Treachery #2
He stood at the back of the tower house, on the foot of the path leading to the river.
To one side of the tower, the Montgomery clan members serving the earl milled about.
On the other side, Margaret’s household of Cunninghams kept to themselves.
But the two sides shared one thing in common—they stood staring at him, mouths agape in disgusted shock.
“Aye?” he raised his voice, asking no one in particular. “And why should I let the grudge of men long dead stop me from courting a bonny lass when ‘tis nothing more than a name?”
Silent stares greeted him. Inscrutable, silent stares.
Lady Margaret tugged at his arm. “Dinna speak of this here,” she said in a harsh whisper. “Come back to the hall.”
Rankled, he shook off her grasp. “Why do I get the strange feeling ye want me to be elsewhere, Margaret?” he grated.
She gave up then. Throwing her hands in the air, she gathered her skirts in a grand, regal attempt at disdain—one he thought fell woefully short—and swept back into the tower house.
The clans observed him with stony faces.
Growling, he asked, “Where’s Sorcha?”
A few Cunninghams pointed to the river. The Montgomerys watched him suspiciously.
Muttering his thanks, he strode down the path leading down the green, gentle slope to the river, feeling somewhat raw on all accounts.
Had he let Auld Bertha under his skin a wee bit too far?
Was he letting a madwoman dictate his thoughts now?
Aye, and why was he playing the part of the fool?
Irritated, he passed several lads fishing in the shallows and moved farther upstream.
Through the trees in the sunlight ahead, he spied the washerwomen, some paddling clothes on the riverbanks as the others spread wet laundry over the tree branches and gorse thickets around them.
“Sorcha?” he asked when he arrived and there was no sight of her to be seen.
A stout maid pointed to the dairy, a stone’s throw away. “She went to fetch urine for the lye, my lord,” she replied, bobbing a curtsey.
Aye, Lady Margaret would bestow upon her the basest of tasks. His irritation deepened. It only fortified his resolve to hie the lass away.
Frowning, he set off in long, purposeful strides for the dairy, a collection of low, thatched buildings on the edge of a stone-fenced pasture.
The place stank. Apparently, it was in need of a good mucking.
Swatting the buzzing flies from his face, he rounded the corner, making for the nearest open door, and ran straight into a lass lugging a bucket.
He nearly flattened her to the ground, but as the sun highlighted a flash of auburn curls, his lips split into a wide grin.
It was Sorcha.
Catching her around the waist, he twirled her up and around as the bucket dropped, tipped, and spilled its contents to the ground.
The eye-burning vapor of aged cow urine overwhelmed his nostrils, and he winced, reeling with her once again along the dairy wall to finally stop, pressing her gently back against the sun-warmed, white-washed stones with his broad chest.
There was no thinking of anything else then, not with the womanly softness assaulting his senses. Heat crawled down his spine. Twisting a strand of her hair around his finger, he gave it a playful tug and gazed down into her startled, upturned face with a crooked grin.
“I want to kiss ye, lass,” he confessed, never meaning the words more sincerely—aye, more honorably.
Two spots of pink bloomed on her cheeks, but she met his gaze boldly and replied, “I was told to shun ye now, aye?”
His smile broadened. “What fool told ye that?” he lowered his voice into a rumble.
A sly look crossed her face. “I do believe ‘twas one Alec of Lainshaw,” she declared. “Might ye know him?”
At her candid, unguarded smile, a raw hunger kindled deep in his soul.
“Methinks that saucy wee mouth of yours begs for a ravishing,” he suggested with a glint of humor in his eye.
There was laughter in her eyes, but caution as well, and though the temptation to burn her lips with a ravenous kiss was very much there, he couldn’t chance scaring her away.
“But as ye say, Alec of Lainshaw is a jealous man, and I fear what he might do should ye complain I mistreated ye.”
He searched her face for the slightest hint of permission to bring his lips down on hers, but he lost himself so quickly in the pull of her lavender-ringed eyes that he nearly missed her response.
“Nay, I’ve yet to speak with him on the matter,” she admitted a little breathlessly, her pupils widening.
His gaze dropped to linger upon her lips.
Aye, those intoxicating lips. Desire rolled through him.
He wanted those lips on him, and her slender curves beneath, aye, and her soft, bare skin …
Stunned just how fast he’d allowed his thoughts to race, he immediately put an end to that line of thinking.
‘Twas dangerous. But he would claim that soft, supple mouth in a kiss, at least.
Collecting his thoughts, he took on a noble air and assumed a lofty, superior tone.
“My bonny wee Sorcha, I hear a devil of a Montgomery escorted ye here to Lainshaw and into my loving arms this day.” As he spoke, he tightened his grip around her waist and, jerking his arm, drew her scandalously close.
“Tell me of the man. Did he treat ye well?”
Her breasts heaved under his chest, but he was encouraged that she made no move to escape his embrace.
“He was a gentleman, my lord,” she answered in a panting sort of way. “And rightly deserves a reward.”
Her hand slid up his chest, sending a rush of heat straight through him.
Aye, permission had been given.
“This reward he wants, ‘tis one I’ll never grant,” he dropped his voice into a thick, possessive growl. “Your lips are mine and mine alone, lass.”
He lowered his head then, locking his eyes with hers and when her lashes fell, he took her mouth gently. Her lips parted at once, accepting him with only the slightest encouragement and slowly, he deepened the kiss in a tantalizing dance of pleasure.
She was intoxicating, just as he’d thought she’d be, and the fragrance of her hair and skin stirred a deep want, a cavernous longing in his soul.
He wanted nothing more than to run his hands over her soft hips and thighs, kissing every inch of her skin.
Aye, Taran had been right. This was a lass to keep, the kind with mysteries he’d enjoy discovering for a lifetime, savoring every moment of it.
An altogether satisfying warmth settled over him as his exploration of her soft mouth continued, but somewhere in the hazy storm of passion, as his tongue pleasingly rolled with hers, she wrenched away from him and gasped, “No!”