Chapter 23 #2
“Then we’ll try everything.” The determination in his voice made her laugh despite herself.
He led her to the first stall where a rotund man stood behind a brazier of roasting chestnuts. Euan purchased a paper cone full of them, their shells split and steaming, then held one out to her.
“Careful—they’re hot.”
Moyra took it gingerly, blowing on the chestnut before attempting to peel away the shell. The meat inside was soft and sweet, with a hint of smoke that made her close her eyes in appreciation.
When she opened them, Euan was watching her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
“Good?” His voice had gone rough.
“Aye.” She licked honey residue from her thumb, not missing how his gaze tracked the movement. “Very good.”
He cleared his throat, looking away with what might have been embarrassment. “There’s more. Come.”
The next stall offered honeyed pastries—flaky layers that dissolved on her tongue, sweet enough to make her teeth ache but somehow perfect. Moyra tried to eat delicately, conscious of Euan watching, but the pastry crumbled despite her best efforts. Honey dripped down her chin.
“Here.” Euan’s thumb caught the drop, wiping it away with a gentleness that made her breath stutter. “Ye’ve got—”
His hand lingered on her jaw, thumb tracing her lower lip in a caress that definitely wasn’t necessary to clean up honey.
Their eyes locked, and Moyra felt the world narrow to just this—his hand cradling her face, his eyes dark with want, the barely controlled tension in his frame that said he was thinking about kissing her again.
“Euan,” she breathed.
“Aye?” But he didn’t move, didn’t pull away.
“People are watching.”
“Let them.” Still, his hand dropped.
The final stall offered skewered meat—venison, from the smell, seasoned with spices. Euan bought two skewers, handing her one before taking a bite of his own.
Moyra watched the way his throat worked as he swallowed, the way his tongue caught a drop of juice at the corner of his mouth and felt heat pool low in her belly that had nothing to do with the fair’s bonfires.
Watching him eat shouldn’t affect her so.
Yet there she was, transfixed by the simple act of him taking another bite, by the obvious pleasure in his expression.
“What?” He’d caught her staring.
“Naething.” She bit into her own skewer to avoid answering, the flavors exploding across her tongue. “This is incredible.”
“Wait until ye try it at the autumn harvest feast. Cook makes a version with wild boar that’ll ruin ye fer all other meat.”
They ate in comfortable silence, watching the fair carry on around them. Dancers spun past, laughing and red-faced. Children ran between stalls with their prizes. A fiddle started up somewhere and people began clapping along.
“We should go,” Euan said finally, though he made no move to leave. “Before I dae something foolish in front of half me clan.”
“Like what?” The question slipped out before wisdom could stop it.
His eyes darkened. “Like kiss ye until ye forget every reason this is complicated.”
The admission stole her breath. They stood in the middle of the fair, surrounded by his people, and he’d just confessed to wanting her with a bluntness that made her pulse hammer.
“That would be foolish,” she managed.
“Aye.” But he stepped closer. “Completely mad. Probably the worst decision I could make.”
“Probably.”
“And yet...” His hand lifted, tracing her cheekbone with devastating gentleness. “I find I dinnae care as much as I should.”
Moyra’s heart hammered so hard she could feel it in her fingertips. This was dangerous—everything about this moment, this man, these feelings she couldn’t quite name. She should step back. Should remember all the reasons falling for Euan MacLeod was the worst possible idea.
Instead, she leaned into his touch and whispered, “Then maybe we should go. Before ye dae something we’ll both regret.”
The walk back to Dunvegan passed in charged silence, broken only by the distant sounds of the fair behind them and the crunch of their footsteps on the path. Euan’s hand found hers again, his grip firm and warm and comforting.
When they reached the castle gates, he didn’t release her. Instead, he pulled her into the shadows beside the entrance, away from curious eyes.
“Moyra—”
“Dinnae.” She pressed her fingers to his lips, stopping whatever he was about to say. “Nae yet. I’m nae—I cannae think clearly when ye look at me like that.”
“Like what?” But his mouth curved beneath her fingers.
“Like I’m something precious instead of problematic. Like ye actually want me here instead of just tolerating me presence fer political advantage.”
His hand covered hers, pulling her fingers from his lips but not releasing them. “Ye think I’m tolerating ye?”
“I dinnae ken what ye’re daeing.” Frustration and want warred in her chest. “I dinnae ken if this is real or strategy or—”
“It’s real.” The words came fierce, absolute. “Whatever else ye doubt, Moyra MacKenzie, dinnae doubt that. What I feel when I look at ye—that’s nae strategy.”
“I should go.” She forced herself to step back, putting space between them before temptation won. “Before someone sees us and tomorrow’s gossip becomes unbearable.”
“Aye.” But he didn’t look happy about it. “I’ll walk ye.”
“There’s nay need.”
“I insist.”
Before courage failed her completely, they were hurrying through the castle corridors. Her heart raced from his proximity, her lips tingling from where his thumb had traced them. Her entire body hummed with want she couldn’t quite acknowledge.
When they reached her chamber door, Euan didn’t release her hand. Instead, he glanced down the empty corridor, then back to her face with an intensity that made her breath catch.
“We need to talk,” he said quietly. “Now. Before ye go tae sleep with all those doubts spinning in yer head.”
Moyra’s heart hammered against her ribs. “Euan, it’s late—”
“I dinnae care.” His grip on her hand tightened, not painfully, but insistent. “Ye said ye cannae think clearly when I look at ye like this. Well, I need ye thinking clearly, Moyra. I need tae talk tae ye and it cannae wait.”
She swallowed hard, every instinct screaming at her to retreat into the safety of her chamber, to put a door between herself and those dangerous feelings. But something in his expression kept her rooted in place.
“All right,” she whispered. “Then talk.”