“True.” Alexander caught hold of Ailis’s arm as she came abreast of him. “Ye heard us. Angus will tend to Jaime.Yewill come with me.”
Jaime turned to look at them, his eyes widening as he suddenly realized how little Ailis was wearing. “Mistress,” he gasped, “where are your clothes?”
She could not really tell her overprotective friend that her clothes lay in shreds upon the laird’s chamber floor, for she feared how he would react. So Ailis grew evasive. “I spilled some wine on them.”
Looking at Alexander with narrowed eyes and wrinkling up his nose, Jaime muttered, “I ken that ye were sloshing it about a fair bit.”
The sound of badly stifled laughter assaulted Alexander’s ears, and he snapped at Ailis, “Come along, wench.” He ignored the angry looks he got from Jaime, Ailis, and, to his well-hidden astonishment, Kate, as he dragged Ailis out of the dungeons.
As soon as Alexander and Ailis were gone, Barra started to laugh. “God’s teeth, ‘tis a poor time to be laughing, I ken it—but I canna help myself. Did ye see our fine laird?” He laughed even harder as others began to join in.
Alexander heard the sound of laughter following his retreat. He did not appreciate being the source of such amusement to his men, especially not because of some tiny, dark-eyed female. As he towed a wisely silent Ailis back to his bedchamber, he muttered curses under his breath. His act of rightful vengeance should not draw laughter. Once in his bedchamber Alexander slammed the heavy door shut and pushed Ailis toward the bed before he moved to wash up.
Ailis continued to stay quiet, a course of action she knew to be the wisest and safest. She silently edged toward the table, where the remaining jug of wine and her goblet stood, then helped herself to a hearty drink. As Alexander rinsed out his wine-stained golden hair, she managed to down two more goblets full and tip herself out a third. Then he saw what she was up to. He spat out an oath, strode over to her, yanked the wine jug from her, and had a long draft. With a calm she knew was heavily supported by wine, Ailis decided the fine-looking Laird of Rathmor could use a few lessons in simple manners.
Her blasé attitude well restored, Ailis sprawled on her back on the big bed. “Go easy on that wine, sir. I dinna care to lie down with an insensible man.”
Alexander nearly choked on his last swallow of wine and glared at a softly chuckling Ailis. “Ye have dirty feet.”
She frowned at him in confusion, for, even though a glance at her feet confirmed their filthy state, she thought his remark odd and unrelated to what she had been saying. “I didna think ye made use of my feet in what is to come.”
He blinked at her, then burst out laughing. Even though a small voice in his mind told him that her ability to make him laugh was dangerous, he ignored it as his anger melted away. He kept chuckling as he busily washed her feet, tossed the damp cloth in the general direction of the washbowl, then laid down on the bed next to Ailis. Alexander turned on his side and, propped up on one elbow, cupped his chin in his hand. He studied her closely for a moment, savoring the way his body tightened with desire for her.
“Ye are very calm for a lass who is soon to be ravished,” he murmured. “Or—is it the wine?”
It was undoubtedly the wine, but Ailis had no intention of admitting that to him. “If I weep and wail and cower at your feet, will that stop ye from carrying out your plans?” She tensed slightly when he began to unlace the shirt she wore.
“Nay, none of that would matter save that I would need to be rough with ye.” Alexander discovered that he had absolutely no wish to be rough with her even if she denied him, but he prayed that she would not guess at that weakness in him. “Tell me, why is your big friend so afraid of that cell? He spoke of a hole? Was he trapped in one at some time?”
“Aye. His father and other kin often shut poor Jaime up in a box, and sometimes they buried him. Oh, not so it would kill him, as they needed his strength to do the work they should have done. But they did it often enough and from a young age. Now poor Jaime has such terror of being in the dark or being confined.”
“Aye. ‘Tis understandable. I put him there to save his life. I felt he might not be able to hold to his word and we would be forced to kill him. I now ken that he would rather we did that than put him back in the dungeon.”
“That he would. I think Jamie would commit the sin of dying by his own hand rather than go into some closed, dark place.”
