into the wide leather belt he wore. A simple wool doublet was unbuttoned to the middle of his chest. A little ripple of awareness crossed her skin, and she bit her lower lip to dispel it.

“Ula knows her craft well. She’ll not leave ye wanting beneath me roof.”

Jemma realized that she’d been struck silent by her desire to look at him. That annoyed her because such had never happened before. It shouldn’t be troubling her now, especially when she needed her wits to convince the burly Scot to return her home. She had freedom of choice there. Here she was subject to Gordon’s will, and that knowledge sat uneasy on her. For all that her life had been a simple country one, she realized that she had never lacked freedom.

“Yes, Ula was most kind.”

He stepped farther into the room, his kilt swaying slightly. She noticed the garment because it was so different from everything she was accustomed to. In fact, Gordon Dwyre was unlike anything she knew, which must explain why she had difficulty mastering her thoughts when he was near.

Of course. That made sense, and understanding would lead her to logical thinking. That was what she needed.

“I shall remember her fondly.”

A soft chuckle filled the room. Gordon closed more of the gap between them. “Are ye in a hurry to depart, lass? The sun will nae be rising for some time.”

“Of course I am eager to return home. I mean no insult by such. However grateful I am for your assistance, returning to Amber Hill is my first priority.”

His expression tightened. “Well now, lass, ye see there is our conflict. Returning ye to any place that can nae keep ye from harm.”

“I told you, it was my own doing.”

Laird Barras folded his arms over his chest. “I recall that very well, lass, which is why I hesitate to take ye back where ye are clearly able to work yer will over those who should be doing their duty to keep ye from harm.”

“I made a mistake in leaving so late in the day.”

“Ye did that, sure enough, and it nearly cost ye yer life.” There was no mistaking the judgment in his tone. Jemma bristled beneath its cutting edge.

“It is not my normal way to challenge the rules set down by my brother.”

“I disagree, lass. I’ve watched ye riding across that section of land too many times to count.”

Watched me riding?

Jemma twisted her hands in the fabric of her skirt while pacing a few steps away from him. Her belly twisted with sensation.

He’d watched her, too many times to count?

“You shouldn’t have done that.” There were only the candles on the table, and as she moved, she left their light behind her. The shadows felt more secure with their darkness to help conceal her emotions.

“Nae, lass, ye should not have been out where me men and I could watch ye.”

His voice rang with heavy judgment. It needled her pride, setting a spark to her temper.

“I am not your concern, sir, and I was always on my father’s land.”

He followed her, and she stood torn between the urge to retreat farther or stand fast to remain in the glow from the candles. Something flickered in his eyes that looked like approval.

“At the moment ye are, because it was my men that I just risked to save ye. Be very sure that I do nae place me men in jeopardy for just any reason, even if ye are too foolish to be allowed the freedom yer brother has given ye.”

Jemma gasped, caught somewhere between pride and astonishment that he would consider it his right to decide what was best for her. That desire struck her as oddly intimate, rippling over her skin like a caress.

“Making an offer for me does not grant you the right to dictate to me, sir.”

He uncrossed his arms and she shivered, her memory filling with how it felt to be pressed against him. A flicker of excitement returned to her so quickly she chewed on her lower lip, needing some outlet for all the churning sensations trapped within her.

“No, lass, pulling ye off the ground before ye were raped does.” His voice cut through the air like a hot knife. There was nothing friendly in his expression, only harsh judgment.

“I asked yer brother for the right to court ye only, I never offered for ye and I’m thinking that a wise thing at the moment. I do nae need a wife that has nae got the sense of a child.”

His rejection stung.

Jemma felt it traveling through her like a lash from a whip. She’d only felt leather bite into her flesh once and for the very same reason. Lack of attention to what was happening around her.

She had been a mere ten years old and walked into a section of the training yard she had no place being. A thick, braided leather whip sliced down across her back before the men noticed that their space had been invaded. It had been her mistake to go there, and her father had made that clear with a lecture witnessed by every man training in that yard. It had been her sire’s place to reprimand her. It was a lesson she had never forgotten until her father died.

That made Gordon Dwyre’s judgment sting even more. She was not perfect, but that did not mean she needed another man attempting to act as her parent.

“Well then, it seems we are in agreement. I do not belong here, Lord Barras.” She pronounced his title with an English accent to drive home just how different they were.

