Lachlan dug into his sporran and dropped a handful of coins onto the bar.
The innkeeper’s bushy brows furrowed as he counted the money. “You plan to stay more than one night, stranger?”
“Nay, but I don’t want to be bothered. Do you understand my meaning?”
The innkeeper peered over Lachlan’s shoulder at Raonaid, who stood behind him, wringing the water out of her hair. It splattered onto the floor.
“Someone’s going to have to wipe that up,” Anderson said, sounding offended.
Lachlan tossed him another few coins. “Will that cover it?”
“Aye, friend, it will. Now go with Abigail up the stairs. She’ll see to all your needs.”
Lachlan tossed his hair out of his eyes and waved a hand at Raonaid, who followed him across the taproom.
Upstairs, the corridor was narrow and dimly lit by a single candle in a wall sconce. The floor slanted sharply to one side, but the roof was sound, which meant they would at least stay dry.
The barmaid slipped a key into the lock and took them into the spacious room. It had a window overlooking the stable yard below, and a fireplace opposite a table with four chairs. A clean blue and white quilt covered the brass bed. It was big enough for two.
Abigail lit the lamp and soon a warm golden glow filtered through the room. Lachlan’s eyes turned to Raonaid. She, too, glowed like fire with that mass of wet hair sticking to her gleaming white skin.
“You’d like two meals sent up?” Abigail asked as she moved to the bed and folded back the covers.
“Aye,” he answered gruffly, turning away from the sight of that soft, welcoming mattress, and moving to the window. “And a bottle of something. Wine, claret. Doesn’t matter.” He needed to numb his passions.
She nodded and left them alone.
Raonaid crossed to the bed and sat down, but Lachlan refused to look at her. He could do nothing, however, about the sounds she was making. His ears were attuned to everything—the bed creaking under her weight, her soft breathing, the rustle of her skirts. With an exhausted sigh, she removed a shoe, dropped it onto the floor with a carelessthunk,then removed the other one.
“I was never so happy to see a bed.” She flopped backwards onto it.
He did not share her joy, however, for it had been ages since he was alone in a bedchamber with a woman. And with this particular one, who was so bewitching to him in every way, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to make it through the night without doing what he’d promised not to do.
***
Within minutes, Lachlan had an impressive fire blazing in the hearth. He dragged a chair across the floor for Catherine.
“Come and sit closer,” he said. “Dry your clothes.”
Pulling another chair forward for himself, he sat down and held his hands out to warm them.
Catherine watched him for a breathless moment, wishing he were not so…wet.His long hair gleamed strikingly in the amber firelight, and his shirt was clinging to his massive arms and shoulders, his kilt hugging his strong, muscular thighs. Ah, sweet Lord, he was a beautiful thing to behold when he was so shiny, dripping, and drenched.
He leaned back and propped both booted feet up on the opposite chair, which he had pulled forward for her. With a sigh, he crossed those big, sinewy legs at the ankles.
For the life of her, Catherine could not seem to tear her gaze away from the bulky plaid sticking to his lap, and his worn leather sporran, which rested on certain parts of his anatomy she was not meant to think about. It was all very disconcerting, and for the first time she truly wished she could lift that disagreeable curse, for what an absolute waste of manhood it was—for a man like him to be celibate.
Imagine the beautiful children he could sire.
Tipping his head back, he ran his hands over his face and yawned loudly with exhaustion. Or perhaps it was boredom. She wished she knew what he was thinking. She stared at him for a long moment, then finally shook herself out of her stupor.
Gathering her heavy skirts in her fists, she rose from the bed. “When you said to come closer, I hope you meant closer to the fire, and not closer toyou.”
She pushed the toe of his boot with her hand, forcing him to lift his feet off her chair.
“Why? Are you worried you won’t be able to resist my deadly charms? Deadlier than ever,” he added, “thanks to you.”
She sat down. “No, I am not worried, because I do not find you charming at all. Not in the least.”
