“Certainly, Laird MacAllister. Aggie and I will both be most anxious to learn how Danny gets on.”
He bowed his head toward her again, and she steeled herself for another brush with that impossible pleasure. But he only spoke in her ear. “I did no’ mean that. I would like to call on you, Jeannie, the way a man calls on a woman.”
Shock speared through her again with still more intensity, though she would not have believed she could perceive such shades of difference with all her senses scorched and burned.
Discerning her thoughts, no doubt from her expression, he asked, “Why look so surprised? You are a widow, after all. And I am alone in the world.”
Alone in the world. Something in those words spoke to Jeannie, fell into the deep, empty place in her heart.Not wise, a tiny voice in her mind warned. You know what he is—a wolf before the sheep. And anyone who can affect you so with one chaste touch could wound you very deeply indeed.
Yet he stood there waiting, watching her with those mysterious eyes, irresistible as the summer’s morning.
She attempted to draw her fingers away; his tightened, and a whole new wave of heat beat through her.
“I am sure that is not what Geordie—or the ghost of him—meant when he asked you to look after me.”
“Perhaps not. But grieve for it as I might, Geordie has gone to his rest, while you and I remain.”
Tell him no, advised the small voice again.Send him from your door.
But every other sense argued differently. She remembered him rising from the pool, every part of him naked to her gaze, the overwhelming, wild, and terrifying beauty of him.Might I have that?she asked herself, and the question shocked her still more deeply.
She was a widow, yes—one who had barely felt a man’s touch. She and her husband had never lain together. He had kissed her on the lips—a sweet, whisky-flavored caress that had stirred her pity rather than her desire. Nothing, nothing like this. Was she to grow old alone, die without truly living, without tasting fire?
She lifted her chin and told him with what propriety she could muster, “Yes, Laird MacAllister, you may call on me.”
Oh, and what was that she saw in his eyes? Satisfaction? Victory? Desire? For something flared there that made Jeannie’s stomach flutter in response.
She drew her hand away again, and this time he let her. He made a slight bow that tumbled the wild hair over his shoulders. “Until then, Jeannie MacWherter. Be safe.”
He turned from her, took the bridle of Danny’s horse in his hand, and, leading the other animal behind, moved off. Aggie, a thoughtful look on her face, stepped away. Both women stood watching until the movements of the small party could no longer be seen down the glen.
****
Aye, and this would be easy, Finnan told himself as he moved off and away, his feet padding in whispers on the soft, green turf. Far easier than he had imagined at the outset. He had bedded many women in his time, and he knew full well when he had snagged one’s desire.
Jeannie MacWherter wanted him, and he had not yet even kissed her on the lips. She wanted what she’d seen at the pool, and she wanted his mouth on her, everywhere.
He would be happy to comply—possibly the next time they met. He would, of course, have to get the little maid out of the way. Seduction never worked well with an audience. But he did not doubt he could have Jeannie in broad daylight, right in her cottage—Geordie’s cottage that she had stolen—and in any position he chose.
The thought enflamed him. He pictured Jeannie on her knees before him, her golden tresses in a tangle and her lovely red lips parted in anticipation of what he would give her. He wondered again about the curves beneath that plain gown, how her breasts would look, how they would feel in his hands. But this was not about desire.
It was about revenge.
Of course he had the Avries to deal with first. He glanced over his shoulder at Danny. “All right, lad?”
“I will no’ complain.”
The words pricked Finnan. ’Twas something Geordie had always said, and usually with a touch of dark humor, when things were at their very worst. They might be hungry, wet, and cold, with battle wounds, and nowhere safe to lay their heads, but if he asked his friend how he fared, the response was always the same.
He gave a hard laugh now, grim in its acknowledgement of their situation. Surrounded by enemies once again, and him with paradise to hold and this lad to defend.
Yet the promise of Jeannie MacWherter lay before him.
Chapter Fourteen
Jeannie spread another cloth on the prickle bush and straightened her aching back. She and Aggie had been up doing laundry since before dawn, and it was now well after noon. Endless buckets of water had been hauled and heated over the fire, and countless garments and sheets wrung out. She tried to imagine doing this chore in winter, and failed.
Aggie looked as tired as Jeannie felt, her round cheeks red from exertion and her hair straggling down. She had stopped moaning some time ago, however, for which Jeannie was profoundly grateful.