The man snorted at her.

One direct sound that communicated just how much he disagreed with her. Jemma felt her chin rise—just a tiny amount—but his attention lowered to it, noticing the stubborn motion. His eyes flashed with an equal amount of determination to see her accept his will.

Which she would not do.

“I will look forward to sunrise and my departure.”

He didn’t care for her telling him what would be. Jemma witnessed the flare of resistance that lit his eyes, but he drew in a sharp breath, battling against the urge to argue with her. Jemma turned her back on him. It was a bold thing to do, possibly as foolish as riding out of Amber Hill against Synclair’s wishes.

But the tension was becoming unbearable. She had to move, do something to force the moment to pass before she buckled beneath the strain.

It was more than that . . .

She dug her fingernails into her palms while time felt as though it was frozen. She could still feel Gordon behind her.

Gordon?

When had she begun thinking of the Scot with his first name? To be sure that was going to bring her nothing but lament. The man wasn’t interested in her, far from it. He considered her foolish and a nuisance. His judgment stung in spite of her determination to cast it aside by reminding herself that she shouldn’t care a bit what he thought. Just because she enjoyed his glances.

And being pressed against his hard body . . .

She stiffened, trying to force the memory aside, but it was a battle that her body wasn’t willing to lose. The tension became too much, and she turned her head to look back at him. The spot where the large Scot had stood was empty. Jemma turned and scanned the dark corners of the room but found them empty of anything except furniture.

He did move silently. It was a pity that it was not so simple to remove his memory from her mind. Disappointment flowed through her, prickling her with a sense of loss that she cursed.

“Men do not always grasp what drives a woman to do the things she does.”

Ula spoke in a quiet tone that drew a snarl from her laird. But the sound did not disturb the housekeeper. She kept moving on even steps that never faltered. The woman walked right up to him and offered him a wooden mug with no fear of his temper.

“It does nae matter. I’m going to take her home and let her brother have the pleasure of dealing with her. I see why she’s uncontracted now.”

Gordon took the mug of ale and drew off a long swallow. Ula didn’t agree with him. He could see it in the woman’s eyes, and it annoyed him because it was the sort of look that women often gave men. One that suggested they felt that whatever was on their minds, men were incapable of understanding.

“The lass was riding out on the border land without a care for any harm that might befall her. ’Tis clear that she is nae married because she’s spoilt.”

Ula stiffened and Gordon grunted. “Speak yer mind, Ula. I have never dictated that ye must hold yer tongue. That is an English trait.”

“Ye have never needed to because I know when to keep my lips from flapping, Laird.”

Gordon shrugged and took another swallow from his mug. “Aye, ye are wiser than many that I’ve met. But I see that ye disagree with me on the girl. Why? Yer own son was riding with me. I didna think ye would care to hear that he was run through because of some English noble lass that does nae have the sense to remain inside her home when the sun is setting.”

“I would nae care for such news, ’tis true.”

“But?” Gordon pressed her, for some reason craving to know why the housekeeper disagreed with him when it came to Jemma Ramsden.

“But I have heard from Lilly who is the daughter of the blacksmith and has a sister married over on the Ramsden land to their cobbler Samuel Jerkins, that the girl was nursing her father for the last four years.” Ula tilted her head to the side, obviously considering her thoughts before speaking. She lifted one finger. “She could have left it to the maids, but Lilly said the lass tended her father with her own hands, even sleeping in the manservant lodgings alongside the master chamber. That is nae a spoilt child but one who loves their parent.”

“She was still riding along the border land with the sun sinking on the horizon. Maybe ye have nae heard, but we rescued her from a band of English rogues who were moments away from raping her.”

Gordon felt a prickle of relief cross his skin to settle into his bones. It surprised him because it was not the first time he’d intervened in foul plans. None of those times had made his knees feel weak or lingered in his thoughts much beyond a good mug of ale. He finished off what remained in his grasp, hoping to be done with the entire event.

It persisted, though, and Ula refilled his mug as though the housekeeper knew that he would not dispense with this bit of business easily.

“Fine, she is nae spoilt. At least no when it comes to being devoted to her family. But that does nae change the fact that the woman is senseless. She would require a great deal of effort to protect.”

