The Fraser Bride (14 page)

He leaned closer. At the base of her throat, a pulse thrummed with insistent life. She stared at him, lips parted and so tempting that there was nothing he could do. Nothing but kiss her.

Their lips met softly. Desire roared like fire in his veins, consuming all thought. But he couldn’t afford to be consumed. He tried to pull away, to stop such madness, but he had lost all control to his least productive organ. So instead he leaned closer, deepening the kiss, and she moaned against the caress.

It was that single, raspy sound of desire that ripped away all hope of control. He pulled her to him. Her breasts crushed against his bare skin, igniting a thousand fires in his soul. Her waist felt tight against his palm and when he cupped his hand over the delectable curve of her buttocks—

“Nay!” She rasped the word into his mouth.

It took him a moment of hazy pain to realize she was pushing away with both hands pressed against his chest, a moment longer to force himself away.

They sat facing each other. Her breathing was ragged, her eyes impossibly large in the delicate oval of her face.

God, he was a dolt. Once again he’d read her entirely wrong. She did not desire him, did not want him at all. Yet she was not retreating, not flying to the far side of the room. She sat perfectly still, either paralyzed with fear, or …

Nay, he would not let himself consider the options. So he balled his hands to fists against the mattress and watched her.

“No lust?” he asked. His voice was so low it was barely audible to his own ears, but she heard him. He knew it by her eyes, and yet, for long breathless seconds she didn’t speak, didn’t move.

“Mary,” he said, and leaned forward again.

“Nay!” she said, and jerked back, breathing hard. “Nay. No lust.”

He watched her. Her eyes were as wide as the heavens, and the pulse in her throat thrummed like that of a cornered hare or like that of a woman who desperately wished to be loved. But who was he to call her liar? He was a fool, and probably far worse.

“Well, then,” he said, and drawing back, shoved his feet over the edge of the bed. It was immensely difficult to move even that far, but rising was even worse, like thrusting oneself from the edge of a cliff. “I will let you take your rest.”

“Where are you going?”

Anywhere but here, so near the flame when he was freezing. “Below stairs.”

“In a linen?” she asked.

There was something about the way she spoke— so full of hope and hopelessness all at once that his heart felt as if it had stopped dead in his chest. But no. He would not look for hope where there was only trouble.

Reaching dismally for his plaid, he wrapped it about the towel. There were few things less inviting than five yards of wet wool. Still, its chilly weight would do him good. Belting it sloppily about his waist, he allowed himself one last glance at her. “I go to find dry garments,” he said.

“Oh.” Her tone was already cool. She drew her knees toward her chest and it suddenly seemed that a thousand rods were placed between them. “Of course.”

“Aye. Well, good night to you, then.”

“Good night.”

He dragged himself toward the door, turned the handle with an effort and stepped into the hall, but as he trod along her words rang in his head.

“Of course,”
she’d said. As if she did not believe him at all. As if he were the liar.

The common room was empty but for a trio of men just finishing up their meals and a pair of serious drinkers who sat near the door. One was balding and squat, the other scrawny and listing haphazardly to the left.

A fire burned in the nearby hearth. It drew Ramsay across the room, for his damp plaid had already cooled his blood. If he was so foolish as to be aroused by a woman whom he didn’t like and who didn’t like him, soggy clothes had a grand way of chilling his ardor.

Lifting his hands toward the heat, he stared into the flickering flame.

She’d felt so soft in his arms, so tempting, and though she’d pushed away, it almost seemed as if she did not quite want—

Nay, he wouldn’t think about that. It didn’t matter. Yet her eyes had seemed so unearthly bright, and her mouth …

Damn! Her mouth was probably lying. While she told him she didn’t want him, it trembled as if she did, while she really didn’t. Did that make her a double liar or just a consummate actress?

He ground his teeth. He must have no pride at all. What kind of man made a habit of wanting women who did not want him in return?

“Of course,”
she’d said, in that seductively innocent voice. Of course he was going to find new garments. Why would he not? His own were sodden, yet she seemed to think he would lie. Why? Because ‘twas what she herself would do most probably. Or—

“Me laird!”

So deep was he into his own thoughts that he jumped at the interruption.

Glenna dimpled as she curtsied. Her bosom bobbed with a rhythm of its own.

