Page 6 of The Highlander’s Tempting Touch

“But ye never refused it either.”

“I…”

Whatever she had intended to say was drowned out by a roar of sound as something happened within the melee. She started to lean forward to see around Alistair’s shoulders, when someone shoved, or fell, into his shoulder.

Caught off guard and off balance, Niamh stumbled, then froze as something brushed her cheek. Her head turned, just as Alistair shifted his weight.

Their lips met, and Niamh’s cheeks flamed crimson and all thought ceased as she tasted the spices on his mouth, felt the soft, slightly rough dryness of his lips, gently caressing her own, light as the edge of a bird’s wing. Then she came to her senses and she jerked backwards. Her hand rose to deliver a stinging slap to his jaw. “You rogue! I never gave ye permission tae kiss me!”

CHAPTER THREE

Niamh Cameron tasted of rose water, honey, and fresh-baked bread, and her lips were softer than any flower petal he’d ever touched. That was the first thing Alistair thought, as he stumbled back from the accidental kiss between them.

His second was that she was far stronger than she looked. The slap she delivered to his left cheek actually rocked his head back and brought a stinging sensation to his face, rather like he’d fallen into a patch of nettles.

He straightened up to find that he was still between her and the drunkards, though the brawl was all but over. Niamh herself was standing with her hands at her sides, her cheeks the hue of fire and her eyes snapping with anger. She looked enchanting, even in her evident fury at him.

Fer a beautiful sight like that, I cannae say I mind the slap, fer all I didnae intend tae kiss her.

He hadn’t intended to smile either, but she must have seen his amusement, because her glare intensified. “Ye brute. Ye’re a rascal and a knave, so ye are, Alistair MacDuff.”

She made to push around him, and Alistair caught her arm. “Me apologies, me lady. I didnae mean tae upset ye. Nor tae kiss ye, though I dinnae regret that so much.”

Her color deepened, proving she was not immune to his charm. Even so, she tossed her head and raised her chin, glaring at him until he released her arm. “I can believe that. But ‘tis all the more proof that ye’re a proper rogue.”

He fell into step beside her as she turned away, following until she stopped and turned to face him once more. “What dae ye think ye’re daeing?”

“I’ve a list o’ things.” He grinned at her. “I’m waitin’ fer a chance tae apologize fer bein’ too forward with ye. I didnae mean tae kiss ye – ‘twas an accident o’ poor timing and clumsiness, and I’ve a wish tae make amends.”

He tipped his head at the grumbling malcontents who were picking themselves up and staggering slowly away from the street in front of the tavern. “Me offer still stands tae watch over ye and keep ye from harm during the festival. Aye, and yer friend, if ye like.”

He had to wonder at her apparent reluctance to let him meet her friend. She might be expected to resist the idea of being escorted about the festival by a strange man, but when he had willingly agreed to have her friend as a chaperone? That was strange.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I want a chance tae prove meself as good company. Add then, that I’ve a wish tae spend as much time as possible in yer company.” He smiled at her.

“Yer words are all well and good, Master MacDuff, but I saw the ring ye wear at yer throat. Ye cannae tell me the lass whom that belongs tae willnae object tae ye payin’ attention tae another.”

Niamh winced as Alistair’s face darkened. The good humor vanished from his expression and turned into a brooding scowl, but she fancied she saw a hint of pain in his face as well.

She’d meant the comment about the ring to be lighthearted and teasing, a gentle reminder that his attention might be better focused elsewhere. Still, it was clear from his expression that she’d somehow erred. Indeed, he looked as if she’d struck him, and with something far more painful than a slap.

He tucked the ring back under his tunic with an abrupt movement. “Nay. She’s nae... there’s nae one tae tak’ offense however I choose tae spend me time.”

Niamh winced. It was clear that her careless words had inadvertently prodded at some still-tender wound within his heart. She stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm. “Now ‘tis me that is sorry. I didnae mean tae remind ye o’ something sorrowful.”

Alistair shook his head. “Ye didnae ken.” A shadow of a smile tugged one corner of his mouth for a moment. “And kennin’ that, ‘tis nay wonder ye think me a rogue and a rake. Though now ye ken the truth, mayhap ye’ll reconsider me offer?”

It was tempting. Brief as that brush of his lips against hers had been, it had been unlike anything else she’d ever experienced. But she knew Grace would shy away if she saw that Niamh was accompanied by a stranger. And even had Grace not been one to avoid strange folk – particularly men – their festival meetings had always been a secret. They would hardly remain so if Alistair accompanied them. The gossip about Laird Cameron’s daughter walking the festival with a strange man would reach the castle long before she did, in that case.

She dared not risk the secret being exposed. But even had her encounters with Grace been less fraught with difficulty, it was still a time they set aside to spend with each other. Handsome and charming Alistair MacDuff might be, she’d no wish to have to divide her attention between Grace and another. She’d not make her sister in all but blood feel left out or neglected.

She offered him a smile. “Taeday’s too fine a day tae be lost in shadows o’ the past. Shall we make a bargain, ye and I?”

His expression brightened, and some of the lines and shadows from her careless words left his eyes. “What sort o’ bargain?”

“I told ye afore I’m meeting a friend, and she’s far too shy tae want tae be seen with a man like ye, especially as we’re strangers ourselves. So, while I thank ye fer the invitation, I dinnae wish tae dae so taeday. However, I’m fair willing tae meet ye here next market day, if ye will.”