“She would no be the first to make mistakes while her heart was full of grief. The talk is that the girl only took to riding when her father died. That is a powerful blow that many buckle beneath.” Ula lowered herself before turning to face the hallway. The housekeeper walked down the length of it and entered the room that Jemma was in. A moment later she emerged without the pitcher.

Gordon had to force the ale in his mouth down his throat or risk choking on it.

Grief... aye. There was something that sent more than one person off to doing things they normally never would have. Things that they regretted when the pain had dulled enough for them to resume thinking clearly.

Of course, the more strength the person had, the more insane the recklessness. His fellow laird, Deverell Lachlan, was grieving hard for his lost bride and riding the night like a highlander. The man’s face was covered in a beard that grew longer every time Gordon saw him, and there seemed to be no easing of the pain etched into his friend’s eyes.

Aye, grief was a powerful thing.

He turned around to look back down the hallway from where he’d left Jemma. He was suddenly not so disgusted with her, part of him longing to go back into the room where Ula had placed her.

It was a bedchamber, even if the bed was all the way across the room from where they had been talking. Still, there would be plenty of people who condemned him for being alone with a maiden in there.

Jemma was a maiden. He’d stake his stallion on that fact. She’d shivered against his back, her heart racing while she tried to keep that knowledge from being noticed. A woman with experience wouldn’t have been so flustered. A knowing gleam would have entered her eyes. Maybe she would have lowered her lashes to conceal such, but only maidens looked back with such wide-eyed surprise when they met a man who drew their interest.

Jemma had cast those looks at him when he walked into her home to meet with her brother. She was drawn to him as surely as he was to her despite the fact that she was virgin still. He should call Ula back to stand as witness to what transpired between them, but he was finished with watching while surrounded by others. He’d done the chivalrous thing and visited her brother, and all that had done was allow Jemma to hide from him.

That knowledge did not stop him from moving back down the hallway. With his firm belief that she was nothing but a spoilt nuisance removed, there was nothing to keep him from seeking her out.

Jemma sniffed at the ale and wrinkled her nose. She had never cared for it, which was almost considered a sin because ale was a staple of English food. She liked all grains well enough, but once they were fermented with yeast, she found them sour. Hot porridge was her preferred way of taking in her barley and wheat.

“We’ve cider if ale does not please ye.”

Jemma jumped and then muttered a word that her brother didn’t think she knew. Of course she’d learned it from his men, but like all males, Curan liked to think that the women of the house were deaf anytime the men were cursing.

“I do not need anything save for the sun to rise.”

“Which will nae happen for many hours.”

Gordon Dwyre strode back into the room, his hand wrapped around a mug. She suddenly noticed the bed in the room, which sat some twenty paces across the floor. The Barras tower was built in the older fashion, without walls to divide the floor. Newer construction afforded a receiving chamber separated by a wall from the actual bedchamber. She was strangely aware of that bed and the way her body had responded to Gordon’s while they were pressed together.

“I thought you were gone from me. Disgusted by my lack of forethought.” She walked away from the ale and the bed, moving off into the semidarkness just beyond the candles’ glow.

“Why do ye ride as ye do?”

Jemma felt her eyes widen and took another step into the darkness to cover her expression. Gordon placed his mug on the table and watched her from beneath lowered eyebrows. He had dark hair. Like midnight, but his eyes were blue.

“It doesn’t matter what sent me out, only that I realize now that it was foolish.”

One of those dark eyebrows rose. “I hear ye started riding when yer father died. Do ye think that I can nae understand what grief does to a person?”

“I can’t fathom why you would think I might share such a personal thing with you. We are strangers, sir.”

He chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. The motion made his arms bulge, the muscles pressing against the fitted sleeve of his doublet. “Strangers, aye we are but that does nae mean that I have never done something I regretted while in the midst of grief.”

“Fine. As you will, sir. If that pleases you and softens your judgment of me then so be it.” She discovered that her hands had planted themselves on her hips like an angry wife, and she jerked them off only to fumble with them while she attempted to compose herself. “Somehow I doubt that riding is an escape for you since you do it so often.”

His face transformed into something that was wickedly handsome. His lips curved, and his eyes held a gleam that was full of male satisfaction.

“Well now, there’s riding and then there is riding that pleases a man. I admit to enjoying a good, hard ride. Often.”

