Chapter 3
As the evening drew to a close and the castle quieted down, Keira could feel her heart beating erratically, a mix of excitement and uncertainty swirling within her.
Frankly, she couldn’t stop thinking about Raphael.
It left her both exhilarated and apprehensive about whether or not she should do something about it.
She found herself more and more drawn to this man she knew nothing about, and yet, at the same time, she wanted to know everything there was to know about him. It was something she had never felt before.
Neither had she felt that erratic beating of her heart. Or the constant blushing. Wait, she had blushed on other occasions, too. A man she had just met couldn’t have such command of her body and her reactions. Could he?
Maybe. That would explain why she wanted to push herself closer to him still, not even knowing what it meant. Was that the desire her friends had talked about? And she was feeling it for a laird she hardly knew?
As Avery’s last story came to an end, Keira seized this opportunity to bid everyone goodnight. She could not keep fighting her own swirling emotions.
She needed to withdraw into the solitude of her chamber and sleep on everything that had happened. Maybe the morning would bring some clarity, and she would realize that she was simply being a silly London girl.
“I had such a lovely time.” She smiled. “But I think I shall call it a night. It is getting rather late.” She immediately stood up as she spoke, ready to head out.
“I believe it is time for us to do the same,” Joan agreed, and everyone else nodded in unison.
Keira felt relieved that she did not interrupt everyone’s good time.
She wished everyone a good night, the need to collect her thoughts and make sense of her budding feelings overwhelming her. The grand corridors of the castle felt both familiar and foreign as she wandered back to her chamber, lost in her thoughts.
There was something about the way those same corridors absorbed the sound of her footsteps, making her feel as if she wasn’t walking at all, but rather floating a few inches above the ground, like a ghost that did not belong here at all.
Keira entered her chamber, the soft glow of a lamp illuminating the room in a warm, comforting light.
She closed the door, hoping to leave all that commotion outside.
But that was easier said than done. She changed into her nightgown quickly and then lay down on the cozy bed, but her mind was far from sleepy.
Thoughts of Raphael danced in her head, and her heart fluttered with excitement and nervousness. She couldn’t get his deep, dark eyes out of her mind, the way he would look at her, the way he would make her blush with only the sound of his voice.
She wondered what he would sound like whispering in her ear, telling her that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. His warm breath would fan across her neck, and it would awaken all of her senses just before—
Keira!
She scolded herself silently, feeling her heart beat just a little faster.
She tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position, but each time she closed her eyes, his image would appear in her mind.
His laughter, his insightful words, and the way he had looked at her—it all played in a loop, a delightful memory that kept coming back to haunt her over and over again.
As the night wore on and sleep continued to elude her, Keira grappled with her swirling thoughts and emotions.
It is just a momentary infatuation.
She hoped that if she repeated it enough times, she would actually believe it.
She reminded herself of her practical nature, the well-constructed plans for her life, which she didn’t really like but needed to adhere to, and the responsibilities that lay ahead.
Yet, the fluttering in her heart seemed to disregard the logical arguments.
As she delved deeper, she realized that dismissing her feelings so easily was harder than she had thought. It wasn’t just the allure of the castle or the romance of the Scottish Highlands—it was Raphael himself.
She wondered what it would feel like to have him kiss her only once, to have his lips on hers, to sense that delight that she had only read about and heard from her friends.
She got up, walked to the window, and looked out into the night. The moon cast a gentle glow over the Scottish landscape, illuminating the beauty of the Highlands. Keira tried to gather her thoughts, compartmentalize the flutter in her heart and categorize it as something inconsequential.
One kiss would not change the real state of affairs. It might even make things worse. What if their kiss was something she would want more of, something she would not be able to live without? No. It was better not to try something so dangerous at all.
With a sigh, she made a mental vow to remain steadfast in her determination. She would push these feelings aside, place them in a locked box, and carry on with her life as planned.
