Chapter 5
Iwant ye to kiss me, Lyon.
I want ye to be my first.
Those innocent words, an innocent offer, had kept Lyon tossing and turning most of the night. The thought of being her first—which, in his mind, kept turning into much more than kissing—had him fisting his own cock not once, but twice.
Just before dawn, he gave up on trying to get any sleep and rose, throwing on just enough clothes to head to the loch to bathe. Frankly, in the stupor he was in, thinking about Bonnie’s words, it’s a miracle he didn’t stumble into the water and freeze to death.
Today would be warmer, he could tell, which meant Sander might come fetch her.
If Lyon were honest with himself, he knew he could’ve arranged to send her away at any time since the snow had ended.
He or Keith could’ve walked to the village and fetched a sleigh for her, or asked Mrs. Oliphant for her help, or any number of solutions.
But he hadn’t. Because, despite knowing he deserved his reclusive life, he liked having Bonnie around.
He liked her. He liked her teasing, her wit, her intellect.
When he’d first seen her at the masquerade ball last summer, he’d watched her.
Her beauty was a different kind than her sister’s, but Lyon’s eyes had been drawn by more than her beauty.
She seemed like someone determined to have fun, determined to do what was right, no matter what society said she should do.
And now he’d gotten to know her and understood she did buck acceptable behavior in order to achieve her dreams—including spending multiple days nearly alone with a strange beast of a man—he knew his initial assessment was correct.
And aye, he liked her.
Even though he knew he didn’t deserve to.
I want you to kiss me, Lyon.
When she’d said those words, his first reaction had been disbelief that someone as innocent and kind as she was could want to touch him. But she had touched him, and not just last night, but from the very beginning.
And when she’d touched his scarred face, he swore he could feel her fingertips, despite knowing that area of skin was long dead.
I want you to kiss me, Lyon.
Groaning, he dunked his head back under the freezing water of the loch, but even that didn’t help.
Kiss her?
He’d been thinking of little else since she’d sailed into his life, damn him.
And despite knowing they had no future together, the reasons for not kissing her were quickly diminishing.
If she wants it, who are ye to deny her? Deny yerself?
Last night, she’d won their game of chess—of course she had.
He was long out of practice, with only Keith, who wasn’t very good, to play against regularly—and could’ve demanded anything.
She might’ve demanded to be returned to Lysander’s care.
She might’ve demanded access to the library and Rose’s paintings.
Instead, she’d demanded a kiss, and she’d left the timing of that kiss up to him. Lyon glanced up at the castle. Would she be awake by now? How awkward would it be if he burst into her room dripping wet and claimed her lips?
Fairly awkward, all things considered.
But…
But there was something he could do for her. Not just a kiss, but something he could give her to show her she was worth far more. Throughout the trudge back to the castle, and the time he spent sparking the fire in his room to life, Lyon considered it.
Once the flames were crackling merrily, he planted his hands against the mantel and leaned forward so his long hair draped around his face. He was still nude, but he’d learned long ago this was the fastest way to dry off and warm up.
By the time he had to turn around—or risk toasting his bollocks—he knew what he had to do.
Rose was gone. Her art was still here, but what good did it do if no one was allowed to appreciate it? Even he kept away from the library, locking the door so no one else could enjoy her creations.
And that was as bad as forgetting Rose herself, wasn’t it?
Bonnie would appreciate it, so he would share it with her.
His mind made up, Lyon grabbed a kilt and went to find his houseguest.
She was in his study, but not at the little folding table Keith had set up for her. Lyon remembered how resentful he’d been that she could just sweep into his space and carve out a section for herself. But now, he knew when she was gone, he was going to miss glancing up and seeing her there.
When she heard him at the door, she turned from where she’d been staring out the window and offered him a shy smile. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” he replied, knowing his tone was gruff.
Her gaze flicked to the small table where the chess game was still set up from last night. Lyon had stared at that little fallen king for close to an hour, wrestling with himself and his desire, after she’d left. He’d finally given up and gone to bed, which hadn’t been a success at all.
Bonnie made a little noise which had his attention snapping back to her. She was blushing, her gaze on his jaw instead of meeting his eyes. “About last night…”
Did she regret her demand?
“What about it?”
