He was alone, standing by the window, gazing out at the cliff top where his clansmen had laid the fire, stood ready to set it alight, and he turned to look at her. He wore a loose shirt, open at the neck, and dark breeches that hugged his long legs. She halted in the doorway and her mouth went dry. He looked every inch the pirate now, lean, dangerous, and handsome.
She swallowed, forced herself to speak. “I was wondering . . . That is, I thought . . . Areyoucomingtothebonfire?” she asked in a rush.
“No.”
Her heart fell like a stone into a well. “No?”
“No, I am not going to bonfire,” he said slowly, as if she was daft.
She frowned. “But you’re the chief while your father is away. Youmustbe there.” She crossed the room toward him. “A chief leads his people. He is a symbol of their luck and their power. He celebrates with them, shares their lives in good times and bad.” She was so close now she had to look up to hold his gaze.
His brows rose. “I am neither lucky nor welcome. Imagine the terror in the eyes of the bairns, watching the madman dance, the light of the fire gleaming in his tortured eyes, his injuries horrible to behold, his very presence reminding everyone that he—” He stopped, and his eyes moved over her flower crown. “Why aren’t you there?”
“I will be,” she said, raising her chin. “I have scars, and I cannot dance. There is no one waiting to flirt with me, but I will go and enjoy the music. You can do that much, can’t you?”
Something dark flashed in his eyes. “You want to flirt, do you? I should have told John to—” He paused again.
“What?” she said, waiting. “Told him what?”
“I should haveaskedJohn to dance with you, or even—” His eyes dropped to her mouth.
Now she was truly angry. “You wouldorderEnglish John to kiss me? Even my father would not do such a thing, forcing a man to do something he found distasteful himself!”
His brow furrowed. “Ach, ’tis not what I meant. You are far from distasteful, Fia. You’re beautiful. I wouldn’t have had toorderJohn or anyone else to kiss you, more like give mypermission. Surely you’ve seen how men look at you.”
“No, I have not.”
He took her hand and crossed the room. He tore away the cloth that covered the mirror. “Look,” he said, putting her before the glass, his hands on her shoulders. “You’re a rare beauty, Fia MacLeod. Has no one told you that?”
She looked at the pale reflection of her face, her eyes wide and dark in the dim light of his chamber. Her lips were full, her cheekbones high, her skin smooth. “Nay,” she whispered. “Not like Meggie.”
“Meggie?”
“When you marry her—”
“I have no intention of marrying your sister!” he snapped.
“Truly? She’s lovely, and . . .”
He looked into the mirror from behind her. “I only see you, Fia. Even if there were a hundred women here now, you’d still be the most beautiful.”
She wanted to believe him—oh, how she wanted to! She felt the tingle of his touch rushing through her body, pooling in her belly, her breasts. She shut her eyes, breathless, and he took the gesture for denial. He turned her to face him, lifted her chin with his finger, and she found herself staring up into his eyes again. “You are beautiful,” he insisted, his voice gruff. “So very—”
Fia stood on her toes and jammed her lips against his. He grunted, stiffened, and she drew back at once. “Oh, I didn’t mean to—”
His arms came around her, he pulled her against his chest, and his mouth touched hers, more gently than she had kissed him, but with a hunger even she could feel. His lips were warm and soft, then demanding. She curled her fingers in the open laces of his shirt, grazed the skin of his chest with her nails, felt the beat of his heart. He ran his tongue over the seam of her lips, and when she gasped, he invaded her open mouth. The sensation of his tongue against hers, the whisky taste of him, sent a thrill coursing through her. She made a sound of amazement, kissed him back, following his lead. He smelled of wool and sea wind. She slid her hands around his neck, wove them into his thick, soft hair, stood on her toes, and pressed herself closer against the hard length of his body, wanting more. He made a small sound in his throat and deepened the kiss, sliding his hands up the curve of her back to pull her nearer still, cupping her head while he plundered her mouth like a pirate. It was how she dreamed a kiss would be—hot, sweet, tingly, and utterly overwhelming. She couldn’t think, couldn’t stop. She would have sobbed with delight, thrilled beyond words, if her mouth wasn’t filled with his tongue.
He broke the kiss suddenly, pushed her away. Cold air rushed in where the heat of his body had touched hers. She gripped the edge of the washstand behind her and stared at him. Her lips buzzed, her breasts ached. She felt breathless, dizzy, and she dearly wanted more. But he looked—stunned, was the only word she could think of. Or regretful.Yes, regretful.Her heart sank.
“Forgive me,” he said, his voice husky. “I should not have done such a thing.”
A shiver of annoyance shook her. “I believeIkissedyou.”
A shudder rushed through his body, and he groaned softly, as if he was in pain.Oh dear.What had she done to him?
“You should go,” he said.
The midsummer fire, she remembered. “Will you come now?”
