Page 6 of A Dangerous Highland Affair

Realizing she was in a state of undress, Teasag looked up sharply. “Och!” she murmured in her embarrassment.

“Nae fash,” smiled the lad, but her cheeks ripened with shame.

Now her eyes were upon him, and she felt drawn into his striking gaze. He had a crop of beautifully straight hair which shone around his shoulders. In the half-light, Teasag could not be sure what color it was; to begin with, it looked blond, the amber light picking out strands from his shoulders and illuminating them. But in a different light, it looked warmer, with dark honeyed tones running through it.

It was probably that strange mid color, between brown and blond, and Teasag’s fingers itched to touch it. Although she had not had much experience with men—she had never seen a man with such perfect hair.

As she gazed upon him, Teasag wished she had some paints. The only artist's materials she had available were her quills and parchment. Still, the urge to note down the lad’s striking profile and unusually colored hair were overwhelming.

And it wasn’t just his hair she could picture on canvas; it was the rest of him too—especially his sparkling eyes, resonating with mischief in pale hues of blue and taupe.

“Ye just looked so cold,” said the lad, as she pulled the brat around her shoulders. Teasag looked, taking in the design of his plaid; like the brat around her shoulders, it was a deep shade of blue, with red and white pinstripes running through it. Immediately, she noticed how the dark blues complemented his penetrating eyes.

But where had it come from? She was unfamiliar with this tartan, and she had a good knowledge of all the nearby clans. That, and his clean, fragrant hair made Teasag wonder his rank.

Suddenly, a jolt of electricity jumped through her as she pictured the lad, a windswept noble, on an open crag side, posing for an official portrait.

“I, I,” faltered Teasag. By now, she felt anything other than cold. Her heart began to clamor once again as words drained away from her tongue. She was mesmerized.

The memory of the lad’s touch still lingered over her, and his heady scent came again, making her feel mildly intoxicated.

His almond-shaped eyes sparkled. “So then, all we need to do is get ye some scran then?” he asked with a wink.

Teasag found herself completely unable to turn away from him. She had so many questions; who was he? Where had he come from?

But she was utterly unable to ask them. Instead, she watched as he poured a dram of whisky into the wooden quaich before them.

“Och, I can do that in a wee while; it’s nae fash,” she finally said, her tongue falling loose. The lad finished pouring the drink and placed the quaich in front of her.

“Well then, to yer good health,” he said, encouragingly. Tentatively, Teasag picked up the roughly hewn cup. She looked unsure.

“Go on lass, it’s all for ye, by the look o’ things, ye need it more than do I!” he said, then he added. “I dinnae want ye to swoon on me again. Ye nearly knocked me over!”

Blushing, Teasag pressed the wooden quaich to her lips and drank the fiery single malt slowly. Immediately, a warm sensation ran through her, from her lips to her toes.

The lad smiled, a strange twisted half-grin. He looked as if he was amused. Teasag couldn’t help noticing how perfect his skin was. Even close up, she could barely detect a flaw in his soft, velvet-like complexion.

Bringing her eyes closer, Teasag inspected the lad’s face further. His complexion was the softest hue, like a watercolor, with just the hint of a tan.

Looking down, Teasag had to rip her eyes away from his muscular frame. His rippling biceps were doing strange things to her.

The lad’s brown-blond hair glistened in the candlelight as he brought his head closer, sending a scent of honey into the air above

“So then, miss, my treat, tell me what is it to be?”

The lad’s question caught her unawares. Without even realizing it, she had drifted off.

There he was, wearing a cockeyed smile, and his eyes glistened oddly. Teasag got the distinct impression he was laughing at her. Was there something she had said that was funny?

“What …is…it that pleases ye so, sir?” she asked plainly. She wasn’t usually given to beating about the bush, but all the same, Teasag was surprised at the directness in her own voice.

“Pleases me? Nae, nothing Miss, nothing pleases me, except ye!” said the lad, smoothly. Teasag found herself perspiring furiously.

“I was just asking ye if ye wanted some scran to share,” he said, smilingly.

Instantly, Teasag blushed. “Och,” she murmured. A shiver went through her that had nothing to do with the wind and the rain outside.

“It’s been a long day,” she said, by way of apology. She fussed with her loose hair; she could only imagine the state she was in from the raging storm outside. To cap it all, she had lost her shawl somewhere in the crowd, but suddenly, she felt absolutely no desire to get it back, captivated as she was by this smooth young man’s intense gaze.