She convinced herself that she could control her emotions, and that rationality would prevail. She just needed to silence this little rebellious voice inside of her, and she knew just the trick for that.
In a bid to quieten her restless mind and perhaps find solace in a glass of whiskey, Keira decided to make her way to the dining hall.
Clad in her nightgown, she ventured out, assuming the castle would be empty at this late hour.
After all, everyone had retired to their respective bedchambers.
She was probably the only night owl unable to get a good night’s sleep.
As she stepped into the softly lit corridor and approached the dining hall, her footsteps echoing lightly, she noticed a figure seated at the far end of the table. She gasped silently when she saw him, her lips parting, her eyes widening, and her cheeks flushing.
He was there, bathed in the warm glow of the fire that kept the room warm, lost in thought, a glass of whiskey in hand. She hesitated, considering retreating, not wanting to intrude. But before she could turn away, he looked up, catching sight of her.
Raphael had never seen such a stunning woman immersed in the soft glow of the flickering candlelight, wearing nothing but a silk nightgown that clung to her curves in a gentle embrace, accentuating her silhouette to perfection.
The fabric was adorned with intricate lace that traced delicate patterns across her decolletage, hinting at the allure beneath.
The gown featured thin satin straps that traced the contours of her shoulders, leaving her collarbones delicately exposed.
The neckline dipped slightly, offering a glimpse of her neck and the curve of her clavicle, adding a touch of temptation to the ensemble.
As she stood there before him, the silk whispered against her skin, a gentle rustle that seemed to beckon the senses.
Raphael found the sight of her breathtaking, a sudden rush of desire that caught him completely off guard.
Her attire, most certainly a mistake in judgment thinking that everyone but her had already retired to their chambers, held undeniable sensuality, a quiet invitation that stirred something inside of him, something that had been slumbering for a very long time.
Keira’s gaze met his, a mix of vulnerability and courage. She was unapologetically herself, embracing her femininity in the quietude of the night. The air seemed charged with an unspoken tension, a connection that defied words but spoke volumes in their exchanged glances.
“I… I’m sorry for the intrusion, Laird MacCurtney,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I just couldn’t sleep and thought a glass of whiskey might help me with that.”
Raphael, his gaze never leaving hers, smiled warmly, a reassuring presence in the dimly lit room.
“No intrusion at all. I find the night has a way of stirrin’ thoughts, drawin’ us to quiet corners.
Please, have a seat.” Then, he added, “And dinnae Laird me. Raphael is fine. We’re all friends here, nae? ”
“Yes.” She smiled again, more confidently.
He liked her confident smiles, although her timid ones were equally alluring, those same ones that appeared when her cheeks were flushed, when her mind was thinking exactly what his own was thinking.
What he didn’t like was the thought that she was his friend, but he tried to push that to the back of his mind.
He watched her as she settled into a chair, after which he poured her a glass of whiskey.
He brought it over to her in silence, offering it with his fingers firmly gripping the crystal glass.
He knew what he was doing, although it was a dangerous game.
Very dangerous. But it was the middle of the night, and he had already had two glasses himself.
He could barely control the desire that was oozing out of his every pore.
Their fingers briefly brushed in the exchange of the glass.
Just a fleeting touch, but he couldn’t remember the last time a woman had had this effect on him.
He swallowed thickly, pulling away. It was safer for them both to keep their distance from each other, both physically as well as emotionally.
“Have you known Joan’s husband for a long time?” she asked, holding the glass as if in an effort to hide behind it.
He grinned at the attempt. The setting around them was far too intimate, and her attire even more. The flickering candlelight cast playful shadows all around them, dancing across the curves of her nightgown, only adding to its allure. The atmosphere was charged with a magnetic pull.
“Aye.” He nodded, taking another sip from his glass before continuing.
“We’ve been friends for a few years now.
We actually met just when he married yer friend, but our alliance has never been officially declared until now.
What about ye? Are ye here to find a husband yerself, like yer friends did? ”
“What?” she gasped, frowning. “No, of course not. I’m here merely visiting them. Nothing else.”
