Page 67 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

The cry lodged in her throat as she was pulled sideways. Her shoulder bumped into the stone behind the hanging, and her hands struck a solid chest. His breadth and familiar scent told her who held her before his mouth reached her ear.

“Hush. It is only me.” Oscar lifted one finger between them, urging her to stay silent.

His other arm stayed firm around her waist as he guided her further into the recess. Her back met the inner wall. He stood directly before her, their bodies touching whenever either drew a full breath. Her palms remained on his chest, and his thigh wedged between her knees. The hanging screened the entrance at his back.

“Where in God’s name is this place?” she whispered, looking around.

Oscar sighed, looking around as well. “It used to be a watch recess. Men could observe the stairs from here without standin’ in the passage.”

“And how did ye discover it?”

“I hid here from lessons when I was a wee lad.”

“Really.”

“Aye. Me faither’s man-at-arms searched the castle for an hour once.”

Ceana shook her head. “Ye never struck me as someone who learned early where to vanish.”

Before he could answer, quick footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Oscar tightened his arm until they were completely clear of the passageway. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, and his mouth hovered near her temple, each breath stirring the fine hair beside her ear.

“They cannae be allowed to disappear inside their own castle,” Tommy complained from the passage.

“Ye love to play pranks,” Paisley replied. “Ye should ken all the hidin’ places in here by now.”

Ceana’s grip on Oscar’s shirt slackened at the confidence in Paisley’s voice.

Oscar listened with his head turned toward the entrance, the hard line of his mouth softening.

“Ness has the best nose,” Tommy said. “Let her lead.”

Soon, the sound of small hooves approached. The hanging shifted near Oscar’s boot, and a pale muzzle poked through the gap.

Ceana bit the inside of her cheek as Ness nudged harder.

Good God.

“Relax,” Oscar whispered.

Ceana didn’t respond. Instead, she watched as he angled his boot across the opening, and the goat nosed his buckle with persistent snorts. Laughter bubbled up her throat. His arm pressed more firmly into her waist as she shook against him, forcing her to turn her mouth to his shoulder.

“Keep quiet!” he hissed, but she might as well not have heard him from how hard she was laughing.

“Ness,” Paisley called. “Leave the hangin’. Tommy, she has found nothin’.”

The muzzle vanished. Tommy coaxed the goat onward, and their steps receded as Paisley directed him toward the gallery.

Oscar kept Ceana close until the last hoofbeat faded.

“We may breathe again,” she whispered.

“Quietly.”

His hand remained on her waist, its heat spreading through the wool of her gown. With stone behind her and Oscar before her, she could step nowhere until he moved.

She listened once more for the children. “It matters that Paisley plays today.”