Her back hit the wall, stone scraping through the fabric of her dress, but she didn’t care. The world narrowed to the heat of his body against hers, the taste of rain on his lips, the sound of his breath mixing with hers.
He kissed her like he’d been waiting for years. Like he might never get another chance.
And she responded instinctively, fiercely, her hands tugging at the hem of his tunic as her mouth opened to his. Their bodies aligned, pressed together, heat blooming even in the chill of the rain. For a moment, there was nothing else.
No duty. No storm. Justthis.
Then—
“Papa!”
Cailean sprang away as if he’d been stung. They both turned and saw two figures emerging from the mist. They resolved themselves into Catriona and Patch. Catriona was holding a shuttered lantern against the mist and gloom while Patch padded along at her heels, looking like a bedraggled mop.
Cailean blinked like a man surfacing from a dream. “What are ye doing out here?” he asked roughly.
Catriona glanced from her father to Rose and back again. Rose felt heat flushing her cheeks. Oh hell. Had Catriona seen them? If so, she gave no indication.
Catriona rolled her eyes at her father as if this was a stupid question. “I’m looking for ye, of course. Cook has brought muffins and bannocks for toasting on the fire, and she even let me have a sip of hot mead!”
“Did she now?” Cailean rumbled, raising an eyebrow. “Well, Imight just have to have a word with her about that.”
“Oh, come on! It’s freezing out here!”
The girl took one of Cailean’s hands in hers, and all but hauled him across the courtyard to the doors of the keep. Cailean gave Rose a look over his daughter’s head. It was a look of apology but also of something else, something unfinished between them.
Rose swallowed thickly. At the door to the great hall, she begged off, saying she was going to get out of her wet clothes, but in reality, she needed some space. Space to figure out what the hell had just happened between her and the handsome Laird of Barra.
And time to figure out if she wanted it to happen again.
Chapter Twelve
As Cailean steppedinto the great hall, he was hit by a wall of warmth and noise. Voices raised in friendly banter mixed with the scent of wood smoke, damp clothing, and baked bread that assaulted Cailean’s senses. Steam rose from people’s cloaks as they gathered close to the fire, and, as Cailen stepped inside with Catriona at his side, he paused, feeling like he’d been gut punched.
This was how his hall had beenbefore.
Before the sickness. Before everything went wrong. Full of laughter. Full of life.
Over at one of the tables, his men were waxing lyrical about the repairs that would be needed following the storm and one of them, Lachlan, was boasting about moving a broken roof beam single handedly, while everyone else jibed him for his tall tales. Cailean couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his face. Funny how it took a crisis to make everyone pull together. It was at times like this that his people showed their true worth.
“There’s Maisie!” Catriona cried, spotting one of her friends. She went racing over to join her, Patch at her heels.
Someone handed Cailean a tankard, and he nodded his thanks, though he didn’t drink. It was good to see his people in good spirits again, but there was one person missing, and to be honest, his heart was not here.
It was still out there in the rain, tangled with Rose MacFinnan’s hair, caught between her lips and the soft sound she’d made when he’d pulled her close.
His fingers closed around the tankard as the memory shot through him. What had he been thinking? Not thinking at all, just acting on instinct and oh, by all the hells, it had felt right.
He shook his head and pulled in a slow and deep breath, trying to clear the memory. But it wouldn’t budge. A burst of heat shot through him as he remembered how her mouth had opened under his, warm and willing, how he’d felt her hands fisting in his tunic, her body arching towards his like she needed him as badly as he needed her.
If Catriona hadn’t come when she had…
He ran a hand through his hair. What in God’s name was he doing? He was laird. He had responsibilities. A daughter. A clan that needed him to be focused and determined, not distracted.
And yet… he didn’t regret it.Couldn’tregret it. The soft feel of her lips on his had made him feel something he hadn’t in a long time. It had made him feel… alive.
“My laird?” said a voice, and he turned to find Cook holding out a platter of food. “Are ye coming to join us? Or are ye going to stand there scowling until ye frighten the bairns?”
He huffed a low laugh, took the platter of food, and made his way to the high table where Catriona and Maisie were busy feeding scraps to Patch. He sat down heavily, his eyes straying to the empty seat where Rose had sat the night she arrived.
