Chapter 21 #2
“I wish ye could stay here forever,” she whispered, her voice catching. “But now I suppose that ye ken what happened with Hamish and me, ye will go, eh?”
A lump lodged in Megan’s throat, no matter how hard she tried to swallow it down.
“Let’s nae talk of that tonight,” she whispered back. “Let’s talk about somethin’ happier.”
When Alaina pulled back, there was a sheen of tears in her eyes, but she diligently wiped her face until the moisture disappeared.
“Now, then,” Flora said, clapping her hands. “We should get downstairs, eh? Find ourselves some good seats before the crowds arrive.”
Before they could move toward the door, however, a heavy knock echoed.
Flora trotted over to answer the door, while Megan’s gaze drifted back to the mirror.
She thought of Ryder’s prediction that all the men would drool over her.
While she didn’t particularly care about those men, the idea of sparking Ryder’s jealousy was an attractive one.
What would he do? Would he march over to confront her and drag her away?
Would he sling her over his shoulder, his hand resting too high up on her thigh for propriety, and stride away with her?
Megan bit her lip, swallowing back a tingle of arousal.
Flora cleared her throat, and Megan glanced over at her. She froze.
Ryder stood in the doorway, dressed in his finest belted plaid in MacCulloch tartan. A sword hung at his hip, and she was fairly sure she could see the handle of another knife in his boot. His damp hair curled over his forehead, and his eyes glinted as they swept over Megan’s form.
It was as if she were rooted to the floor. She could only stand and stare as he surveyed her, taking his time, letting his gaze roll over her. Her skin seemed to prickle in the wake of his stare.
“Evenin’, ladies,” Ryder said at last. “Ye all look very pretty. Guests have begun to arrive, so I would like ye all to go down to the Feast Hall and start to greet them, aye?”
“I cannae wait, Ry,” Sophie beamed. “Will ye dance with me?”
Ryder tore his gaze away from Megan and smiled down at his sister, eyes crinkling up at the corners.
“Of course I will, love. Whichever dance ye want, just come and get me and off we’ll go, aye?”
“Aye.”
Flora clapped her hands together. “Well, lassies, off we go, then.”
“Just a moment,” Ryder held up a hand. “I’d like a word or two with me betrothed first, before she goes down.”
Flora hesitated, just for a moment, glancing between Megan and Ryder.
“Aye, me Laird,” she answered, and ducked through the doorway. Sophie followed, blissfully unaware of any change in atmosphere.
Alaina seemed a little more conscious of it than her sister. She paused in the doorway, frowning at Megan.
“I can stay if ye like,” she said lightly, meeting Megan’s eyes.
Ryder lifted his eyebrows and shot an amused smile at Megan.
She breathed out and smiled reassuringly at Alaina. “All is well. I’ll meet ye down there soon, aye?”
“Aye. All right, then,” Alaina answered, giving her a curious nod. She slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Silence fell, pricking across Megan’s skin like a living thing. She glanced at Ryder, finding that her gaze caught on his.
“Well,” she said at last, her voice very loud in the silence. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
She immediately wished that she hadn’t used the word pleasure. The word caught in her throat, throwing up memories of touch and heat and the ache of arousal.
She felt that same rush of desire now, which baffled her. How could she feel so breathless and on edge just from the man’s presence? He hadn’t laid a hand on her. Aside from taking a step into the room itself, he hadn’t even moved toward her.
And yet she found herself struggling to breathe, already imagining his touch on her.
Stop it! He’s nae goin’ to touch ye again, and ye should be glad of it!
No amount of stern internal lectures could cool her desire, however. It was almost embarrassing.
Ryder took the first step. And it was simply that—a first step. He didn’t lunge forward to sweep her into his arms, kiss her desperately, or even heave a lustful, yearning sigh.
He just stepped forward, tilting his head to one side.
“The flowers in yer hair look nice. Whose idea was that?”
“Sophie’s,” Megan managed, licking her suddenly dry lips. She wanted a cup of water, but could not seem to drag her gaze away from his to look for a drink.
How has this happened to me? It’s like catchin’ the plague. Or swoonin’, perhaps. One minute ye are fine, the next ye are sprawled out on the floor, nae sure how ye got there.
Ridiculous.
“Well, it’s a fine idea,” he acknowledged. “Ye might as well know that the lassies’ uncle, Laird MacAdair, will be here tonight. I’d be grateful if ye could speak to him. He’ll expect it. Daenae let him think that the betrothal is anythin’ other than a genuine one.”
She nodded. “I’ll do me best.”
Is that all he came here to say?
Ryder took another step forward, his gaze skimming down her frame again.
“Ye wore the dress, I see,” he commented. “The one I told ye nae to wear.”
She lifted her chin. “Aye. I did.”