CHAPTER TEN
With Dair away, and Fia upstairs resting, John sat in the chief’s chair at supper that night, and Gillian, as an honored guest, sat beside him.
John saw her hesitate as she descended the staircase to the hall and saw the place set for her next to his. A blush rose up from under the demure neck of her green linen gown and rushed to her hairline. The dress was simply cut, but it emphasized her slender curves. She moved like a stalk of grass in the wind as she crossed the hall toward him.
He could smell flowers when she sat beside him, a soft and subtle perfume, something wild and light that reminded him of sunlight on a summer meadow—and moonlight on roses—and he breathed her in, felt his body stir with awareness.
“Good evening, Mistress MacLeod,” he said, as she picked up her cup and sipped the sweet wine it held. He watched her swallow, noted the hectic pulse at the base of her throat.
“Good evening,” she replied, and he remembered her voice, soft and low pitched. Their eyes met for a moment, held, and then she looked away. He scanned the room, saw her MacLeod clansmen seated among the Sinclairs, laughing with them, sharing food and stories.
“Are all those big clansmen here to keep me away from you?” he asked, making his tone playful, casual.
She gulped a breath of air. “Of course not. My father simply wished me to be properly escorted and safe.”
He couldn’t resist making her blush. He raised one eyebrow suggestively and gave her a half smile. She gasped again and looked away.
“I recall that your sisters carry dirks in their sleeves and know how to use them,” he said. He looked at the wide sleeve next to his arm and wondered if it hid a blade.
“I am in my sister’s house, and unarmed,” she said. “But I do have a dirk, and I’m every bit as skilled with it as my sisters are.” She bit her lip, and he suppressed a groan at the tantalizing wee gesture. “Do I need to wear it?”
He sent her a look of utter innocence. “Not against me. Unless you plan to kiss me again.”
Her eyes widened. “I did not—” She shut her mouth with a snap, and her lips rippled.Oh, but you did. . . he didn’t need to say it aloud. He simply sent her a lazy, knowing grin. “I thought—I understood—that it was a mutual decision, made in the heat of the—” She stopped again. She lifted her chin and stared into the air. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
That made him laugh. “Do you not?” Her hand lay next to his on the table, and he reached out his little finger, ran it lightly along the side of her palm. New blood filled her cheeks, and her lashes swept down, though she left her hand there. “I have your mask,” he murmured. “I found it on the path after you fled. Tell me, is it easier to kiss a man when you believe you are unknown, when he has no idea who you might be, that you are the one woman he’d been warned away from?” Did he sound bitter? He hadn’t meant to. He’d spent ten months wishing for just this moment—well, a moment like this, but with the two of them alone, naked, and not talking at all.
“Do you keep souvenirs from all your conquests?”
She was as quick-witted and sharp-tongued as she was shy. He hid a smile and shrugged. “Not much of a conquest,” he said. “As I said, you kissed me first.”
“You asked for permission to kiss me,” she shot back. He risked running his fingertip across her knuckles. This time she withdrew her hand, hid it in her lap.
“You were just quicker. I’m not complaining, mind you. It was a rather stirring kiss.” He grinned again when she scanned his face, seeking assurance that he meant it. “I see you do remember,” he drawled. She looked away again.
“Youarea rogue,” she whispered.
“Isn’t that precisely why you kissed me? The lure of the forbidden, the knowledge that your sister disapproved, and your father most certainly would have cut me in two with his great claymore if he’d known.” He let his eyes drop to her mouth. She licked her lower lip nervously, and his mouth watered. He’d risk kissing her here, now, in her sister’s hall, just to taste the sweet wine on her lips, to have her tongue in his mouth.
“Of course not,” she lied. She blushed when she lied, he noted. Shy as she was, she had the untamable pride of all the Fearsome MacLeods.
“Then why? Why me?” he asked. He saw the panic in her eyes, knew she wouldn’t tell him, though therewasa reason—he was certain of that. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re killing me . . .”
“Good evening, Gillian,” Angus Mor said, arriving to sit on her other side. “What a fine summer evening it is. Fia’s garden is in full bloom if ye wish to take a turn after supper. I always find the roses smell sweetest at twilight, still warm from the day, and there’s a lovely view of the sun setting over the sea from the garden.”
Gillian’s teeth found her lower lip again, and John took a gulp of wine, cool, sweet, and heady. “I shall see if Fia is well enough to join me,” she said to Angus.
“You’ve no need of a chaperone at Carraig Brigh. There’s nothing—no one—to fear here, mistress,” John said, drawing her attention back.
Her eyes flashed. “I’m not afraid.”
Angus chuckled. “No doubt ye’ve got a sharp dirk, just like your sisters.” He leaned across her and grinned at John. “The Fearsome MacLeod has trained his lasses how to defend themselves, English John. This lass will not fall prey to your charms.” He winked at Gillian. “But best be on your guard, mistress. John has bewitched half the Sinclair lasses, and the other half are waitin’ for their turn. They swoon just watching him at work with sword and ax.”
John remembered the day Gillian and Fia had stopped to watch him on the training fields. The lass’s cheeks were the color of ripe summer plums now. She kept her eyes lowered, and Angus’s smile faded.
“Och, I’m sorry, lass. Such bold talk.” He changed the subject. “I understand ye’ll only be here a few days, and then ye’re off to your grand wedding just as soon as Dair arrives home to take ye.”
John saw concern in Gillian’s green eyes. “Is he very late, Angus? I can tell Fia’s more worried than she’s letting on.”
