That old diary means so much to her. So much.
I shouldnae have kept it from her for so long.
This thought was followed by a pang of something that felt suspiciously like regret. Ryder made a point to avoid regret as often as he could. It was a dangerous emotion, the sort of thing that choked a person and weighed them down with indecision.
And yet here it was, sweeping over him like a wave, unstoppable andloud.
He cleared his throat, averting his gaze to somewhere else in the room. He fixed his eyes on the tapestry instead. That seemed safer.
“I thought ye were keepin’ it until it was time for me to leave,” Megan murmured, her voice soft. “I thought that was our deal.”
“It was,” Ryder responded, fighting to keep his voice steady. He ran his fingers through his hair, his hand catching on a knot. The pain was sharp, helping to clear his mind. “But I think ye ought to have it now. Ye have done good work, even if ye have disobeyed me at every turn.”
She snorted, shaking her head. “I only disobeyed when I had to. But… but thank ye for this. It means a lot.”
She pressed the book against her chest, flattening her hands over his. When he glanced back at her, she was staring into nothing in particular, her gaze turning inward.
She’s thinkin’ of him,Ryder thought suddenly.She’s thinkin’ of her faither, goin’ through the memories they had together.
I hope her memories are happy ones.
Abruptly, her eyes flicked up to him. Before he knew what was happening, she lunged forward, going up on her tiptoes. Her soft lips pressed against his cheekbone, the touch barely there and fleeting.
The kiss spread through his body like a fire burning out of control, circling in his gut and tensing his muscles. He swallowed hard, praying silently for control.
Megan darted back, red-faced. If he hadn’t known better, he would have said that she was embarrassed.
“Ye daenae ken what this means to me,” she said after a pause, her voice more clear and level. “Thank ye. And here I daenae have a present for ye.”
Ryder swallowed. His throat had gone dry, almost scratchy. He wanted to clear his throat again, but it was rapidly becominga tic, a habit. He fought to avoid habits. Habits were ruts, and ruts were dangerous. Best to keep one’s life as free from entanglements of any kind as possible. Even routine was an entanglement.
And yet here he was, stumbling toward her again, gaze flicking up and down her frame as if he were a hungry man and she a fresh piece of bread, dripping with butter, new from the oven. His mouth watered.
“Are ye sure that ye havenae got a gift for me?” he whispered, his voice rough with desire.
Her eyes widened, pupils darkening. She swallowed, and he watched the movement go down her throat. He let his gaze drift lower, resting on the curve of her breasts. Sometimes, he could almost feel the warm softness of her breasts beneath his fingers, with the shape of her nipples burned into his mind forever.
He knew how she would react if he touched her, if only he could close the gap between them. His hands itched to touch—to touchher. He hadn’t touched her properly, and he could almosttasteher sometimes, too.
Her breath caught in her throat. He heard it—a stifled, surprised gasp, heavy with desire.
She feels the same way,he thought.I ken she does.
And there was a tentative tap on the door.
“What? Who is it?” Ryder snapped, a flush of anger reddening his vision.
“Only me, me Laird,” Flora’s regretful voice came. “Ewan said that I should tell ye that Laird MacAdair is here, and that ye had both better come down.”
Ryder used the interruption as an opportunity. He stepped back, cleared his throat, and smoothed back his hair.
“We had better go,” he said, as coolly as he could manage.
Megan watched him, her eyes unreadable.
“I suppose so,” she answered.
The Feast Hall was filling up rapidly. Megan elbowed her way through the crowd, sweating already, until people around her seemed to realize that she was the Laird’s betrothed and hastily began to move aside.