“Good eventide,” she said. “I am so pleased you decided to come.”

He stared.

She dimpled again. Then, reaching for his arm, she tugged him toward a chair and plopped a mug and a pitcher on the table before him. Ale sloshed over the rim. “Sit. I’ll only be a short while. I’ve little enough to do this eve—since me master hired the new maid.”

He scowled as he pulled his gaze from his ale to her face. “I need a change of garments. Mayhap you know where I could acquire a tunic and plaid.”

She gave him a slanted smile. “A mite chilly in your room, was it?”

Ahh! Reality struck him somewhat belatedly. She was hoping to seduce him, just as Mary had suspected. ‘Twas the very reason she had said “of course.” She had expected him to fly from her arms into another’s— but had there been disappointment in her voice?

He turned abruptly toward the stairs at the thought. His feet were ready to charge back up toward her, but the maid stood in his way.

“Have a seat, me laird,” she purred. ” ‘Twill only be a few moments afore I am finished for the night.”

He dragged his gaze from the stairs. “Mayhap I’ll come back later,” he said, and moved to step around her, but she turned, blocking his path.

“Don’t go, me laird. ‘Twill be a lonely night for me, as well. Drink your ale,” she urged, and tugged him into the chair so that he was at eye level with her cleavage. It was deep enough to drown in.

“I shall return before you can say Colin McGinny,” she said and rushed away.

He stared after her, watching the sway of her generous hips as he tasted his drink.

She was an earthy sort; earthy and honest. If the truth be told, she was the type of woman he preferred. There had once been a time when he imagined he would be one of the lucky few to marry for love. He would find a lass who needed him, who cherished him above all others. She would bear his children and they would cling together for all eternity. But that foolish dream was no more. So why the hell shouldn’t he accept this buxom maid’s offer?

But if Notmary was so cold—so why was he so damned randy? It wasn’t as if her beauty was overwhelming, and her personality left a host of things to be desired. He drank again. Aye, she was a liar and she hoped to manipulate him. Still, he would see her safely home. ‘Twas his duty, but he would do no more than that. No matter how soft her skin or how big her eyes or how lost her hands.

“Of course,”
she’d said. Regally, like a queen, yet beneath the cool tone, was there a touch of pain? Was she disappointed?

Ramsay scowled into the fire.

On the far side of the room, the trio of men finally exited quietly. Minutes slipped away, as did the ale.

“Here, then.” Glenna was back, refilling his horn. “I’ll be with you in a blink.”

Ramsay took another swig. What if Notmary was disappointed? ‘Twas probably only because she felt her grip on him slipping. Though she sometimes seemed as innocent as a lambkin, she knew he yearned for her. And
he
knew she was not above using that yearning. ‘Twas the difference between her and this Glenna.

“I’ll be the one to say when I’ve ‘ad enough.” The balding man’s voice was raised and not entirely happy.

Glenna glanced toward Ramsay and smiled. He lifted his horn and drank to her straightforward ways as she leaned over the table. The balding man’s eyes followed her bosom. Ramsay couldn’t hear her words, but he thought, with the dim part of his mind that was still functioning, that the bald fellow jumped when she leaned closer.

“All right. As you wish, then,” he said, and jerking from his seat, rubbed gingerly at his flat chest.

Glenna glanced toward Ramsay and dimpled another smile before turning back to her patrons and nodding toward the sleeping fellow. Again, he couldn’t hear her words, but the balding fellow’s were clear.

” ‘E ain’t my worry.”

She stepped closer. The man cringed away, covering his chest with a bony hand.

“All right then. ‘Arry. ‘Arry, wake up.”

After a bit of prodding, the second fellow was on his feet and the pair tottered from the inn.

Glenna was back at Ramsay’s table in a moment. “They had to leave.”

“All good things must come to an end,” he said, and stared dismally at the bottom of the mead pitcher.

” ‘Tis only the beginning,” she countered.

He glanced up. Aye, she was offering herself, he thought as his eyes fell into her cleavage. And the lovely bit was … there was no reason for him to refuse. Certainly not because of Mary. She was the last one to care.

“So …” She took the chair next to his and propped her elbows upon the table. “Shall we get you out of that wet plaid?” Her bosom swelled with lively enthusiasm as she squeezed her arms together. He liked bosoms with lively enthusiasm.

