The Highlander's Lady (10 page)

’Twas cozy, quaint, and obviously made for two.

Heat suffused her cheeks.

“Ye canna stay in here with me,” Myra said, staring at the bed.

She refused to kiss him ever again, let alone have him bed her.

“Ye have no choice.”

At his words she whirled around, feeling the heat of her anger fill her che
ek
s. Hands clenched, she ground her teeth together, trying not to fly into an unladylike rage, complete with a few
well-chosen
words.

“I have a choice. Everyone has a choice.”
At least, if a person was willing to deal with the consequences, they did.

Daniel didn’t flinch at her retort, he did however study her with an expression she’d never seen before.
’Twas dangerous, dark. His jaw muscles clenched, but he did not narrow his eyes in a glower, instead his gaze rested coldly on her, sending a chill up her spine.

“Choice? Nay, I disagree.”

Myra’s hands flew to her hips. “Would ye have everyone under your thumb?”

“Nay, ’tis not possible.”

Oh, blazing baby Jesus, did the man have no sense? Myra tried
to
gape at him, but was finding that task to be quite difficult.

“Are ye daft?”

At that he did react quickly, stepping toward her only once but closing a distance that would have taken her many steps.
His face drew close to hers, enough so that if she move
d
an inch closer her lips would be on his.

“How dare ye talk to me like that
,” he growled. Then his lips were on hers.
She didn’t even have time to catch her breath.

This kiss was different than the one he’d given her by the burn. This time his lips pressed demandingly to hers, taking control, ownership. And she didn’t back away. Nay, Myra pressed harder, her fingers curling over the thick muscle of his shoulders, nails digging in through his leine shirt. Daniel’s hands roved over her back, hauling her up against him with a shock to her senses. She gasped, her mouth opening up enough for his invasion. Hot, slick, velvety tongue swept inside her mouth. Oh, by the saints… She was delirious with pleasure, with need, wanton thoughts.

Myra swirled her own tongue around his, loving the way it sent jolts of fire through her system, made her body weak with the need for him to kiss her forever.
She was not timid, didn’t balk when he nibbled her lip or when his hands stroked over her arse and tucked her closer, the hardness of his arousal pressing wickedly against the apex of her thighs.

Oh, she was a bad girl, a very very bad girl. But she refused to feel regret over her actions, over her bod
y’
s obvious wicked desire, over her need to see this moment fulfilled. Daniel wasn’t a stranger, he was her husband for the moment and she was his wife.

This was allowed… And she was going to revel in being allowed to touch him this way, to take the pleasure he offered
this once
.

Save…for one little problem. Myra was angry at him. Tired of him bossing her around. If she was going to kiss him, allow him to stroke her arse, it was going to be on her terms.

She shoved against his chest and slapped his cheek—not as hard as she wanted to, but hard enough that it got her point across. Myra refused to be taken advantage of. Even if his kiss did send her body tumbling into a pleasurable
abyss
.

Daniel looked shocked, took a step back, his eyes filled with both passion and anger.
“
Do ye show no respect for your laird?”

That pushed her over the edge as flashes of Byron’s shuddering breaths, his warm sticky blood, came to mind.
“Ye are not my laird! My laird died!”

She clasped her hands to her lips, not having meant to reveal so much. The man had no idea who she was and she’d kept it that way
on purpose
.

Sorrow flashed in Daniel’s eyes.
And his hand came out briefly, fingers touching her knuckles before he withdrew. Even in that subtle touch she felt comfort.

“
Are ye a
widow?”

Myra chewed her lower lip while she contemplated lying to him. But what good would it do? If he thought she were a widow, he may not treat her so gently and insist that they bed each other since there was no maidenhead to breach. If he ever did find out the truth he’d not trust her either, and while she truly didn’t care how he felt about her in the future, she needed his protection now. Needed his support until she’d at least spoken
with Robert
the Bruce—and the Bruce accepted her news with grateful ears.

“Nay.”

Relief flowed freely in Daniel’s expression. Why was that?

“I’m sorry for your loss. Your father?”

“Aye.” Partly true, her father had passed a few years ago.

Daniel’s lips thinned a little and he nodded.

Before they could continue their conversation a knock
had Myra jumping
, the tension in her body painful.

Daniel opened the door a smidge to see who it was and then let in the troop of tavern workers carrying a rickety wooden tub, a linen towel and several buckets of water.