Laird MacCurtney was known for many things, and one of them was being good at reading people. So, when Keira replied so hastily that she was here merely visiting her friends, he was absolutely certain that there was more to this story. It amused him more than he was willing to admit.
“Just because I read a lot about Scotland, it doesn’t mean that I am desperate to marry a Scot,” she growled one more time, then downed her drink completely, slamming the glass against the table.
He grinned, raising an eyebrow. “I’m impressed. Another one?”
Her lower lip trembled a little before she replied, “Please.”
“With pleasure.” He nodded, then proceeded to pour her another glass. “As someone might have mentioned to ye already, I’m nae the smoothest conversationalist.”
“Oh, really?” she asked so funnily that he almost burst out into a chuckle, but he managed to resist the temptation to do so. Instead, he merely changed the subject.
“Why cannae ye sleep?” he wondered aloud, swirling the yellow liquid in his glass, not taking his eyes off her even for a single second.
She sighed heavily before replying, “My thoughts won’t let me.”
“What is it ye are thinkin’ about in the wee hours of the night?” he asked, but this time, his question remained unanswered. In words, at least. Because her face took on a poppy red hue, while her gaze lowered all the way to the ground.
“Just… things,” she finally managed to utter, but that reply meant nothing. In fact, it only made him even more curious.
“Is the whiskey helpin’?” he asked mischievously, eyeing her glass, which was half-empty already, then her again.
“A little.” She smiled shyly, and he felt that surge of longing once again.
“Have ye ever ridden a horse while a little… blootered?”
“Blootered?” she asked, and he smiled at her.
“A little drunk, lass,” he explained, unable to stop grinning.
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s dangerous.”
He got up and slowly walked over to her. “Ye never do anythin’ dangerous?” he dared to ask, wondering what she would reply. He liked this game more and more.
“I do,” she snapped, tilting her head up as if to take a better look at him. “I’m here now, am I not? Is that not dangerous, to be alone with a man like you?”
His eyebrow rose again. “Aye. It is. Are ye not afraid?”
He took a step back, unable to take his eyes off her nightgown, which outlined her curves to perfection. He wondered how soft her skin would feel underneath his fingers, how fragrant if he inhaled the scent of her neck.
Defying him, she suddenly got up. Now, they were standing face to face, with neither willing to be the first one to look away.
“No,” she said, her nostrils flaring. “In fact, I want to do something dangerous… with you.”
He felt as if someone punched him, knocking all the air out of his lungs. These words were the last thing he had expected from this sweet little lady from London.
And now, he yearned to hear more. So much more. She was awakening a side of him that had been slumbering for far too long, and he liked it much more than he had thought he would.
“What would that be, lass?” he wondered, tempted to show her a few things he had in mind, with those luscious lips of hers dangerously close to his.
“I…” she spoke, her lower lip trembling so much that he wanted to kiss her gently, to pacify it, then to bite it tenderly and taste its sweetness with his tongue. “I want you to kiss me,” she finally admitted.
He smirked, enjoying every single moment of this, refusing to show even for a second how taken aback he was by the fact that this sweet little lass was turning out to be a real vixen.
“Oh, do ye, now? Well, if ye want me to kiss ye, ye have to do somethin’ for me as well.”
Her brow furrowed at his comment. “What?” she asked, not apprehensive at all, but rather curious.
“It’s only fair, dinnae ye think?”
He moved closer to her, pinning her with his gaze, but not touching her.
Not yet. Although he was certain she wanted him to.
Her body was calling out to his, and it took all of his conscious effort not to grab her by the shoulders and pull her so close to him that he would feel her chest pressed against his.
“What would you ask for?” she asked, and he noticed she was a little breathless. Good. He wanted her breathless. He wanted her mad with desire, just like he was at this moment.
He remained purposefully quiet for a few moments, locking eyes with her. “Stay with me.”