She eyed the bed and wrapped her arms tight about herself. She had heard about the act from women she knew, not the least Aggie, led astray in Dumfries by a young doorman at a neighboring house, who had soon abandoned her. It could be awkward, uncomfortable, even painful.
With Finnan MacAllister, Jeannie believed, it would be none of those things.
She had to regather her sanity, needed to go back out there and act the mistress of this place. He was just a man. One with a magical touch, a hard, beautiful body, and delicious lips. Mating with him would be like mating with liquid fire. Taking him into her mouth…
She stopped herself there and tried to think of something—anything—that would dampen her imagination. Surprisingly, an image of Geordie MacWherter flickered to life in her mind—Geordie, with his wide, sorrowful gaze and the well of deep sadness he seemed to carry around with him.
Ironic, that the memory of her husband should now deliver her from temptation. Hastily, she straightened her clothing and bundled her hair into a respectable knot. Before she finished, she heard voices from beyond the curtain—that of Finnan MacAllister, which now seemed to have become rooted in her soul, or perhaps a bit lower down, and Aggie’s lighter tones. She pushed her way back through the curtain. Aggie bent over Danny’s makeshift bed, her hand on his forehead, and exclaimed in concern.
Finnan MacAllister—but no, she would not look at him.
“He is burning up,” Aggie said, “and will not wake.”
Jeannie swept forward to examine the lad. Two flags of bright color flew in his cheeks, and he tossed, restless.
“Go and dress yourself,” she told Aggie more brusquely than she intended. “It is not proper for you to appear in your nightclothes.”
Did she hear a faint snort from Finnan MacAllister’s direction? Still, she would not look his way.
“I did not know they were here,” Aggie began, in defense of herself.
“Just go.”
Foolish, for it left Jeannie alone with Finnan again, the last thing she wanted.
“Danny seems very ill indeed,” she said. “Have you dressed the wound?”
“I was just about to, when your maid appeared.” Finnan approached, and Jeannie’s entire body went on alert. She had never suspected she could quiver with awareness. Hastily, she stepped away.
“Jeannie,” he said, and the sound shivered through her. “Jeannie, will you not look at me?”
She would have fled once more, but his fingers snared her wrist. She shied from the immediate rush of pleasure.
“I am that sorry,” he told her in a low voice. “I have made things uncomfortable between us.”
It had not been all his doing, the kisses, the touching—she knew that very well. Yet she said, “You have made things impossible between us. You will have to leave.” Because now she could not trust herself near him.
“Aye,” he agreed. “Just as soon as I can move the lad.”
And when might that be? Danny had arrived on his feet last night but did not look capable of standing on them now.
Aggie came clattering back down from the loft and tied her apron around her waist.
“Please heat some water so Laird MacAllister can tend Danny’s wound, and then make some porridge,” Jeannie bade her.
Aggie nodded and leaned in close to Jeannie. “Have you told him those men were here yesterday afternoon?”
“I have. He will be leaving as soon as possible.”
Aggie did not look happy, but she went about her duties without further comment. Finnan MacAllister stepped away as she gathered a basin and bandages—further inroads on Jeannie’s best sheet. She wondered what thoughts occupied his mind and then cursed herself for caring. Last night had been a rush of madness, now over and done.
Yet when he began peeling the bandages from Danny’s wound, she followed the gentle movements of his fingers, all too aware of the way the thick auburn hair spilled down the back of his neck. She had touched that hair, tangled her fingers in it. She had been cupped by that hand, had pressed herself against that lithe body.
By heaven, was this a disease that afflicted her?
Danny stirred when the bandage came away, tossed his head restlessly, and moaned.
Jeannie bit her lip; the wound looked angry, the flesh red and puffy around the stitches.