“Set it before the brazier,” Daniel ordered.

As they went about filling the tub, Daniel lit a fire within the brazier, instantly bringing warmth into the room. A sudden chill went through Myra. She hadn’t realized how cold she was until now. The water they poured into the tub did not steam, and she prayed that it was at least lukewarm, else she’d die of cold before her bath was through.

“My laird,” Sara came into the room, completely bypassing Myra and handed a folded
bundle
of cloth
to
Daniel. “The gown
, and I managed to rummage up a clean chemise
.”

Daniel flicked his hand toward Myra, and irritated look on his face. “’Tis for my wife, not me.”

“I but thought—”

Daniel cut the maid off. “Give
them
to her.”

Myra tried to hide a smile when she thought of him adding,
ye daft woman
, onto the end of his sentence, for he truly did look at the maid as though she were mad.

Sara pouted as she handed the gown and chemise over to her and then quit the room. Myra unfolded the gown, pl
eased to see that while it was
the color of lush red autumn leaves, it was clean. And soft. Looked a little smaller than her own, but she would manage.

After the servants left, Daniel sprawled in one of the chairs and gazed at her.
T
he heat of his gaze had her tumbling back to their passionate kiss. If she wasn’t careful he’d ignite her into a ball
of
tumultuous flames. Her nipples hardened, reminding her how much she actually wanted him to touch her.

“If ye dinna have your bath soon, the water will be colder than it already is.”
Daniel didn’t look in any hurry to leave.

Myra winged a brow. “Then ye’d best leave the room so I may be about it.”

Daniel grinned, gazing at the length of her body.
Myra had to admit that she was glad their anger at each other
appear
ed to have dissipated, even if it was replaced by desire.

“I’ve never seen a lady bathe.”

“And ye’re not likely to today.”

He sighed deeply, and a might exaggeratingly. “Then I shall see if any other ladies in this tavern would oblige me.”

“Ye’ll not have much luck finding
another lady here
, but if ye do, and she does, more power to ye.”

Daniel chuckled as he left, the door clicking quietly behind him.

Alone in the little chamber
,
Myra finally let her shoulders sag all the way, feeling the stretch from the base of her spine all the way up her neck. She shucked out of her cloak, gown and chemise,
tore off her boots and hose,
wishing for a hearth so she could burn the soiled garments.
The brazier was just not large enough.
The strip of fabric that had bound their hands lay beside her boots. She picked it up, rubbing her thumb over it, surprised at its softness. Had to be Sutherland wool.

Gooseflesh covered her
and she was suddenly aware of how naked and vulnerable she was. She tossed the strip into the brazier. There’s was not a marriage in truth. T
hough she was alone, she crossed her arms over her breasts and hopped over to the tub, not liking the frigid temperature of the floor on her feet.

“Zounds!” she screeched as her toes touched the cold water. ’Twas not in the least bit warm.

Myra clenched her jaw tight
. Sitting was not an option. She’d stand
, preferring to get her bath over with as quick as possible. She scrubbed furiously, dunked her hair and
scrubbed some more. By the time she was finished—perhaps five minutes
l
ater—her teeth chattered, her fingernails were blue and she was so prickly from cold she looked like a trussed up goose.

Myra jumped from the tub, grabbed the linen towel which by luck had been set to warm beside the brazier. She wrapped herself up in the warm fabric, feeling the heat seep into her bones.

But it was soon gone as the cold turned her hair into what felt like icicles. She towe
le
d her hair as dry as she could, then tossed on the chemise. The fabric was tight over her breasts and hips. She tried to stretch it out, but it did little. She’d have to deal with what she had
, for now. Soon she’d be back at Foulis—her handfast null and void
.

Daniel’s tempting kisses a distant memory.

Chapter Eight

W
atching other men drink until they slurred their words was not as much fun as actually joining in.

Daniel glared over the boisterous tavern. Even his own men had imbibed
in more than usual
. They played cards, gambling with the locals and flirting with the tavern wenches. The place reeked of dirty sex—literally
filthy
—stale ale, vomit and burnt meat.

But being down here in the corner, feet up on the table in front of him, hands steepled before his frown, was better than being upstairs where
Myra
bathed. Completely naked.