He was talking about bed sport. His eyes shimmered with mischief, and his lips curved in mocking display.

Her cheeks heated and her jaw dropped open. She snapped it shut with a click of her teeth. But she had to fight the urge to look at the bed. Her mind was suddenly full of just what the Scot might look like in it.

What might it feel like to have those lips touch my own . . . ?

“You have no place judging my actions, sir.”

“You mean, I should nae be handing out my opinion when I’m nae perfect myself?” He crossed the room, closing the distance between them with a stride that held her fascinated. He grew larger and more imposing with each step, but she was frozen in place, too hypnotized to move. He had to angle his head down to keep their eyes connected now that he was so much closer.

“Well now, lass, aren’t ye judging my riding habits right now, too?”

Jemma slapped her hands down on her skirts, unable to remain still any longer. “I wouldn’t be if you weren’t so coarse as to bring up the subject. I do assure you of that, sir.”

“Ye assure me? Is that so?” He reached out and captured one of her hands in the blink of an eye, his larger fingers curling and turning her wrist up so that he could see its delicate skin.

“Release me and go, we should not be alone.”

“No just yet. I’m thinking that it’s high time we did more than look at each other across a distance.”

Her breath froze in her throat, and her jaw dropped open once more in shock. “You . . . you are behaving abominably. Release me now, I tell you.”

“Well now, lass, and that takes me right back to pointing out to you how reckless riding out near sunset is.” His fingers tightened on her wrist just enough to give her pain, but only for a brief moment. When her eyes widened with the discomfort, his grip eased, giving her release. It was strangely intimate, the way he read her emotions off her face. Such knowledge sent uncertainty surging through her.

“Ye see, now that ye have left the sanctuary of yer brother’s protection, ye have to deal with whatever comes yer way. The rules and etiquette of proper behavior often crumble when ye ignore them first.”

“So I am to blame for whatever you choose to do with me?” She pulled on her wrist, but it was a wasted motion because he held her securely.

“Aye, lass.” His voice held a rich tone that made her heart increase its pace. In his eyes was more heat than she struggled to ignore within herself. It shone there, staring at her while tempting her. But there was something else about him that she noticed, the difference between him and the English knight that had done nothing to temper his grip.

Trust me . . . Jemma heard the words rise from her memory, and she realized that she did in fact have faith in him.

“You are not so coarse.”

Her words affected him. She witnessed the flare of pride that lit his eyes, almost as if he enjoyed knowing that she did trust in him. But his lips also curved in a sensual motion that sent a shiver down her back. There was a promise lurking in his eyes, too, one that assured her he was not a man who would let conversation deter him from gaining what he truly desired. He would not hurt her, but that did not mean that he would not follow his desires.

“If I was coarse as ye say, lass, I’d not bother to temper my grip.”

“I know that.”

Jemma felt her eyes narrow. The man was teasing her. Well, he was not the only one who knew how to annoy another. Lifting her foot, she aimed for his toes and stomped down as hard as possible. She felt the leather of his boot give beneath the force of her strike, but the man only laughed one moment before he lifted her arm and twisted it behind her, binding her against his body.

“You rogue.” Jemma sneered her insult into his face, wanting to make sure he heard her. But Gordon stared right back at her, his eyes snapping with fire.

“Ye are a wildcat, and a man is wise to keep yer claws contained when he’s close enough to be reached.”

Her throat felt as if it were clogged and that even a single breath might not pass through it. She was pressed against him from thighs to breast and only managed to keep her shoulders separated from his wide chest by arching her back away from him. Her muscles ached from the strain, but Gordon granted her no mercy. He kept her bound against him.

“This is completely indecent.”

His lips twitched up once more. “Aye, it is, lass, but I find it rather enjoyable.”

She used her free hand to shove against his chest. “Of course you do. You enjoy riding, as you so shamelessly informed me. Well, I have no such fondness for carnal activities, sir, so unhand me this moment.”

Before I go insane from the urge to stop struggling and allow you to show me what a man’s embrace feels like . . .

“Are ye sure about that, lass?” His voice had deepened, becoming husky and alluring. “Or is it possibly more a fact that ye have never had a man who rode out after ye and tried his hand at seeing if ye enjoyed his kiss?”

She looked back into his eyes and gasped when he angled his face to press a kiss against her startled lips.

