Read My Fair Highlander Online
Authors: Mary Wine
My Fair Highlander (11 page)
Jemma reached for the tie that had held her hair in a thick braid.
“Ye should leave yer hair loose, being as ye are unwed, lass.”
“Only brides wear their hair flowing.” And that was on their wedding day.
“Here in Scotland, 'tis a bit different. Ye'll see the other girls letting their hair down once the day's work is finished.”
Ula took only a small amount of her hair at the front and made thin braids of it that she looped around her head and tied at the back. The style kept her hair out of her eyes while the length of it still flowed down her back to her waist.
“Come on now.”
Ula didn't give her a chance to protest being seen with her hair loose. The housekeeper grasped her hand and pulled her out of the bathhouse. Jemma fought the urge to giggle because it had been a long time since she had played about with her hair flowing behind her. It brought back memories of spring festival and dancing on the green when her father had been ruby cheeked and jovial.
“Well now, lass, yer a right agreeable sight.”
Jemma gasped and pulled her hand away from Ula. The housekeeper didn't resist the motion; in fact, Ula released her hand and stepped behind her in one motion. Ula dropped a quick curtsy to her laird before the woman disappeared in a flip of her wool skirts. A tingle crossed Jemma's nape again, but this time it was much more intense. Facing Gordon Dwyre instead of just her recollections of the man was to blame.
He was more imposing than her memory recounted. Too large for her comfort, because for some reason she was fixated by his broad shoulders and the fact that her head only reached his chin.
His dark-blue eyes moved to her hair, tracing the unbraided mass and flickering with something that looked like enjoyment.
“A right agreeable sight to greet a man indeed.”
“I didn't dress for you.” But she liked the look in his eyes. Liked it too much really, for it sent a flicker of excitement through her, and the sensation was unsettling.
He shrugged, and the ends of his shoulder-length hair left tiny wet spots on his shirt. She looked closer to notice that he must have just bathed, too, because his hair glistened with water and he wore only a shirt with his kilt. The cuffs of that shirt were rolled up past his elbows, displaying hands and forearms that were clean and without a streak of dust.
“Well, I'll be enjoying it all the same, lass. I've never been a man to pass up something I like because it was not intended for me.”
“I wouldn't say that, exactly.” The words were past her lips before she considered whether or not it was wise to confess her inner feelings to him.
“What would ye say then, lass?”
There was a hint of challenge in his voice that pricked her pride. Jemma raised her chin and returned his stare without flinching.
“I would say that your housekeeper took delight in preparing me for you as though I was some sort of... ofâ”
“Gift?” His lips curved up in a mocking grin.
Jemma pressed her lips together, refusing to rise to the bait he was dangling in front of her nose. He chuckled softly and moved closer to her, his gaze roaming over her hair once more. There was a flicker of something in his eyes that made her tremble. He reached out and touched a lock of her hair, his fingers making the briefest of contacts before she twisted away from him, hissing at herself for retreating but unable to conquer the urge to do so.
“I am not your gift.”
“So do nae touch ye? Is that what ye are saying, Jemma?” He moved back and considered her. “Ye enjoyed being touched this morning.”
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what, lass?”
“Bait me. Do you truly desire to bicker, or is it simply a way to outmaneuver me and gain what you wish without my true consent?” Jemma shot him a hard look. “Needle me until I slap at you, and then claim that touching me was my fault. Is that your game, Barras?”
He drew in a stiff breath and released it while he crossed his arms across his chest. The pose was intimidating, but Jemma refused to bend beneath his scrutiny.
“Many a lass has fallen to such tactics, but in truth I have placed a bit more polish on tonight.”
He turned and extended his arm behind him, where candles illuminated a table with their yellow glow. The table was set with silver dishes that sparkled with the candlelight, and a salt cellar held expensive white salt.
“I thought we might dine together.”
Her throat went dry once more as her suspicions with Ula proved true.
“Since I've made an offer to yer brother for ye, I believe it is proper enough for us to learn a wee bit more about one another.”
Someone cleared their throat behind her, and Jemma turned to see a line of musicians entering. She wasn't even sure what chamber she was in, only that it was lovely with arches on the ceiling and windows that allowed a soft breeze to blow through the room. The musicians disappeared behind a wooden screen, and she could hear them sitting down. Music began to drift over the screen, soft melody constructed of mandolin strings and flutes, while the screen provided privacy.
It was a scene set for courting the most highborn lady. But in her deepest thoughts, she didn't care for it. Gordon did not belong in the courtly setting. Disappointment actually rose up inside her for the stately manner in which he was conforming to society and its rules.
“Or I could send them away if ye prefer to continue as we began yesterday.”
He raised one hand, and the music stopped. Challenge flashed from his eyes, but it was the look of anticipation that forced her hand.
“It is lovely.” Jemma forced her feet to move toward the table and felt her heart rate accelerating with every hesitant step. Gordon sat down across the table from her, but the small piece of furniture caused their knees to feel no more than a whisper from one another. His lack of doublet suddenly drew her attention, her gaze moving over the light fabric.
“We Scots are a bit more accustomed to the weather, lass. I don't need a doublet inside this time of year.”
Her cheeks heated because he'd noticed where her eyes had settled. Well, in all truth she shouldn't be surprised, the man was facing her, but most men wouldn't have mentioned it out loud. She drew in a deep breath and reminded herself that Gordon was very far removed from the men she knew. Her brother was controlled and pensive, always weighing his thoughts before allowing anyone else to share them.
