Chapter 6
Ryan paced the area outside of Margaret’s chambers. It seemed that his wee Sassenach preferred to rise late. Already, Cali had figured this out and was attending to other duties in the castle as she waited for her Lady to join the land of the waking.
Seems like I’m always going to be waitin’ in this hallway for her.
“Lass,” he rumbled, rapping his knuckles against the door. Even his knock betrayed his impatience. “Are ye awake?”
“I’ve told you my name is Margaret.” Her reply preceded her appearance by a few seconds. With her head poking through the sliver between the door and the frame, she said, “What kind of man doesn’t know his betrothed's name? Or if you do know my name, what kind of man refuses to use it?”
“Margaret,” he said, smirking when her face pinkened in the low lighting. Teasing her continued to prove to be a worthwhile endeavor. He pushed his way inside, ignoring the way she sputtered, and her blush deepened. “The day’s startin’, and ye’re nowhere to be found.”
He looked at her expectantly, waiting for an explanation. It became clear after a beat that he wouldn’t be getting one anytime soon. Her eyes seemed locked on his chest. The rest of her body was frozen, and her lips were parted slightly.
The open doublet that adorned his chest was the only thing on his upper body. A tuft of chest hair was exposed, along with his pectoral muscles. Margaret couldn’t seem to take her gaze off the bared skin. He flexed slightly, just to see how she reacted.
Her eyes went even wider, her mouth closed, and she swallowed. He was almost certain that she was seconds away from running out of air.
Aye, she’s probably never seen a man wearin’ somethin’ like this. The English are far too proper. I might as well be in nothin’ for the way she’s lookin’ at me.
Since she was ogling him, Ryan took in her appearance as well. It only felt fair. She was still in her nightgown, something old that he assumed had been borrowed from someone else in the castle. It was worn, soft from age and the woman who’d worn it before her.
Her blonde hair was braided neatly, and she’d only left a few strands free to frame her face. It seemed as though she’d gotten up on her own and was in the process of dressing herself for the morning without Cali’s help. Hanging behind her was the same dress she’d worn the past two days.
“Ye daenae have any other clothes?” he asked, stating what he’d assumed when she first arrived at his estate as he gestured to the garment in question. “I’ve only seen ye in that dress there. Do ye have another hidin’ in here somewhere?”
That was the whole reason he’d come looking for her after all.
His concern about her lack of clothing was becoming impossible to ignore.
No lady should be parading around in the same garment for days on end.
What would happen when the dress inevitably needed to be washed?
Would she wear nothing, or would she spend the day in her borrowed negligee?
Ach, I cannae say I’d be opposed to that. Though me council might have somethin’ to say if they got word.
“Agnes is working on a second gown for me,” Margaret replied as she tore her eyes away from him. Two different shades of embarrassment colored her pale skin.
Ach, so she’s been to the seamstress, then.
She looked down at what she was in now. It was almost as if she’d forgotten that she wasn’t properly dressed. Her body fidgeted, and she looked like she wanted to hide from him.
Probably a good idea, lassie. Ye have nay idea what I’m capable of.
“Ye’ll need more than two,” Ryan grunted, forcing his voice to remain neutral. His eyes never left her, not granting her a single second of privacy even though she seemed to desperately want it. “Get yerself ready. I’ll take ye into the village. I’ll get ye everythin’ ye need.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, still refusing to look at him. He thought he could see the corner of her mouth twitching, though. Perhaps she liked the idea of being spoiled. “I don’t need much.”
“Well, ye need more than one,” he replied, getting closer to her. She finally turned to face him. When she opened her mouth to respond, Ryan anticipated what she was about to say and stopped her. He smirked as he said, “Ye’ll need more than two.”
Margaret stared at him, clearly trying to formulate another refusal. The moment stretched on for a beat. Then, she seemed to think better of it, huffing and shaking her head. In a show of dramatics, she rolled her eyes.
Feisty even when she kens she’s lost. She’s fun, this one.
“If ye daenae let me dress ye properly, it’ll reflect poorly on me,” he said, narrowing his gaze as he insisted on his point.
“What kind of Laird would I be if me betrothed only had two gowns? People would think I’m wretched, and they’d feel mighty sorry for ye.
I daenae take ye for the kind of woman who enjoys bein’ pitied. ”
“All right,” Margaret said, nodding to confirm her acquiescence. It was begrudging, he could tell, but it was a concession all the same. “If you’ll step outside, I’ll get dressed and join you.”
