“What happened to her?”
He held her gaze, deciding to tell her the truth. No matter how ugly. “She killed herself after my youngest brother was born rather than bear more bastards.”
The petite, beautiful woman who’d once been a princess had hated the sight of them. Servants had raised him and his brothers.
She put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”
He was long past the point of compassion, but he accepted the gesture with a nod.
A sharp bark of laughter rose in his throat. “She won in the end, though.” The countess’s brows furrowed together over her nose. He answered the silent question. “She died cursing my father, and her curses came true.”
She hesitated. “What did she say?”
“She vowed that he would have no more sons. He didn’t. Leaving one of the most ancient kingdoms in the Western Isles without a legitimate male heir.”
“Your sister might have inherited the land, but you could still have been chieftain.” He didn’t say anything. “Why have you turned your back on your clan?”
They were better off. He smiled, unable to resist. “It’s more lucrative escorting countesses.”
Her mouth tightened a little, but his words didn’t prick as much as he intended.
It shouldn’t bother him that she’d jumped to the conclusion she had about the money. Usually it was warranted. He wasn’t ashamed of what he did. And he sure as hell didn’t explain his motives to anyone. But her scorn bothered him, damn it. For the first time in a long time, someone’s opinion mattered.
And he sure as hell didn’t like it.
“Did you take a message to my daughter?”
The quick change of subject disarmed him. It took him an instant too long to respond. “What are you talking about?”
His annoyance didn’t put her off. He must be losing his touch.
“Someone took a message to my daughter. Was it you?”
He held her gaze in the moonlight, looking for something he didn’t expect to find. “Does it matter?”
She didn’t answer right away. “I think it does.”
Lachlan felt himself pulled by the strange emotion he saw in her eyes. Curiosity. Attraction. And most dangerous and tempting of all: possibility.
He could almost believe she meant it.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. He leaned closer. Her lips parted instinctively at his movement. He smothered an oath. Knowledge surged inside him, hot, primitive, and raw. He could kiss her. And God, he wanted to! Wanted it so badly it scared him. Christ, he could almost taste her on his lips.
He’d been careful to hide his desire after that night by the loch, but it was still there, simmering just under the surface. And he felt it now. Felt it rise up and grab him in its steely grip, trying to drag him under.
His hand reached out. Slowly. Carefully. As if she were the most delicate piece of porcelain, his finger grazed the side of her cheek.
His heart jammed in his chest.Jesus!He groaned. So damned soft. As smooth and velvety as a bairn. His big, battle-scarred hand looked ridiculous against something so fine.
He tipped her chin, feeling himself falling, lured by the promise in her eyes. His mouth lowered…
He caught himself at the last moment.
He dropped his hand. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t like this feeling at all. It almost felt like—Jesus—tenderness. But only a fool would let himself believe there could ever be more between them. He was a bastard. A man stripped of his lands and reputation. A brigand. He wasn’t ashamed, but he was also a realist.
She was curious, that was all. Intrigued by what she perceived as an inconsistency in his character. She thought she saw something in him worth saving. But it was all black.
He didn’t want to confuse either of them.