It lasted only a moment before she jerked her head away. But he followed her, releasing her hand so that he might frame her face with his hands and hold her steady for a longer kiss. His mouth settled on top of hers, hot and soft while she heard a moan rise from her chest. She couldn’t help it, there seemed to be no way to contain all the sensation inside her. It was bubbling over like a too-hot pot. Only removing it from the fire would stop the contents from escaping over the sides, and Gordon wasn’t releasing her.

Jemma pressed her hands against his chest, but that became more of a reason to remain when she discovered she liked the way his chest felt beneath her fingers. His lips closed over hers, gently at first, teasing her with a delicate press of his mouth against her own, only applying enough strength to keep her head in place while his lips began to slip along her own.

Slowly, softly, in a motion that sent trickles of delight down her body. The sensation was not confined to her lips; it flowed down her torso and into her belly where that flutter of excitement fed off it. Another moan rose up from inside her, and her hands slid up to his collarbones and over the top of his wide shoulders where she gripped him. The kiss changed immediately. Increasing the pressure against her mouth, Gordon pressed her lips apart wider with his. But instead of finding it harsh, she enjoyed feeling his strength. There was something perfect about knowing that she was soft compared to his hardness. Behind her stays, her breasts felt very delicate, and she noticed how simple it might be to press them against him and have them give way to his firmer form. Her nipples tingled before drawing into tiny pebbles.

“Well now, lass, it seems that ye will have to be rethinking yer opinion of riding, for it sounds like ye just might find it to yer liking.” His hands gently massaged the sides of her face, carefully avoiding where she had been struck. She saw his gaze touch on the bruise darkening her skin, rage flickering in his eyes for just a moment before his attention returned to her face. “Even if it is a carnal enjoyment, between a man and woman, that is no necessarily a bad thing. It can make for a very warm winter, I’m thinking.”

Jemma gasped and shoved him away with every bit of strength she had. He released her but chuckled, letting her know that her freedom was only hers because he granted it to her.

That knowledge stung her pride.

“Between strangers such as us, it is a sinful thing, sir. So stop thinking about such.”

One of those dark eyebrows arched in arrogant display. “Well now, lass, I’ve asked yer brother for permission to court ye. A thing I did long before tonight, so do nae be calling me sinful just because ye enjoyed running yer hands across me chest.”

Jemma snarled. “You kissed me first.”

Gordon shrugged. “Aye, I did. Does that mean that ye would like the opportunity to touch me first? I’m ready to stand steady while ye do with me as ye please, lass.” His eyes sparkled like a boy’s. “I feel the weather growing warmer at just the idea of ye reaching for me.”

Her hand flew out before she thought about it. She balled up her fingers and punched him on the side of his mocking jaw just as she’d seen the men doing in the training yard. Pain snaked up her arm and into her shoulder, drawing another profane word from her lips.

Gordon laughed, full volume, and the man actually leaned over to brace his hands on the top of his thighs while he continued to roar with amusement. In spite of the pain, Jemma pulled her hand back for another swing. Gordon ducked when she came at him this time, his body lowering so that the force of her strike carried her over his wide shoulder. He took full advantage of her inexperience with fighting and surged up so that she ended up bent over his shoulder. One hard hand connected with her unprotected bottom with a smack that echoed off the chamber walls.

“Put me down!”

“As ye like.” He slapped her unprotected bottom another time before dumping her off his shoulder. Jemma shrieked as she felt her body falling through the air. A vision of her slamming into the floor made her cringe, but her body bounced on the soft surface of the bed instead. Her skirts flew up and came down in a tangled mess that knotted around her legs.

“You beast!” She flipped onto her stomach and felt the night air brush against her bare thighs above the top of her knee-high stockings. She jerked her face up to discover Gordon admiring the view her tussled skirts afforded him. Kicking at the fabric, she rose up onto her knees but stopped because the man stood in front of the bed, blocking the path she would have taken off it.

He looked for all the world like some Viking from winter stories. The ones that were told near the end of winter when all the better stories were exhausted. Sitting back down, Jemma rolled over, intent on leaving the bed from the opposite side. But something large and heavy landed on the bed. She snarled and tried to swing her legs off the bed only to discover that her dress held her back. Turning her head, she found Gordon lying across the foot of the bed with one elbow propped against its surface and his head resting in his hand while the beast smirked at her.