As it was, he couldn’t stop imagining what her lush curves would look like. When he’d kissed her earlier in the day he’d gotten just the barest hint of plush, perky breasts and hips that were the perfect size for grabbing onto in the heat of passion.

Dam
n
. He didn’t want to be thinking about that. His cock tripled in size. Thank the saints no one could see how hot he was for his
wife
.
Ballocks,
wife
! He’d not wanted a wife at least until spring… This was supposed to be his time to revel in being a bachelor. One last hurrah before he tied the knot—and yet he’d already wrapped his cloth around her tiny hands. Hands he couldn’t stop imagining rubbing over his bare chest, gripping his—

No doubt, his men were wondering what he was doing down here in the tavern rather than up in the rented chamber ravaging his wife.

He was wondering the same thing.

But it wasn’t as simple as that. Myra didn’t realize who he was
. When she hadn’t recognized him he’d kept his clan name silent
. If she knew he was the man she’d dismissed a
few years prior, she wou
ld never have agreed to the handfast. The question was, would he have relented
?

Nay. Never.

The moment he’d laid eyes on her at Foulis Castle
years before
, twirled her in his arms, he’d known. Perhaps not consciously, but somewhere deep inside the decision had been made. ’Twas a wonder he’d not thought of her before when his mother had presented him with one laird-hunter after another. Her body had molded to his, her rhythm had been the same as his own, as if they were made to dance together. And there he was back again to the bedding. If they danced so well, their lovemaking would be even better.

Beyond bodies though, he’d found he liked her. Genuinely. And that didn’t happen so often. Most of the time he found the women he associated with to be shallow or uninterest
ing
. ’Twas the opposite with Myra.
She captivated him.

Daniel had made the right decision in not telling her they’d met before. Not telling her that he’d known the laird she lost was not just her father but her brother too. Part of him had wanted to call her out on her hiding
that
fragment
of the truth, but he wanted her to… He didn’t know.
Trust him
? Was
he
embarrass
ed
? He wasn’t easy to
shame
, but nothing felt like it normally did when he was around her. Almost
as though
she brought out a side of himself he didn’t know existed.

Aye, letting her retain some bit of her secrecy was a good decision
for them both
. He was sure of it. Now, he just had to prove to her that staying married to him was worth it.

In order to do that, he had to remain down here. Where she wanted him.
When they reached the Bruce, he would talk to the man himself about Foulis. The people there were most likely without protection.
Daniel could give them the protection they needed. His clan was vast, wealthy and had the means.

“More ale? Meat?” one of the tavern wenches sloshed brew from a jug into his mug and then slapped down a large leg foul on a crusty old trencher.

Daniel nodded, hoping she’d leave him be, but when he noticed it was Sara and her eyes were greedily devouring him, he was pretty sure she wouldn’t just saunter away.

“Need a real woman for the night, love?”

Daniel glanced at her face, took in the pock marks and greasy
brown
hair. “Not today, lass.” He didn’t want to hurt her feelings by saying more.

Sara glared at him. Apparently denying her was just as bad.

“Suit yourself.” Her hip bounced off the table upsetting his mug of ale which spilled right into his lap.

Daniel growled and jerked to standing.
The woman didn’t even glance around to see what happened
as she marched away
.

Daniel gritted his teeth, thrust aside the urge to grab her and make her clean it up. Instead he stood, sloshed off what he could and stomped up the stairs. Luckily, his plaid didn’t soak in the ale, but he’d had enough watching the men carouse and he was
certainly not going to wait for another wench to dump ale all over him.

Hopefully Myra was out of the tub, and if she wasn’t she would just have to deal with him being in the room. He wasn’t going to spend another moment in the company of anyone else.

Knocking sharply on the door he waited for the sound of Myra’s voice to let him in. She didn’t take long, in fact
,
opened the door for him with a welcoming frown.

But her frown didn’t concern him. He was too busy studying the high cheekbones, arched brow, plush, pink lips. Her hair shined clean. Amazing what a little soap did. She’d grown nearly threefold in beauty. Daniel had to admit that he found her scowl charming. He was getting used to her ire.
And enjoyed the play of emotions constantly running across her face.

“Ye’re back awfully soon,” she grumbled
then turned around and walked toward the center of the room
.

Daniel tried not to laugh. Most of her talk was just that—talk. She had a softer side he
’d
see
n
beneath the tough exterior.
How he’d enjoy peeling away the layers.

