“Nonsense. We are family, are we not?”
Chapter Eight
Hero didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she remained silent as Ian led her down to the main floor, through the library, and into the armory. From there a series of heavy doors separated the two parallel stone walls that surrounded the courtyard, a tall inner wall and a shorter outer wall that fronted the cliffs of the firth. The shallow passage between the two walls had been the first line of defense in ancient days, when attacks might be made on the castle from the sea.
Facing the Firth of Clyde, the narrow outer wall of the ramparts stood no more than three feet in height and a foot in thickness. Periodically the wall was notched out into lower sections where the business end of a cannon might be aimed toward the firth to fight off invasion. Should that fail, the inner walls were ten feet in height and more than two feet thick.
He motioned for her to precede him into the narrow walk of the embattlements and she walked ahead of him holding her hooped skirts up on one side, creating an angle to their bell shape that allowed her to fit down the narrow passage. She trailed her fingers along the top of the firth-side ramparts, lifting them over the gaps as she went.
One…two…three.
Ian counted the spaces as she skipped across them, watching her delicate fingers drift through the air before once again skimming the stone walls. The wind was even greater here than it had been on the upper balcony, but then he’d noticed that the ramparts always seemed to be the windiest area of the castle. The breezes from the firth collided with the higher walls and, as if they knew not which way to go, would swirl about the ramparts, pushing and pulling against anyone who walked the walls.
That wind was pulling at Hero now, and tendrils of her golden hair were escaping her once-neat coiffure and licking across her face and neck. The long streamers of her gown that had once lain tamely against the silk were dancing merrily about her skirts.
At the sixth break in the wall, she stopped and turned, seating herself within the notch. After adjusting her skirts daintily, she propped an elbow against the higher portion of the wall and, brushing a piece of hair away from her face, considered him thoughtfully with her vivid azure eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “You see me as a sister then?”
He stared blankly at her for a moment. He’d been so taken by the picture she presented that his earlier words were the farthest thing from his mind. She was so lovely, so desirable. Angelic yet seductive. Brotherly affection was nearly the last thing he felt for her, but he’d be damned if he’d admit it. This strange magnetism between them had already cost him a slap or two to his male pride.
Leaning back against the inner wall, Ian crossed his arms over his chest. “You should be careful there. This wind has the force to push you over the edge, and it’s a long fall to the firth below.”
“Almost a hundred and fifty feet,” she responded, not bothering to look down. “I spent many an evening sitting just so; you needn’t worry for me.”
“I find myself quite concerned.”
“As for a sister?”
Ian met her gaze. Her words were bold ones, prodding even, seeking something that he hadn’t yet truly accepted. Hero was the Marchioness of Ayr, a woman worth more respect than his ogling and lustful thoughts had yet delivered. He wanted her. Still, it was more than that. There was an undeniable connection between them, something more than attraction or mere desire. He wanted her body beneath his, true enough, but it was what else he wanted that was eluding him.
An indefinable longing for something…more.
The sentimentality of the thought grated at his nerves, and his answer, when it finally came, was evasive. “I doubt I would want to waltz with a sister if I had one.”
Her airy rebuttal was immediate. “A cousin, then?”
“I haven’t many of those either,” he quipped lightly, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she merely watched him intently, as if she were waiting for something greater to emerge from his lips. What was she waiting for? A confession? Admission that he found her intoxicating, bewitching?
He’d be a fool to admit such a thing. Their opportunity for comfortable cohabitation was hanging in the balance. If he said the wrong thing, Hero might feel the need to leave Cuilean, and he didn’t want that. Yet if she continued to prod him so with her steady gaze, Ian felt that he might find himself saying those very things.
“Lord Ayr?”
He needed to stop her questions before he said something he'd regret. He needed to break away from her probing gaze.
“Won’t you say something?”
He shook his head. He could either walk away or…
Pushing himself off the wall, Ian crossed the short space between them in a single stride. Bending, he caught her around the waist, pulling her up and against him even as his lips descended. He took her lips in a fiery kiss full of the desire he’d been feeling all day and the frustration of these last few moments.
A squeal of surprise escaped Hero before Ian’s lips covered hers. The force of his body rocking hers gave her a moment’s pause. She reached back to steady herself against the ramparts, lest they both tumble to their deaths, before realizing he was as solid and supportive as the wall itself. Powerful. Commanding. His mouth slanted over her, parting her lips before his tongue swept in. She clung to his shoulders as he bent her over his arm, astounded by his passion. She recovered from the surprise and a kindred respond flamed within her. Fire unlike any she’d ever imagined ignited in her chest and sizzled down her belly and thighs.
Overwhelmed, she dropped her head back, breaking the kiss, but rather than retreating, his lips seared a path down her neck and back up to her ear, raising goose bumps that were chased by a shiver of excitement. A low moan escaped her, but rather than interpreting the sound as the surrender it was, he retreated and met her eyes.
Hero stared up at him, all words lost. The need to hear some confession from his lips—that he felt the same insane attraction for her that she felt for him—was gone. His dark, turbulent gaze pierced her, leaving her mind surprisingly blank and her body trembling.
That wasn’t what she had expected at all. But how could she have? She’d never known a kiss could be so all encompassing, or that desire could prod someone to act so rashly.
Dizzied by lust’s physical assault, she teetered back a step and reached for the rampart again. Her hand found Ian’s instead. Strong and stable. A large, persuasive part of her wanted to throw herself back into his arms and continue down this unknown path. The other part wanted to lift her skirts and run away.
