Chapter 4 #2
“Can we not marry before you go? Something quick, but in Da’s presence, so he knows, in case . . .” The tears spilled down her face freely, dripping from her delicate chin.
There had been a time in Nicholas’s life when he’d openly given and received affection.
A time before Catriona. Since then he’d hardened his heart—and at times, it seemed he truly was made of stone, as few could elicit sympathy from him.
Perhaps it was their shared concern for the chieftain of Glen Laire.
Or maybe it was just because she was his best friend’s daughter.
He didn’t know what made him soft to her, but her tears hollowed out his chest.
She gazed up at him, large gray eyes studying his face, and then her expression crumpled and she moved toward him, pressing her face against his plaid. Nicholas put his arms around her without thinking.
He held her for several minutes, patting her back awkwardly, her face pressed into his shoulder.
She was small, yet beautifully well rounded.
Heavy breasts pressed into him, and his hands drifted over a narrow back and tiny waist to the wide flare of hips.
She was made to bear children. He should not be thinking of such things now, with Alan dying and her tears of grief drenching him, but he could not wait to bed her.
She moved back slightly, staying within the circle of his arms when he would have let her go. “It could be quick. Father keeps a pastor here . . . for when it’s time.”
Marriage. She wanted to have a quick ceremony before he left. But Alan had indicated that once Gillian and Nicholas married, he would take his own life.
“No.”
She tilted her head back to frown at him. “I don’t understand . . . it’s what he wishes.”
He could not tell her what Alan planned. It had been told to him in confidence, and besides, it would only upset her more.
“But it’s not what I wish.”
Her mouth dropped open, and she huffed an incredulous breath. When she tried to pull away from him, he held her shoulders.
“You don’t ever intend to go through with this, do you? If you will not do it now, when? Why wait until he’s dead?”
She had a point, and he felt himself caving in. Perhaps it was inevitable, if Alan had sent for Isobel and Sir Philip. Surely Alan knew the end was near, and he did look awful. But then he’d looked this awful before—worse even—and rallied back.
When he didn’t answer, she asked, “What do you wish?”
He stared down at her flushed cheeks and soft eyes, long lashes still damp from her tears.
Before he even knew what he intended, he found his mouth on hers.
She stiffened, her hands against his chest. Her lips were soft, though, and bore the salty tang of her tears.
He took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply.
She responded immediately, her lips parting, fingers digging into his arms. It was a brief kiss, but it roused a hunger in him for more.
He raised his head slightly, still holding her face between his hands.
She was very still, her gaze holding him prisoner.
He did not know why he’d kissed her, other than sheer instinct from holding a beautiful woman, but he generally had more control than to act on errant impulses.
Damn troubling that he was tempted to kiss her again.
But that’s all it was, really. Lust. She was fragrant and soft—what man wouldn’t be sore tempted by such a woman?
Her skin was silken and warm beneath his hands.
His heart beat loudly. Her lashes were impossibly long, and he watched them as they lowered, her own gaze dropping to his mouth, as if she expected him to kiss her again.
With a terrific effort, he dropped his hands and stepped away from her.
She watched him with a dazed expression. “Why did you do that?”
Various responses, all inappropriate, flitted through his mind. He finally settled on, “A promise.”
A look of almost comic surprise crossed her face as her fingers touched her lips lightly. “A promise?”
He couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at his mouth from her bewilderment. “Aye. I’ll be back and we’ll be wed. Until then I leave Sir Evan at your disposal.”
He quickly took his leave before he spouted any more foolishness.
Gillian was still standing in the center of the room, fingers still pressed to her mouth, when Rose slipped into their chambers. She closed the door, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder.
“Why is Kincreag’s man standing outside our room? Lord Kincreag is with Father.”
“Oh!” Gillian cried, hands fluttering. “I have a knight!”
Rose’s brows shot up, duly impressed, as Gillian hurried to the door to inspect her knight.
Sir Evan leaned against the wall opposite the door.
He was an attractive man with close-cropped, dark brown hair and sun-bronzed skin.