“And he will keep his word to stay his hand.”
“He will.”
Alexander slowly trailed his fingers down the opening of the shirt she wore, watching the color creep into her face and her eyes darken nearly to black. That indication that he could stir a passionate response in her had Alexander suddenly short of breath. It disturbed him a little, for it was a strength of reaction he had never tasted before, but he relished it. Although he had lately scoffed at the tales of women who made the bedding of others a mundane chore, if not actually distasteful, due to the fullness of the act when shared with them, he had always envied the men who had claimed to have had such an experience. He could not stop himself from wondering if he was finally going to taste something akin to that. For the first time in far too long it became important to him that the woman in his arms reacted, strongly and honestly, and did not just act as a tool to relieve his needs in some superficial way.
Ailis fought desperately to attribute her reactions to his touch to nerves and fear, but she failed. Nerves and fear would have made her push him away, but she held herself still, tried to drink her wine, and awaited his next move with an aching anticipation. His eyes, which had warmed to a deep, captivating blue, held her spellbound. The way he trailed his long, softly callused fingers between her breasts caused a sweet warmth to curl around her loins. That tempting warmth spread like a fire in dry grass when he moved his elegant hand over her slim legs from toe to thigh and back again. She was certain that she could not blame the wine for that.
“Take the shirt off, little one,” he ordered her in a thickened voice. He ached for a fuller view of what he would soon possess.
For one brief moment Ailis contemplated denying him, but realized he would simply tear the shirt off, and she did not want even the mildest form of violence to intrude. She tossed off the rest of her wine, set her heavy goblet down, and, taking a deep breath, removed the shirt. The heat of a deep blush flooded her face as Alexander stared at her. No man had ever seen her so exposed. She tried to hide her breasts from his gaze with her arms, but he easily thwarted that attempt at modesty. To her shame she discovered that his blatant appreciation excited her.
“God’s beard, lass, ye are lovely,” he murmured and slowly ran his hand down her side to rest upon her hip. “Ye feel like silken gold. Dinna be afraid.”
The only reply she could make was a soft noise deep in her throat as he brushed his lips over hers. He tantalized her mouth by tracing its full shape with his tongue until she was tempted into begging for a fuller, deeper kiss. Alexander granted her silent demand with a leisurely thoroughness that pulled a low moan from deep within her. He lightly pinned her to the bed with his tall, lean frame, but she knew such gentle restraint was unnecessary. The sweet seduction of his kiss was chain enough. His kiss left her wanting more when he finally moved away. It was then that she realized fighting him was the very last thing on her mind, and her heart sank.
“Touch me, lass,” he whispered in a hoarse voice as he traced the dainty lines of her small ear with his tongue. “I want to feel your hands against my skin.”
A voice in Ailis’s head commanded her not to give in, but its warning was easily ignored, quickly drowned out by the loud cry of her own wants. Her intention had been to acquiesce to his demand, to make herself less of a tool of vengeance. Instead she found herself not only surrendering to his touch, but participating in her own dishonoring. As that thought flickered through her mind, she found that it was also easy to discard. It left the moment she moved her hands over the smooth hard skin of his torso. All that really concerned her now was that the delicious feelings he created would continue.
She began to eagerly move her hands over his broad back, tracing his taut muscles and the hard ridge of his spine with her fingers, before slipping her hands around to his strong chest. There was very little hair on his chest, but she enjoyed the texture of the small blond triangle. She lightly rubbed her palms over his nipples, feeling them harden beneath her skin. When she slowly trailed the fingers of one hand down the thin line of fair hair leading beneath the waistband of his hose, she felt him tremble. A soft groan escaped him as he brushed kisses over her long neck, and she knew that he was caught up in the same sensual whirlwind that she was.
Alexander began to fear that he would not be able to go slowly, as he knew he should. Her shy but deft touch was swiftly breaking his nearly legendary control. The way she was turning to fire beneath him was intoxicating, stroking his own passion to a height he had never tasted before. It both pulled at him and alarmed him.