His gaze followed its rise and fall. It was a bonny sight, and she was eager, unlike Mary, who had said in so many words that she had no interest at all.

Aye, his mind argued. But her fairy quick hands—

“Your lordship,” Glenna crooned, and crushed her breast against his biceps.

Damn her fairy quick hands, Ramsay thought.

“Glenna!”

Ramsay shifted his gaze toward the newcomer as Glenna did the same. It was the tall maid who had brought the meal to his room. The tall maid with the regal bearing and the steely eyes. There was something about her that appealed to him. What was it? Oh yes, she was female. He chuckled quietly at his own razor-sharp wit.

“Mary,” Glenna said and shifted her eyes sideways as if looking for something. “What be you doing here so soon?”

“I’ve come to help you tidy up.”

“Tidy up?” she said and snorted. “So he’s done with you already is he? Well, ‘tis your own hard luck. This one’s mine.”

The tall maid straightened with a bewildered scowl. ” ‘Tis time to bar the doors for the night.”

Glenna forced a smile. “Then bar them. I go to find dry garments for me friend here. Come along, me laird,” she said and pressing her impressive bosom against his arm, dragged him to his feet. He obliged as best he could, but his stomach sloshed with intoxicants and his feet wandered with a will of their own.

“Glenna,” said the maid pointedly.

“Good eventide, Mary.”

“Glenna!” Mary said, her tone low as she shifted her gaze to Ramsay for an instant. “I believe de la Court needs your help in the kitchen.”

“You did him in the kitchen?” she snarled.

Mary’s scowl deepened. “You’d best go straightaway.”

“And leave you to the gentleman here? I think not.”

“I didn’t …” The tall maid raised her chin and lowered her voice. “I had no interest in your master’s proposal, if that’s what you think, but I believe he is hurt.”

“Hurt?” Glenna’s eyes widened.

“Aye. He asked for you.”

The buxom maid stood quickly. “Stay put,” she ordered Ramsay. “If she’s lying, I shall return in a blink. And you …” She grabbed Mary’s sleeve. “Come with me.”

Ramsay rested his hip precariously against the top rung of a nearby chair as the two hurried away.

From his vantage point, he could see that the pitcher was not quite empty. He remedied that situation and glanced impatiently toward the kitchen.

There was a muffled thud, then nothing.

Maybe the two women were fighting over him, he thought and considered telling them he could handle them both. But upon fuzzy consideration, he decided better of it. There was something about the tall maid that suggested it would take a steadier hand to handle her.

Where was Glenna? he wondered again. Her stallion was waiting. He chuckled quietly at his wit, nearly lost his perch on the back of the chair, and scrambled to stay upright.

“Me laird.”

Startled, he twisted toward the voice. The speaker stood nearly eye to eye with him.

“Where’s Glenna?” he asked.

Mary’s voice was low, her gaze steady. “She has been called away.”

“Away?”

“Aye,” she said, and followed with no explanation.

“Ahh.” He scowled as he turned away. “Well then, I’ll be returning to me room.”

“I will accompany you.”

“What’s that?” He glanced hazily through the dimness at her.

“I will accompany you.” She repeated her former statement with no more inflection than the first time.

“To me room?”

“Aye.”

He pondered this for a moment. “Afeared I will be accosted on the way?”

“Nay.”

“Then …” Cleverness and patience seemed to have abandoned him completely. “Why?”

“You are besotted with ale.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

” ‘Tis kind of you to offer, but I assure you, lass …” It seemed rather odd, calling her by such a gentle endearment when she stood less than a hand’s breadth below his own substantial height. “I can reach me room without your help.”

“I will—” she began, her voice firm, but a noise from the kitchen interrupted her words. Ducking her head slightly, she glanced up at him through her lashes. “Me apologies, me laird,” she murmured shyly.

He stared. What an odd, erratic girl she was.

” ‘Tis sorry I be. I … have bungled it horribly.”

“Bungled what?”

“I …” She paused, still staring at the floor. “I like you.”

“You—” he began, but realized with breathtaking abruptness that she had just loosened the laces of her gown. Her breasts, high and firm and pale, were just visible above her bodice. “Oh.” Perhaps they really had been fighting over him in the kitchens. He glanced distractedly in that direction.