“If ye don’t remove yer hand from my face, I’ll most likely be the last.”
Her promise was made of silk and steel, convincing enough to keep him still. Close enough to look into her eyes, Darach drenched his vision in what he saw. A strong, fearless lass, who at present, was enjoying herself immensely. A spirited mare with lightning-quick hands and a merciless tilt to her lips.
“I only wish to kiss ye, lass. Nothin’ more,” he promised quietly, pressing her, drawing her in with a finger under her chin. She wouldn’t kill him. Not with a marriage to the Menzie chief looming in her future. He tilted his head and grazed her mouth with his, just lightly enough to share breath, short and instantly heated. He watched her eyes close, her lips parting ever so slightly to receive him more fully.
He paused. What was he doing? Hadn’t it taken him months to put Janet out of his mind? Didn’t every lass he’d pursued since meeting her pale in comparison to her fiery spirit? She made him want to tame her, even though he knew he never could. No one ever would. Should he pursue her this time? She claimed to hate him but he doubted it to be true. What if it wasn’t true, and he broke her heart when he left yet again? He might want Janet Buchanan, but Grants didn’t lose things like castles… or hearts to Buchanans. What if his kin didn’t accept her?
“The thought of yer mouth on mine repulses me,” she said shakily, moving back.
She was lying. Darach smiled. He didn’t want to think about his kin or past feuds, or anything but Janet’s mouth. She’d been sleeping in his bed. She thought of him enough to feel the need to write about it—just like he did. It shouldn’t feel like a victory, however small, but it did. And since Darach already knew that victories with Janet would be few, he allowed himself to take enjoyment in it. He took a step closer and dipped his lips to her ear. “Prove it.”
Just as he suspected, she couldn’t. She fell weak when he took her up in the crook of his arm. She didn’t resist his hungry mouth, but searched his with equal abandon.
She awakened his every nerve ending, sending scorching heat through Darach’s body. He stopped thinking and kissed her the way he’d dreamed of kissing her long after he’d left her the first time. With a tight groan and an arm beneath her waist, he hefted her up, closer, if that was possible, and supported her back and her nape while he bent over her and deepened their kiss. He felt her resistance, very slight. Another man might have ignored it. But Darach wasn’t another man. He wanted to fit her between his thighs and let her feel what she brought him to, but he’d promised that he wanted only a kiss.
So he steadied her and set her firmly on her feet.
He’d gone daft. It had to be that.
She may have swayed. He knew he did.
She stared at him through hooded eyes, almost making him regret stopping. “If ye ever do that again,” she warned an instant later, looking more clear-headed, “I’ll scratch oot yer eyes.” Without waiting for his reply, she bent and plucked her letters from the trunk. “I’ll send someone tomorrow fer the rest of Margaret’s things. Now move aside and let me pass.”
He obeyed, smiling as she left his chamber. Returning to his bed, he wasn’t completely sure if he wanted to bed her or toss her out the window. He picked up his pillow and smelled her fragrance all over it.
Bed her.
Most definitely.
Chapter Six
Janet didn’t sleep well at all that night. It wasn’t because of her fear of marrying Roddie, or the unfamiliar bed, though the mattress was lumpy and the blankets were musty and she sneezed for a good half hour after getting under them. No, her eyes wouldn’t stay closed for longer than ten breaths at a time thanks to the memory of Darach Grant and his mouth on hers, hot and hungry. His broad, callused fingers touching her jaw like he had every right to. Then, holding her up while she draped over his arms, weak and helpless. He didn’t fear her dagger and boldly took what he wanted before dumping her back on her feet. Saints, if he hadn’t stopped, she would have let him seduce her on his first night back at Ravenglade. She would have loved it, too, until she hated herself in the morning.
Good Lord, he’d had her letters in his hand. He could have seen the words she’d penned over the months for him, about him. She would have died if he had read them.
She tried to sleep but memories of his kiss tortured her. His lips were warm and full, malleable to his passion and bewitching. His tongue was a flame across the inside of her mouth, igniting an uncontainable fire. Hadn’t she sworn to herself that she’d never fall for him again?
She stayed awake thanks to his extraordinarily beautiful eyes and the way they looked through her, to her soul, with a warning of danger that sizzled her blood.
She fumbled down the stairs the next morning with puffy eyes and curses on her lips. Darach Grant was the last person she wanted to see but her future had to be discussed. The sooner something was done about the Menzies, the sooner Grant could leave. It would need to be quick before she became attracted to him again.
She made her way to the Great Hall only to find her brother waiting inside alone.
Since the Menzies had begun attacking, Will had stopped smiling. He loved Ravenglade. Janet believed this place meant more to her brother than it did to Malcolm Grant. He would do anything to keep it out of Menzie hands, but what would happen when Malcolm Grant returned and ruled here? Would Will step aside?
More than her future, she worried about her brother giving up his life for Ravenglade. They’d grown up hearing tales about the famous castle. When they were old enough they visited it during the many months and years Malcolm had neglected it. Will loved it then, but he never imagined living in it.
“Where is Grant?” she asked him before taking her seat at the empty table.
“He left quite early. Said he needed to bring his horse to the stables.”
“Ootside?” she asked incredulously. “He had the drawbridge lowered?”
William drew his cup to his mouth. “He did indeed.” Her brother swigged what she hoped was water this early in the morning, then sighed. “A jolting reminder of how reckless he is. He assured me that if he had to, he could take on the Menzies before they got inside.”
“Alone?” Janet asked, wanting to laugh, but felt too sick to her stomach to do so. Was their “savior” fool enough to think he could take on the Menzies alone? They were doomed. He’d die and her brother would have to keep his word to her himself. He’d have to find a way out of marrying her off, and Janet was no longer sure Will could keep his word.
“Fergive me, Janet,” her brother said, sounding defeated. “We will find a way—”
