Slashes of color brightened the landscape: a touch of purple, a soft blue, and here and there, a flavor of yellow in the form of an intrepid wildflower blooming brightly against a rock wall.
A soft wind blew from the west, ruffling the surface of the river to the left. The scent was one he’d come to recognize asuniquely Scotland: a hint of chill in the air, the smell of moss, and a something he’d been told was peat.
In the distance, the ruins of a crofter’s hut attested that someone had lived here once, braving the weather and the isolation with the same insouciance as the sheep still did.
“Scotland isn’t just the scenery,” she said, turning in his arms, curving her palms around his elbows. “It’s a place. A feeling. Spirit, will, struggle, the essence of life itself. It’s all here. There’s power here, Montgomery, can’t you feel it?”
He looked down at her. Her face was luminous, as if she were lit from within. She took his breath away.
He loved the sound of her voice, the way she pronounced words, the lilt of it, the flavor of Scotland in her speech.
“And sheep,” he said, looking where she gestured. “Don’t forget sheep. No wonder we eat so much mutton.”
She laughed, the first time he’d ever heard her laugh like that, freely, completely. He found himself charmed by the sound, wishing she would laugh again. Perhaps she hadn’t laughed before because he hadn’t been amusing.
“Mr. Kerr called you a borrowed Scot,” she said, startling him. “Will you prove him right or wrong?”
“A borrowed Scot?” He wasn’t certain how he felt about that.
“Did you know he was a Fairfax?” she asked.
“I just discovered it.”
To his surprise, she looked annoyed.
“There wasn’t exactly time to tell you,” he said. “I was occupied in chasing you all over Scotland.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t have left if you hadn’t accused me of trying to kill you.”
“Forgive me,” he said, kissing her temple, then trailed his lips down her cheek. She deliberately turned her head away, and he smiled.
“I didn’t think.”
She slowly turned her head again.
She looked so desirable, he decided that it might be time to talk sternly to that part of him springing to attention. Instead, he drew her closer, in the grip of something he didn’t quite understand. She melted against him as she always did, responsive, enticing, surrendering so easily and with such delight he was the one vanquished.
Need arrowed through him as he crushed his mouth to hers. She gripped his shirt, pulled him to her, wrapped her arms around his neck, and buried her face against his throat.
“I want you, now,” he said, knowing damn well thatnowwas not appropriate.
He kissed the curve of her ear, grabbed the lobe between his teeth, then trailed a heated path down her throat.
He forced himself to release her.
“How do you do that to me?” he asked, pulling away and staring into her face.
She blinked several times, as if trying to surface from a dream.
“I thought it was you,” she said, her lips curving in a smile.
“Perhaps it’sus,” he said.
“Is that bad?”
“No,” he said, leaning his forehead against hers. “It’s not. But I’ll be damned if I’ll take my wife in the middle of a glen.”
She sighed. “Really?” she asked, sounding disappointed.