His heavier body lay across her skirts, trapping her with only her chemise to guard her modesty.

“Ye hit me, wildcat, so do nae be crying when it was you that set the tone of our conversation.”

Jemma grabbed her skirt and gave it a yank, but the fabric remained lodged beneath his weight. “You earned it for behaving like such a blackguard and stealing a kiss from me.”

“Hmmm . . . possibly.”

“There is no question about it. Now get off my dress, we should not be in . . . in—”

“In bed together?”

Jemma felt her face burn with a blush. “Exactly.”

“With yer skirts tossed?” His lips were curving up in a grin while his tone mocked her.

“Stop it. This is cruel. Riding out was foolish, but I am not a slut, and you should not be looking at my thighs. No one has ever looked at . . .” She couldn’t help how pitiful she sounded. Helplessness was closing around her with an icy grip. There was nothing to stop him from doing what he would. Even her own body seemed to have a liking for his touch. She looked away from him, unable to prevent two tears easing from her eyes. She may have done some foolish things since her father’s death, but never had she shamed him.

A soft word muttered in Gaelic drew her attention back to Gordon. He lifted his body so that her skirts were loose. She pulled them toward her and sat up so that her legs were covered once again. Gordon relaxed against the bed once more, lying in a contented pose while he studied her. It was by far the most unusual setting she had ever been in. All her life had been dictated by rules and traditions. The prospect of being in bed with a man she barely knew had never occurred to her. At least, not if that man was not her husband. Brides often had to deal with meeting their spouses for the first time on the their wedding night.

But she had no such comfort as knowing that wedding vows protected her honor and future. Losing her maidenhead tonight would see her facing a harsh reality tomorrow morning. There would be plenty who would point and judge her for not being pure. Gordon wouldn’t face such. No, the shame would be hers alone and well deserved for sneaking past Synclair the way she had. There was no one to blame but herself.

She drew in a deep breath and banished the tears from her eyes, better to face what was to come than shiver in dread.

“Well? What do you want now, Gordon Dwyre?”

His lips twitched, but they didn’t curve. The man appeared to be watching her, studying her.

“I shouldn’t have looked at yer thighs, lass.”

Jemma nodded agreement.

“But I enjoyed it full well.” He smiled with arrogant confirmation of that enjoyment.

She offered him a short huff. “If you think I’ll thank you for that compliment, you are mistaken.”

He lifted one thick finger. “Maybe not, but I see that ye find me as interesting as I find you.”

“I do not.”

His lips parted as his smile became larger. “Ye undress me with yer eyes, Jemma; ’tis a fact that I find it hard to resist.”

“Try harder.” She would, she had to.

He shook his head. “But ye did hit me, so—” His gaze lowered to her lips and passion flared to life in his eyes. “Ye owe me one sweet kiss to relieve the pain.”

“Trust a man to believe kisses relieve pain.”

One of those eyebrows rose once more. “Do ye deny that many a mother has offered a kiss to soothe the discomfort of her child?”

“You are not a child.” And she was far too aware of it for her own sanity. Her nipples were still hard, begging for the touch of his skin against them. The idea of kissing him was threatening to cast every scrap of self-discipline aside.

“If I roll onto me back and allow ye to tickle me belly, will ye offer me a sweet kiss, Jemma?”

Her mouth went dry. “I shall not.” Jemma forced the words past the wicked urgings that were emerging from the excitement flickering inside her. Part of her did want to touch him, almost too much to ignore.

“Well, that’s a pity. I think I would have enjoyed it full well.” He winked at her before rolling over his shoulder and off the edge of the bed. His kilt went flying, but he landed on his feet in a balanced stance before straightening up, and all she gained was a flash of his trim backside.

A pity . . .

Her cheeks flamed scarlet.

“I must admit that I did enjoy putting ye to bed, lass. I hope I get the chance to do it more often.”

She gasped and snarled as she struggled to crawl off the bed, but her dress hampered her progress.

“Why do women wear such stupid clothing?”

Jemma didn’t realize that she had voiced her thought until she heard Gordon laughing once again. This time it was husky and sweet, sounding far too enticing for her frayed self-control.

