Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Once the two lasses had disappeared from view, Ewan turned to one of the lads waiting to speak with him.
He was one of the gamekeepers from the estate and Ewan was keen to question him as to whether there had been any disturbances among the wildlife recently that might indicate there were intruders about.
The lad, whose name was Benedict, shook his head. “I’ve nae noticed anything out of order, milaird.” He grinned, revealing a crooked front tooth. “Me faither’s staying these days wi’ me and Morag and the weans and he has little tae occupy him. I’ll send him out tae see if he finds anything amiss.”
Ewan nodded. Benedict’s father had been gamekeeper before him and knew the estate like the back of his hand.
He’d be aware of every nook and cranny, every cave, nesting ground and grazing field even better than Benedict.
Although he was often troubled by gout, Ewan had no doubt the old man’s sight and hearing were as alert as ever.
“Good. Tell old Callum I’m grateful fer his watch and I’ll be along tae visit ye before much longer.”
After Benedict departed, he decided to head up to the room as he did not see Duncan anywhere.
As he climbed the stairs he caught the sound of muffled voices.
God’s blood. Duncan has a lass in there.
As he drew closer, he caught the muffled gasps and moans drifting from within. He stopped short at the door. The sounds only grew more heated, leaving no doubt as to what was happening inside.
Not wishing to linger further, he went to the room next door, occupied by Isla, and knocked. He’d sleep on a rug on the floor if he had to.
There was no response from Isla, save for a soft, gentle, snoring. He knocked again. After the slightest pause, the snores continued.
He huffed.
There’ll be nay waking her without bringing the house down around everyone’s ears.
He moved to the room further along the corridor where Tyra was staying. That was his room; the one Malcolm kept exclusively for his use and did not rent out to any other. He thought longingly of the soft mattress, the feather pillows, and the fur coverlet.
Placing his ear to the door, he strained to listen and was rewarded with the sound of a slight movement, as if the fire was being stoked. At least Tyra was awake.
Without weighing the situation up any further, he rapped lightly.
“Who is it?” she whispered.
At the sound of her voice, his heart was suddenly humming, his fingers tingling. He caught his breath, recalling their laughter and the pull of her body to his as they whirled to the music of the cèilidh.
“’Tis Ewan. Can ye spare me a moment?”
The door creaked open and he stepped into the room.
She was in her creamy white night shift and robe, her hair brushed free of its circlet of braids and hanging loose down her back. With the fire behind her, it was as if a golden waterfall was tumbling over her shoulders. The breath hitched in his throat.
“What can I dae fer ye?” She sounded alarmed, pulling her robe close, looking up at him with anxious green eyes.
“Naething. There’s nay trouble, me lady.” He shook his head and grinned sheepishly. “It’s just that me room is… er… shall we say occupied at the moment, and I’ve nay place tae lay down me weary head. Could ye see yer way clear tae making space fer a dispossessed laird?”
She laughed. “Of course, I’d nae dream of turning away such a laird from his own chamber.”
“Ye remembered?”
“Aye. I daresay I’ll ne’er forget ye foregoing such comfort tae bide by me door all night to ensure me safety.”
She gazed up at him and he felt his heart jolt as their eyes met.
He pulled off his boots and went to spread his kilt on the floor by the hearth. “I’ll sleep here, lass, ‘tis nay bother.”
She looked from him to the large, comfortable bed, a shy smile dawning on her face.
“Laird Ewan, it would be churlish of me tae have ye sleeping on the floor when there is a perfectly good bed and covers, with the softest of pillows right here.”
He snapped his head back in surprise. “Are ye offering tae sleep on the floor, milady? Or…” He left the possibility hanging in the air between them, his heart thumping wildly. Surely, she was not suggesting they share the bed?
She gave a soft laugh. “Why, Laird Ewan, ‘tis nae as if we’ve nae shared a bed before this day.” She slipped across the room to the bed and pulled aside the coverlet. “Besides. We’ll be wed soon enough and will be sharing a bedchamber. I dinnae expect ye tae sleep on the floor.”
He laughed. “Aye. I’ve nae heard of a bridegroom sleeping on the floor in front of the hearth. That is, unless he’s forgotten tae kiss his bonnie wife goodnight.”