Ryan didn’t move, noting the way Margaret’s attention lingered on his chest. It took her several seconds to look him in the eye again. She frowned, biting the inside of her cheek. She dropped her grip on her nightgown and crossed her arms.
“What would ye do if I refused to leave?” Ryan asked, the desire to tease her winning out. He was beginning to think it always would.
He was rewarded with sputtering. Something about her brought out his younger, carefree self.
He liked to play games with her, to pull exaggerated reactions out of her.
This part was one that he was certain had died when he took over as Laird, but it seemed that it was still hidden deep inside him, pulled out by this English lass.
“If you don’t leave willingly, I will force you out,” she said when she regained her composure, her voice climbing in pitch.
What a wee bonnie thing.
“Aye, is that so?” he said, smirking down at the little whip. “Ye really think ye can force me to do anything?”
“Yes. It is so,” Margaret confirmed, still obstinate. “I will not change until you leave my chambers, Laird McGhee. And if you don’t leave of your own accord, you will leave by force.”
Planting his boots squarely on the ground, Ryan crossed his arms, mirroring her stance. He said nothing, simply observed the frustration that flashed through her. When her expression changed, his smirk deepened.
Margaret stepped forward, putting her small hands on his forearms and pushing with all her might. Ryan played into it for a moment, allowing her to guide him back a few paces. Then he stopped, chuckling when she intensified her efforts.
“Get out!” she cried, shifting her touch from his forearms to his bare chest in what he guessed was an attempt to gain some sort of leverage.
Perhaps that would be a good strategy if ye were stronger than me, lassie.
Her palms were soft as silk against him. The warmth was welcome, and the sensation went straight between his legs. She seemed to have no idea what she was doing to him, and that made the whole interaction even more titillating. He pressed against her, forcing her to take another step away.
“You… it’s like trying to move a rock!” Margaret grumbled, shoving again but getting nowhere. Her short nails dug into his flesh. The pinpricks traveled straight to his groin. “Out, Ryan!”
Ryan stared down where they were touching, shifting slightly to hide the arousal that was threatening to make itself known. His kilt would do nothing to conceal exactly what her touch was doing to him. A wild part of him wanted her to know though he doubted she’d react well.
It was then that she seemed to realize what she’d been touching. Quickly, she dropped her hands and looked away, her face flushing as though she were embarrassed. She didn’t need to be; he didn’t mind getting a taste of her fighting spirit.
“Ye’re bold, lass,” Ryan said, catching her wrists before she could fist her fingers in her nightgown. It was getting to be quite an annoying habit of hers. “Gettin’ bolder day by day, aye?”
“No!” she exclaimed, trying to get away and failing. He was so much stronger than she was. She was realizing that just now, it seemed, though he doubted she’d stop trying to overpower him. “That’s not—”
“Ach, lass. Ye can touch me for as long as ye like,” he teased, smirking as her blushing and stuttering grew in ferocity and frequency. She was a mess, and it was all Ryan’s doing. “I like it when a bonnie lass like ye touches me like this.”
If I can wreck her with words, I wonder how intensely she’d unravel with me touch.
“That’s… I wasn’t…” she sputtered, finally wrenching her arms away from Ryan’s grasp. It wasn’t by virtue of her own strength, though. He’d allowed it. “I just wanted to make you leave, so I could change. That was all.”
She turned her body away from him, red all the way below the neckline of her chemise.
Ryan admired the way she wore the color and decided that he would do whatever he could to continue seeing this sight.
For now, though, he knew he needed to stop so he could ensure this bonnie thing was presented as the proper Lady of Clan McGhee.
She can only be unraveled around me. Everyone else will get the polished version.
“All right,” he said, backing away from her, a hand raised as though he were shushing a spooked horse. It was as close to a truce as he was willing to give. This wasn’t over though. “I’ll leave ye to get ready.”
“Thank you,” she said, clearing her throat and standing up a little straighter. “I’ll be out shortly.”
Ryan nodded, taking in her form one last time. Then, he turned toward the door. His footsteps were loud in the heated silence that had settled between them. When he grabbed hold of the handle, he glanced back at her.
“Daenae worry, Margaret. I ken ye liked touchin’ me,” he said, unable to keep himself from getting one last blow in. “Ye daenae have to lie.”
The sound of her stuttered protests followed him out of the room. It was better than any song he’d ever heard.