She swallowed, then met his eyes. “I enjoyed playing with you.”
At a loss for what to say, he merely dipped his chin.
She must’ve taken that as encouragement, because she continued. “I enjoyed getting to know more about you and Oliphant Castle. Thank you for sharing that with me.” She paused, and when he didn’t respond, one corner of her lips twitched upward. “Thank you for telling me about Keith.”
He nodded again. Then, because she was clearly expecting something, he managed, “Keith’s a good man.”
“He is.” She cocked her head, studying him.
“Have you bathed?” Then, as if having no idea how scandalous that question sounded, she continued blithely, “I confess, as much as I am enjoying my time here with you, I look forward to a proper bath and change of clothes. The sponge baths are not exactly luxurious, no offense. I know you did not expect a guest in the middle of a blizzard.”
The reminder she’d be leaving soon spurred him into action.
He stalked across the room, and although he knew he must look fearsome, Bonnie didn’t flinch. When he stopped in front of her and thrust out his hand to her, she didn’t hesitate to place her much smaller one in his.
And as his fingers closed around hers, he had a sense of…rightness.
He knew he should let her go—in so many ways—but he couldn’t make himself release her. Instead, he tugged her along, and she went oh-so-trustingly.
“Lyon?” she asked, as they stepped into the corridor. Dozens of generations of Oliphants had walked across these stones, and although they were now covered by carpet, he felt the connection seep through the soles of his boots.
“I’m going to show you something.” Give you something; a precious gift. He knew she’d understand.
“Do I get to guess?”
Silently, he shrugged, but guided her toward the end of the hall.
“Hmm. Is it a nice, warm bath? Do you have running water here after all? Is that room a bathing chamber?”
They’d reached the door he’d been aiming for. The door which he normally avoided, despite knowing Mrs. Oliphant kept the room clean. Reaching for the knob, he paused and tilted his chin toward Bonnie.
“This was once the women’s solar. My study was the laird’s solar, more or less his office. This chamber is where the women of the household gathered—those embroideries were likely completed here—and it connected to the lady of the keep’s bedchamber.”
She was nodding along, but there was a sparkle in her blue eyes when she cut him a glance. “So it would have to be a very large bathing chamber, if that is what it is, hmm?”
He took a deep breath. “No’ quite.”
Then he opened the door.
Her gasp told him, not only did she understand what she was seeing, but she appreciated it as much as he’d hoped she would.
With wide eyes, she brushed past him, and he could see the awe in her expression as she tilted her head back to take in the shelves, which lined every wall but one, and reached to the ceiling.
And every single shelf was lined with books.
Books about history, books about engineering, books about biology and physiology. Books about other cultures, books about sea trade, and every atlas he’d been able to find. And the novels took up one entire wall; romances and adventures and mysteries, each one certain to spark every imagination.
This library had been his haven, his place of comfort.
There were the pair of luxurious chairs in front of the long-cold hearth and the lamps just waiting to be lit.
When he’d married Rose, he’d hoped she’d find the same joy in these books, but she wasn’t interested.
He’d consoled himself by hanging her artwork on the remaining wall so she was with him, in a sense, even when he was alone.
But he hadn’t taken refuge here since her death. The death he could’ve prevented, but hadn’t.
If he closed his eyes right now, it wasn’t Rose he imagined sitting in one of those overstuffed chairs, it was the woman who even now was slowly spinning in the center of the room, with a look of wonder on her face.
“Lyon, this is…amazing.”
“Ye like it?” he asked, wanting to be certain she did and wasn’t just saying so.
She halted, holding his gaze. “This is the most remarkable thing I have ever seen! If I owned a library like this, I would never leave.”
Aye, that’s what he was afraid of.
He shrugged. “I nae longer come here.”
Her mouth opened, her lips forming the word, but she stopped herself from asking why, thank God. Shaking his head, Lyon stepped into the room. He meant to move around Bonnie, toward the wall where Rose’s art hung, but instead, he went right to her, lifting her hand in his again.
As he turned her, Bonnie made a little noise of question, but he didn’t look at her.
Instead, he stepped up to the window and pulled open the heavy velvet curtain with his other hand.
Although the window was small by modern standards, it still let in enough light to illuminate the wall of oil paintings hanging on either side.