Mary nodded, not looking in his direction. Probably to avoid his provoking grin. “I think the sun was too much for me.”
Lady Margaret turned to him. “Mary has just recovered from an illness. This was the first time she’s had a chance to see the Games all week.”
“Is that so?” he drawled.
She couldn’t avoid looking at him any longer. He could see a flash of anger in her blue-green eyes that reminded him of sun glinting on the sea. He hadn’t expected so much spirit from such a quiet exterior, and his intrigue grew.
“Aye, I’ve been very unwell.”
He swore he could see her chin stiffen, challenging him to disagree with her.
“My sister is a healer. If you like, I could send her to you.”
Her mouth thinned, hearing his challenge. “That is very kind of you, but I’m sure that will not be necessary. I think I just need to lie down.”
“Lying down sounds like a wonderful idea.”
Though there was nothing suggestive in his voice, he knew she’d understood when he heard her sharp intake of breath.
She was outraged, as no doubt she should be. But he could also see by the delicate flutter of her pulse below a surprisingly velvety-soft-looking cheek that she was more intrigued than she wanted to let on.
The devil! The man had no shame. He was propositioning her right in front of Margaret, fixing her with that taunting look in his eyes—as if he knew a naughty secret. And blast him, he did!
There was such a heavy undercurrent of suggestiveness running between them, Mary was certain Margaret must feel it. Not wanting to guess what he would say next, she was glad when one of Margaret’s daughters came up and distracted her with a plea to go with her friends to the sword dance.
Realizing he was no doubt trying to get to her, she schooled her features into a polite mask and bowed her head. “My lord.”
She turned away to head for the nearest tower, but he grabbed her arm. “Wait.”
She flinched at the contact. The heat of his hand on her arm was like a brand, startling in its intensity. She could feel the imprint of every one of those thick, blunt-edged fingers pressing into her. Talented, deft fingers that could bring so much pleasure.
Heat washed over her.Don’t think of it.
But all she could do was think of it.
Standing so close to him was hard enough. Her pulse had taken a sudden erratic lurch and her skin felt strange—as if a thousand bees were buzzing all over her—the moment he drew near. She felt like very dry kindling hovering over a roaring fire. When he touched her, her body flooded with a warm, drenching heat that told her exactly what she was feeling: desire.
Instinctively sensing the danger, she wrenched away.
Surprisingly, he let her go. His hand released her almost as quickly as she’d tried to remove it. When she gazed up at him, there was a slight frown between his brows, almost as if he’d felt it, too.Ridiculous.
Once again she nearly had to blink from the brightness. When she’d first glanced over and seen him standing there, she felt as if she were looking right into the sun—or rather, right at the Sun god himself.
It was only his mail sparkling in the sun like a shimmering star, she told herself. But with the layer of dirt from battle covering him, she knew it wasn’t just that. It was he. He shone as brightly as any star. Everything about him flashed and shimmered, from the golden streaks in his dark brown hair, the dangerous gleam in his challenging blue eyes, and the lean hard lines of his pugnaciously handsome face to the white flash of his take-no-prisoners grin. Though the men appealed in different ways, Sir Kenneth Sutherland could rival Gregor MacGregor for the title of most handsome man in Scotland, and she suspected he knew it.
Sir Kenneth exuded confidence and brash arrogance. He probably thought she would fall at his feet just like all the other young, starry-eyed ladies seemed to be doing. But she was no longer young, and the stars had been wrenched from her eyes a very long time ago.
Still, she felt an unmistakable thrill shooting through her veins, a spark of excitement that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. It was probably her temper. He seemed to bring out a heretofore unknown streak of combativeness in her.
It was the way he looked at her. Confident and arrogant, yes, but also provoking. As if he were daring the world to come at him. As if he were always trying to prove something. He didn’t think she could resist him and was daring her to try.
“Running away again, my lady?” he taunted softly. “This time I might have to come after you.”
She kept her voice steady, but her heart was fluttering like the wings of a butterfly trapped under glass. “I told you, I’m not feeling well. I need to rest.”
But he was right. Shewasrunning away, and she didn’t like him pointing it out.
She turned to face him and looked into his eyes. It was a mistake. She could feel it again. That piercing, riveting hold. And the heat that pulsed through her body.