His sword belt was strapped over his chest, the hilt visible over his shoulder, and he was fairly bristling with other weapons—several dirks and two guns.
As soon as he saw her, he straightened. “My lady.”
Gillian laughed nervously and glanced at Rose, who’d joined her at the door. “I’m not ‘my lady’ yet.” She quickly composed herself, straightening and donning a serious expression worthy of a countess. “Well met, Sir Evan.”
He inclined his head solemnly. His pale blue eyes looked right through her, lifeless. “Will you be needing me tonight?”
“Uh . . . no, thank you. You may go about your business. I’ll summon you if I need you.”
He bowed smartly and marched down the hall, weapons clanking.
Gillian closed the door and turned to her sister. “Isn’t he marvelous?”
Rose’s lips drew down in a grimace. “A bit peculiar, don’t you think?”
“Not him! Lord Kincreag!”
Rose eyed her curiously. “Something happened.”
Gillian’s fingers touched her lips again as she remembered the feel of his mouth on hers. Her blood raced, the fluttering in her belly returning. “Kincreag kissed me.”
Gillian didn’t think it was possible for Rose to look astounded, but her jaw dropped in shock, and her midnight eyes, usually catlike in appearance, were as round as an owl’s. “For no reason?”
Gillian had not told her sister about the contract—in truth, it was rather embarrassing, but she told her now, as well as her suspicions that Kincreag meant to evade ever marrying her by waiting until their father died, and then deeming her unsuitable.
“I wanted to get married before he left in case aught happened to Da. When he refused, I accused him of planning to never marry me. He kissed me then. He said it was a promise.”
Rose tapped at her teeth thoughtfully. “You might be right. He probably thinks he can charm you along, then drop you when Father dies.”
Gillian shook her head in disbelief. “You weren’t kissed by him .
. . it didn’t feel false. It felt . . .” She paused, biting her bottom lip as she remembered.
“It felt like a promise of . . . of . . .” Well, she didn’t know quite what.
But something warm and wonderful that made her quiver in anticipation of more such kisses, and the eventual fulfillment of what they promised.
“Oh dear.” Rose shook her head sympathetically, auburn brows arched. “It never does feel false. Did he put his tongue in your mouth?”
Gillian blinked. “No . . .”
“Well then!” Rose said, as if that explained everything. When Gillian just stared blankly at her, she elaborated. “When a man really wants a woman, he puts his tongue in her mouth.”
“What? Where do you learn these things? Has a man ever put his tongue in your mouth?
Rose smiled wisely. “A few have tried.”
Rose did seem very knowledgeable about relations between men and women.
Gillian frowned, her heart sinking. The earl was remote and cool, but she’d not thought him false.
But what about the contract? He’d told her he didn’t want to marry her, but she’d believed him when he’d said he meant to anyway.
Was it just to appease her so she didn’t complain to her father?
Gillian plopped down in a chair near the fire and buried her face in her hands. “I’m so confused!”
Rose was beside her immediately. “What is it? Is your headache back?”
Gillian straightened. “No. It came back earlier today but then was gone again seconds later.” She’d told Rose about what had happened at their mother’s grave. Rose had been puzzled, and when she’d passed her hands over Gillian’s head, she’d found nothing amiss.
“What were you doing when the headache struck?”
Gillian thought about it for several minutes. “I don’t think it has anything to do with that. I’ve been doing all sorts of things.”
Rose scowled thoughtfully. “Most vexing. I can’t do much if I can’t touch you when the pain is present.
Next time you get a headache, you must find me posthaste, aye?
” Rose stood suddenly. “I must go—Uncle Roderick says Aunt Tira is having cramps.” She shook her head, looking heavenward.
“She’s probably just full of wind. The baby hasn’t even dropped yet. ”
She left, muttering, leaving Gillian alone to think about her future husband. She hoped he was her future husband. She thought of the kiss and how it had sent her heart racing. She’d never been kissed like that before. But, according to Rose, it hadn’t meant a thing to him.