“Oh yes, that would indeed be a crime.” She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes with what he could swear was a look of pure mischief.
“And it’s nae one I’d ever commit.” He said, taking her around the waist and twirling her as he’d done in the cèilidh.
“Well, ye’ve had yer kiss fer the night. Thanks be tae yer wicked little sister.”
He snorted. “Ye didnae fulfill yer dare, lass. Methinks ye cheated and didnae give me a proper kiss.”
Tossing her head, so that her hair flew about her in splashes of gold, she huffed indignantly. “Ye cannae accuse me of cheating. That kiss I bestowed on ye was certainly a proper kiss. Besides, Isla wasnae specific about the kissing.”
Still holding her lightly in his arms, he threw back his head and laughed. “Lass, if ye think that wee peck ye gave me was a proper kiss, then ye’ve much tae learn.”
She flushed a charming shade of pink and he found himself enjoying her discomfort.
Shrugging her shoulders she spun just out of his reach, offering him a look of pure disdain. “Of course I ken a proper kiss, Laird Ewan. Ye’re forgetting I was betrothed before we met. I exchanged more than one proper kiss wi’ me former fiancé.”
Emboldened by the ease that had sprung up between them as the evening had worn on, and their shared pleasure of the cèilidh, he succumbed to his own temptation.
Suddenly, a kiss on those lush red lips was all he could think of, and be damned any other lad whose kisses she may have mistaken for a proper kiss.
“Shall we put it tae the test.”
“What test would that be, pray?” Her voice wavered slightly and his heart jolted again.
“I shall demonstrate a proper kiss tae ye and ye may tell me if ‘tis the same as yer others.”
“Very well.” She grinned, lifting her head and closing her eyes. “Go ahead.”
He swept an arm around her and brought her closer.
She turned a blind face up to him, her lips a little ajar, her breath coming in little pants high in her chest. He felt her heart beating fast against his chest. He hesitated for only a moment, but she was impossible to resist as he bent his head to take her lips with his mouth.
He’d only intended to tease her with a quick kiss on the lips, but once he’d taken her mouth, he found himself exploring the taste of her, the hint of cinnamon and honey on her lips, the intoxicating rose scent of her hair.
He teased her plush lower lip with the tiniest hint of his tongue and when her tongue greeted his, his reserve gave way.
His shaft was hardening, yet releasing her was impossible.
She sighed in his mouth and moved her hips slightly so that his shaft was pressing the place where her thighs joined.
He moaned, taking a hand to stroke the delicate arch of her throat, bringing it up to hold her head, while she wound her arms about his shoulders and then began to slip her fingers from his nape into his hair.
This kiss was like no other. It rode roughshod over all his resolution to maintain his distance, yet it was more than lust. It held a longing that he’d scarcely acknowledged within himself. A need to hold and to be held, to feel another desiring him as he desired them.
This was something he’d never experienced with Marjorie, albeit him having loved her dearly. Feeling Tyra’s desire for him rising like a great tide, he was washed with wave after wave of intense passion that shook him to the foundations of his being.
He heard her soft moan and he was almost lost. He wanted nothing but to plunder her lips, to kiss every inch of her soft body, to feel the satin of her nakedness against him.
Part of him was a hair’s breadth from consuming her, seducing her, stripping her naked, hearing her moan his name and cry out in ecstasy.
But his restraint surfaced, a voice in his head reminding him of the risk he was taking and the fear and guilt he’d harbored ever since Marjorie’s death burst over him like a torrent of ice water.
He lifted his head and Tyra drew back at once, catching her breath, raising a hand to her hair. Her lips were swollen with his kisses, her eyes soft with desire, her cheeks flushed pink. She was ripe for the taking.
He managed to smile. “That was a proper kiss, Lady Tyra.”
She shrugged giving a short, sharp laugh as if the kiss meant nothing. “If ye say so.”
Pulling away, she adjusted her robe. “I am mindful that our arrangement is fer convenience only, Laird Ewan, so I would be most obliged if ye could arrange the bolster in the bed between us.”
He looked into her eyes, reading the hurt there before she shuttered them and turned away. He understood that she was, wisely, guarding her heart.
All the same, he knew her desire for him was real.