“Well now, lass, I admit that the idea of seeing ye in a kilt would be pleasing indeed.” His face became a mask of sensuous intent, shocking her how much she noticed his emotions. “But that would put yer thighs on display to everyone, and I think that I’m not liking that part of it at all.” He plucked at the edge of the rust and orange wool that formed his kilt, lifting it a few inches to show his own thigh that was cut with powerful muscle. Her gaze lowered to it, remaining there until the wool pleats of his plaid fell back down to cover his bare skin.

“No one will disturb ye in this chamber. Ula will knock.”

“So I may feel at ease, is that what you suggest?”

He shrugged. “I could stay and do me best to help ye settle in. We do seem to find things to talk about.” His eyes narrowed. “And do.”

“The chamber is very nice. Thank you for your kindness, but I have all that I require.” She fired off her retort rapidly. “Pray, do not let me keep you from more important matters.”

He chuckled at her, his lips flashing an arrogant grin. “Very well, lass, although I confess to being just a wee bit disappointed in yer choice.”

He considered her with one more long look before turning and quitting the room. Jemma relaxed, her body sagging on her knees in the middle of the bed with her skirts puddled about her. Her heart was beating fast as though she had been running. The night air felt good against her skin because she was warm, just like on a summer day. Her corset felt abnormally tight, and her nipples were still hard behind them. She felt drained now that he was gone, as though her emotions had returned to normal. But she now understood how little she felt during her everyday life.

Jemma gasped at the horror of the moment, raising a hand to cover her mouth. Horror, torment, and longing. Shock held her in its grasp so tightly, all she could do was sit there while the events of the night replayed themselves across her mind. She trembled at the recollection of how close she had come to her own death, but that paled when compared to the way she quivered when she thought about the kiss Gordon Dwyre had pressed against her lips. The darkness around her suddenly became more friend than enemy because it shrouded her and her blush. Try as she might, there was no way to banish Gordon from her mind.

No, there was only the night and the man who had kissed her beneath its velvet curtain.

His cock was hard.

Gordon made his way down the hallway, forcing his feet to carry him away from the woman who had awakened his flesh. Her kiss had been sweet, so much so he felt drunk on it.

“I heard that ye rode back in.” Anyon leaned against the wall with her skirt raised up to show him one long leg. She was a well-shaped woman and knew how to use what nature had blessed her with.

Used it to bring a great deal of pleasure, too. She offered him a sultry look from beneath lowered lashes before sending her hand over her own thigh. One slow rub that normally captivated him. She lifted her eyelashes and stared at him with invitation burning brightly in her eyes. Her breasts swelled temptingly above the edge of her bodice that had always been cut just a small amount lower than the other women who served in his house. He’d never lamented that fact, either.

But tonight it wasn’t holding his attention. Instead he noticed the knowing gleam in her eyes and the practiced slant to her smile.

And almost coy.

“What keeps you from me, lover? Shall I come to you, like a harem girl in the east?” Her skirt fell down to cover her leg, and her hips swayed with just the right amount of motion while she moved to him. She didn’t rush, knowing full well how to draw out the moment to build up the passion.

“Not tonight, Anyon.”

She fluttered her eyelashes and ran a knowledgeable hand along the front of his kilt. Just a light caress, but she sighed when she felt his erection.

“If ye are weary, I’ll ease the stiffness from yer flesh before ye seek yer bed.”

She sent her hand down to the edge of his kilt, her fingertips touching his bare thigh before denial shot through him so hard he jerked away from her. Hurt crossed her face, confusion filling her eyes.

“Ye desire that Englishwoman ye brought back with ye.”

Hurt edged her words, and she pressed her lips into a hard line before backing up. “She’ll not be able to satisfy ye as I can. She’ll cry that ye bruise her. The English are too soft to be good bedsport.” Anyon held out her arms. “Come to me, lover. I’ll give ye what ye crave as I have before.”

“I know ye have, but tonight I have no appetite for ye, Anyon. ’Tis sorry I am to say such to ye.”

He kept his voice low, but her eyes still blinked rapidly as she tried to hold off tears. Anger darkened her complexion. “Fine then. See what sort of sleep ye get with that swollen cock keeping ye company.”

“Anyon—”

She didn’t give him time to try to comfort her. In a swirl of wool she turned and disappeared down the hallway. The night swallowed her up as though she had never been there.

Gordon Dwyre cursed.

Low and deep and he meant every last syllable.