He felt her softening, melting against him…wanting him.
Blood surged through his veins. “I should go,” he said, pulling back forcibly. “Unless there is a reason for me to stay?”
Eyes wide, she shook her head. “Y-you never said where you are going.”
He stiffened at the reminder. He thought about telling her exactly where he was going and the reports of abuse against his people by her brother Hector on Coll, but without proof he wasn’t sure she would believe him. He didn’t need any more barriers between them. “To attend to some of my lands. I will return later tonight. I should be going.” He started to pull away, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Lachlan.”
He looked down at her, surprised—and pleased—to hear the intimacy of his given name on her tongue. For a moment, he actually thought she might have changed her mind.
“You never answered my question.”
No, he hadn’t. Nor would he. He cupped her chin in his fingers and lowered his face, keeping his gaze locked on hers, wanting nothing more than to cover her mouth and taste her. To feel her tongue slide in his mouth, entwining with his. “I said all that was important. Now it’s for you to decide. Take a chance or live in the past, it’s up to you.” Unable to resist, he dropped a soft kiss on her lips, lingering as his mouth moved over hers in a possessive caress. The urge to deepen the kiss was primal, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He lifted his head, seeing desire mirrored on her face. “Let me know what you decide.”
And without another word, he left her to ponder their future.
Hector stormed through the gates of Breacachadh on his destrier, more furious than he’d been in some time—since the last time the Laird of Coll had gotten the best of him.
He dismounted and tossed his reins to the waiting stable lad. Sweat poured off his forehead from behind the metal helmet, and his body shook with rage.
Lachlan Maclean had been right under his nose and had escaped. And not alone. He’d absconded with half a dozen men and a few market-ready head of cattle as well.
Men and cattle that belonged to Hector.
When word had come of Coll’s presence on the isle, Hector couldn’t believe his luck. He’d raced to reach him, but by the time he’d arrived, the skirmish was over.
A score of his warriors had been bested by a mere handful of Coll’s. His fists clenched with the urge to thrash someone.
Damn Coll!He would pay. Not only for the loss of men and source of silver—both of which he needed in his war with MacDonald—but for daring to abduct his valuable sister.
He pushed through the entrance into the great hall, paying no mind to the mud and muck he tracked across the rugs strewn over the wooden floors.
Where was that bloody woman? “Mairi!” he bellowed, in no mood for recalcitrant servants. The dour old maidservant finally appeared in the doorway, moving with the speed of an aged tortoise.
“Get me my claret and be quick about it.”
“Yes, my laird.”
There was nothing outwardly mocking about the response, but Hector heard it nonetheless. Blood pounded in his ears. He was fed up with morose and belligerent servants. These people would learn respect. They would learn who was laird.
He tossed his claymore to the squire who’d followed him in. “Clean this. And if it’s not sharp this time, I’ll cut off your incompetent hand.”
The fear he saw on the lad’s face was a soothing balm to his anger. That was better. If they didn’t listen to reason, they would listen to his iron fist. But theywouldlisten.
Mairi returned with his drink. God, he was thirsty. His mouth was as dry and parched as a desert. He took a long drink and nearly choked, spewing the dark liquid across the floor. His eyes narrowed at the stubborn old biddy. “How dare you serve me this swill. Bring me another flagon.” He met the woman’s defiant glare. His fingers tightened around the goblet. “And while you’re at it, find your daughter.” The woman’s eyes widened with horror. He smiled. “What was her name? Janet? I’d like to…talk to her.”
He’d finally gotten her attention. The woman’s hands fluttered anxiously like the wings of a bird. “I’m afraid my daughter is gone, my laird.”
“You’ll find her and bring her to me,” he said with deadly calm. “Or if you’d rather, you can bring me your other daughter.”
The defiance sagged right out of her, but the broken expression on her face failed to move him one inch.
“But my laird, she’s just three and ten.”
He shrugged. “It makes no difference to me.” He gave her a hard look. “You choose. But I’ll have one of them. If you defy me, I’ll have them both.”
The old woman’s eyes took on an unnatural brightness. “It was the devil that brought you here. A curse you are. But our laird will return—”
