His voice was little more than a rasp. “I like you, George.”
She blinked, trying to believe that he’d really said what she thought he’d said.
“You do?” she whispered.
“Aye. And I wanted to do this by the bridge tonight.” His mouth came down on hers. It wasn’t a hard kiss, but it was a passionate one. His hands slid to her head and held her there while his tongue wedged between her lips. He filled her mouth, then slid one hand down her back and pulled her flush against him.
She kissed him back, kissed him with all the passion she had been hiding for so long. Her hands went up into his hair.
His hands slid to her breasts.
She stilled, suddenly frightened of what was happening and happening too fast. She broke off the kiss, shaking her head. “No.”
He watched her closely for a moment and she had the feeling he was trying to gauge if she really and truly wanted him to stop.
“Please, not now.”
He nodded, his expression a little frustrated. The moment grew awkward.
“I need to get to bed,” she said in the way of an explanation. It was all she could think of at the moment. “I need every moment of rest to keep up with your children.”
He walked to the door, then, just before he left, he turned and said, “You’re a good sport, George.”
And she was a good sport. Until two mornings later when she woke up and discovered that his children had painted her face blue.
Chapter Fifty-One
If you unthinkingly set up a tack in another boy’s seat, you ought never to laugh when he sits down on it—unless you can’t “hold in.”
—Mark Twain
Georgina marched over the meadow and down the trail that led to Eachann’s stables, where she could see horses turned out in the neighboring field. The wind had come up from the northeast and was strong and cold, the kind that blew in sharp gusts that flattened her dress to her legs and yanked long strands of her hair free.
She shoved the hair from her blue face and stormed on, not even missing a step. She threw open one of the stable doors and stood there in the entrance while the wind whipped past her and spun the straw around.
Fergus and Will were busy mucking out the stalls.
She slammed the door and threw the bolt, then turned and stood there, her hands hanging at her sides in white-knuckled fists.
The men both turned around at the same time.
Will’s eyes grew huge and he swallowed hard.
But Fergus just stood there as if he had grown roots. He squinted at her, then muttered, “Those wee devils.”
Will’s mouth quivered and began to tilt up into what looked like a smile.
Georgina raised her finger and pointed at them. “One laugh, one smile out of either of you, and you’re both dead.” She looked around. “Where is Eachann?”
“In the field with the horses.”
She spun around and threw open the latch, then stormed out the door, heading for the grassy field beyond.
Some colts cantered playfully in a wide circle around the fencing and a small herd stood huddled together the way horses did whenever the weather took a sudden change. She could see Eachann’s blond head on the other side of the herd.
She called his name, but the sound was swallowed by a gust of wind. She looked for a gate, saw none, so she crawled through the fence and stormed toward him.
A nearby horse looked at her, threw its head up, and rolled its eyes. A second later it bolted as if it had just seen the devil himself.
