She walked forward until she was facing him, toe-to-toe. “All my life, people have told me what I should and should not do. They believe I have limits, you see—too frail, too fey, too scarred.” She poked a finger into his chest. “I’m stronger than you think, smarter, too. What about what I want for myself? Am I not to have dreams, or desires, or enjoy—pleasure? ’Twon’t do, Alasdair Og Sinclair, kissing a lass, and then forbidding her to have any more, when it’s your fault I like kisses.”
She stood on her toes, cupped his face in her palms, and pressed her mouth to his for a long moment. Then she stepped back. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and the tingle that ran through her body demanded more. She put a hand to her lips, as if she could hold the warmth of his mouth on hers, save it forever. “There now,” she said firmly, aware that he hadn’t moved, or even blinked. What else was there to say? She turned on her heel and left the room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
If he’d been the old Dair, the rogue, the captain, the pirate, he would have pursued Fia MacLeod, chased her, shown her just how dangerous it was to tease a man with maidenly kisses. His battered body was healing, his natural need for sex returning. He was hard as a bloody caber just from a peck on the lips, a few moments of clumsy flirtation.
She spoke of desire and pleasure. How easy it would be to show her, teach her. She was the most alluring lass he’d ever met.
He started after her. She wouldn’t turn him away.
He stopped. Her desire was newly born, a flower unfurling. If she had no idea whatflirtingwas, she wasn’t ready for more, and he was a mad, dangerous, broken bastard. Was Fia truly the antidote to madness, or was she just another form of it, sent to torment him? He ran a hand through his hair and swore.
Whatever she was, he wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman, or a drink, or anything else on earth.
And there was enough of the old Dair left after all to know he couldn’t have her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“Isn’t that Muriel’s black cat?” Ruari asked. The pretty wee feline sat in the sun daintily licking her black paws, her back to the stable door.
“Aye, that’s Angel,” Angus said, glaring at the cat like a protective father. “Get away home, cat.” The cat ignored him.
“She’s been here all day, playing hard to get, pretending she doesn’t know Beelzebub’s watchin’ her,” Ruari said.
They watched as Bel appeared in the doorway. His pupils flared as he spied the dainty black cat sitting in the yard. She saw him at the same moment. Her ears flattened as she arched her back and hissed.
Bel sat blinking silently, waiting.
“Does he like her?” Andrew asked.
Jock laughed. “Like her? Look at that manly stance, the complete calm in his eye. It’s his turn to play hard to get. Just watch. He’ll turn, go back inside, let her chase him.”
“I saw Dair do just that at a party in Paris, with a duchess,” Angus said.
“Aye?” Andrew asked. “Did she follow him?”
“Of course she did, right into his bed.” They exchanged a manly laugh.
Beelzebub turned his back on the spitting female and strode into the stable. She looked surprised for a moment before she raised her tail like a battle flag, lowered her head like a battering ram, and followed him. “Look at that,” Ruari said.
Jock held out his hand. “There ye are. I win. I found his mate. Pay me.”
Andrew folded his arms over his chest. “She came on her own! If she’s still here in the morning, then we’ll pay—not until.”
“She will be. You’ve heard the old tales,” Andrew said. “My da tells ’em—how there’s one woman meant for every man? The first of our line, Sir William Sinclair, had his Mairi. Once a man finds his true mate, no other lass will ever catch his eye again. He’ll give his heart, his hearth, and his wits over to the one he loves.”
“Love? Don’t be daft,” Jock said. “Women are just canny, know how tomakeus give them our hearts and hearths. It all comes down to a fine pair of—”
“Ho there!”
They turned as Logan rode into the bailey, leading a garron with a body draped over its back.
Angus lifted the dead man’s head. “It’s Lulach Murray!” He looked at Logan in surprise. Logan’s eyes were hot, and there was blood on his hands.
“’Tis one of the bastards that killed the chief,” Logan said.
“Lulach?” Ruari said. “He’s hardly the kind to take down a tail of fine fighting men. He’s just a shepherd.”