Gordon picked her up and carried her where he pleased if she refused.
“I believe that the idea is for us to have a conversation, lass.”
She jumped. “Ah . . . well . . . I suppose so.”
Maids were carrying in food now, but they didn't stay long. They left two large platters, removing the tops to reveal beautifully arranged plates. There were summer vegetables, roasted chicken, and even baked apples.
“Ye sound unsure? Does that mean we may dispense with the English tradition and go back to the Scottish ones?”
Jemma offered a roll of her eyes, but she couldn't help smiling at him. “You are a boy.” She pointed her knife at his chest. “Right there inside you is a boy no more than ten.”
He chuckled and speared a piece of chicken with the point of his eating knife. “Well now, that's just the playful side of me nature. Ye have one, too.”
Jemma shook her head. “I have matured, sir.”
His face turned pensive for a moment while he chewed. “Nae, lass, ye just pushed yer own desires aside to take care of yer father. It's time for ye to allow them freedom from that chest ye have them locked inside of.”
“I see, and does that mean you would have to wife a woman who was busy coddling her heart's desires?” Jemma shook her head. “Marriage is duty, and it is best met with maturity.”
He frowned. “Now that is just plain pitiful. I swear I don't know if I need to put ye out of yer misery or”âhis lips parted to show her his teethâ“chase ye around this table.”
One of the musicians struck a wrong note, proving that they were listening intently to every word.
“Both would defeat your effort to court me gently.” Jemma had to bite her lip to keep from smiling at the idea because it was so absurd. It was also quite exciting, because she had no doubt that he would capture her
.
.
“Ah, but I think we might enjoy chasing more.” He pressed his hand flat on the tabletop, rising partially from his chair. Jemma gasped and dropped her knife.
“You wouldn't dare.” The words had barely left her mouth before she recalled his words from that morning.
“I'll show ye how much daring I have inside of me . . .”
He growled and his chair flew backward. The musicians stopped, but there were several smothered sounds that were anything but horrified. Jemma was grateful for her plain dress because it allowed her to slip out of her chair and make it around the table before Gordon gained the upper hand.
“This is absurd.” But she was breathless and far from outraged.
“Aye, but 'tis fun.” He lunged for her, and she danced away from his grasping hands.
“Stop it, Gordon, you are going to ruin all this fine table dressing.”
“I employ good laundresses, and I know a competent silversmith.”
This time he thrust his hand over the table, using his large body to bend over the table and catch her skirt.
She let out a shriek, but no fear crossed her mind. It was simply too ridiculous to become frightened over. Gordon growled with victory and pulled her into his embrace. He ended up behind her, crossing his arms over her body to cage her.
“My prize!”
“I believe the idea was to court me, not capture me, you brute.”
“'Tis the same thing in Scotland.”
Jemma wiggled, but he held her firmly in place. It was an oddly comfortable position, one that didn't overwhelm her but allowed her to feel him against her without triggering the need to fight him off.
“Ask any Highlander and they will tell ye that stealing women is a time-honored tradition. In fact, I'm nae sure they get their wives any other way.”
“I heard that one of your kings married his mistress.”
“Ah . . .” He released her, keeping only one wrist clasped in his hand, and she turned to face him.
“Now that is seduction and I like that, too.” He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against the tender skin of her inner wrist. Sensation raced down her arm, raising gooseflesh as it went. The excitement that burned in her belly began spreading through her, touching off a desire that made her breathless. He lifted his lips away and rubbed over the same spot with his thumb, clearly feeling the accelerated throb of her heart.
“I think ye may be liking it as well, Jemma Ramsden.”
He folded her gently into his arms, moving slowly enough for her to evade him if she chose. Jemma was too intrigued to do anything but comply. This was a side of him that threatened to undermine her resistance. His hand threaded through her hair, lifting the stands and drawing a handful up to his cheek. He rubbed against it for a moment.
“Silk. Rare and coveted and worth every bit of effort it takes to get yer hands on it.”
She suddenly stiffened, recalling the musicians. Jemma turned to look across the room to where they had been. Gordon turned her face back to him with a hand on the back of her head.
“They're gone and not a moment too soon. I need to kiss ye.”
Yes . . .
It was the only thought in her head. Her lips parted and her chin lifted, even without the hand on the back of her head guiding her. The first touch of his mouth against hers sent a shiver down her back. Just a brief touch, a mere whisper of a kiss that teased her more than it satisfied.
“I needed to kiss ye the moment ye entered this room with yer hair down.”
His mouth returned to hers, this time lingering longer. He pressed a light kiss onto her lips, slipping his along hers and filling her with delight. A soft murmur escaped her mouth, and he pressed her lips farther apart to deepen the kiss. Now his mouth demanded, gentle at first and then increasing pressure. The hand cradling her head was tilting it so that their lips fit together even more. The tip of his tongue slipped along her lower lip before it thrust smoothly into her mouth, teasing her tongue in a long thrust. She shivered again, her entire body quivering in his arms.
“Aye, lass, now that is courting at its best.”
She was suddenly free, Gordon stepping away from her. Frustration burned through her, but she clamped down the urge to demand that he return when she looked into his eyes.
Desire burned there. It was no mere flicker but a roaring blaze that she witnessed testing his control.
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