“Got ale spilled on me.”

That caught her attention. Myra whirled back, her brow raised questioningly as she glanced him over.

“Did ye…”

He had a feeling what she was going to ask
—if he’d put advances on another woman—
even if her words came out sounding a little strangled.
Jealousy flashed in her eyes. Good. Aye, that felt really good.

“I did nothing. That wench who brought ye the gown was none too pleased when I turned down her invitation.”

Myra’s eyes widened, her mouth forming a sensual O that made him want to kiss her hard,
toss her onto the bed and claim her once and for all
.

“Shocked that
I said nay
?”

“Actually, aye,” she said, her voice filled with wonder.

Daniel rolled his eyes. “I’m not as much
of
a brute as ye think me. Would I lay with another woman the day I handfasted? Nay. Never. I dinna plan to lay with another woman as long as I live.”

“Why?”

Her taken aback expression had Daniel puzzling over many things, which he didn’t realize he was saying aloud until too late.
“A married man should never put his pike inside another. Did your father do so? What makes ye think I’m such a
swine
?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at her. He’d done nothing to make her thin
k
so ill of him and yet she did.

She stepped forward, her
small fingers lightly touching
one of his arms.
The scent of soap and woman floated up to his nose. He flared his nostrils, taking it all in. Daniel had to keep himself from closing his eyes in complete ecstasy.

“I meant no offense. I’m sorry. ’Tis just…”
Her words trailed off as she sucked her lower lip in her mouth, eyes cast down.

“Aye?”

She looked back up at him and Daniel nearly took a step back.

“I was brought up to believe that not all men are honorable.”
Pain momentarily marred her features, but she washed them away with a couple of blinks.

What happened to her? Had someone hurt her?

“
Y
e would make me a sinner before ye truly know me?”

Myra flinched. “I will try not to pass judgment on ye in the future.”

She said future. Did that mean she believed they had one?
Aye
,
they were handfasted, she’d promise to marry him in truth come spring, but he had his doubts.

“Thank ye.”
There was really too much left unanswered between them. ’Twas driving Daniel mad.

Myra shook her head and turned around, walked toward the table and chairs and sat down in one. ’Twas then he noticed how form fitting the gown she wore was. Every notion he’d had of her curves was true. She was endowed with a supple, lush body he couldn’t wait to devour.

Daniel licked his lips, the
n
bit his tongue. Control. He needed control, else he ravaged her on the spot.
He whirled around opened the door and shouted down for whisky.

The strong drink would loosen her tongue, make her warm, and hopefully help to dull the pounding in his groin.

Moments later the door was opened by Sara. Her cheeks were red and eyes blazing with anger. She carried a tray to
the two of them. Daniel was pleased to see meat and bread along with the whisky and two small cups.

Thank the
s
aints, Sara did not say anything to either of them as she placed the tray a little too hard on the table before turning to leave.

Daniel avoided meeting her gaze. He didn’t know what he’d done to cause the maid to feel he’d issued an invitation, but it was clear she was not pleased he’d chosen to remain with Myra.
He shook his head.
Did no one
respect the sanctities of marriage?
Not that they’d officially married, but no one here was the wiser to that.

As soon as the door was closed, Daniel rummaged through his bag that had been brought up after the horses were bedded down. He found a clean plaid. Grabbing the end of his belt buckle, a small cough
stilled his fingers and
had his head shooting up.

“What are ye doing?”
Myra
asked in a small voice.

“I told ye the wench spilled ale on me. I’d rather not remain in it. ’Tis mostly dry but
I’d rather have it dry by the brazier
.”

“But…”

“Aye?”

“Nothing.” Her face was as red as an apple and she stood from her chair, whirled around and face
d
the wall. She waved a hand over her head. “Go about it then.”

Daniel grinned. She was so prickly.
He liked it. Liked the challenge of taking that frown and making it into a smile.

He made quick work of removing his plaid, rolling out the new one, pleating it, laying atop it, belting it around the middle. When he stood he whipped the extra fabric over his shoulder. The standard l
ength of a plaid was nine yards—
Daniel’s was
easily
ten. He was that tall.

“I’m finished, lass.”

Daniel had to stifle a laugh as she turned ever so slowly around, her eyes squinted nearly closed as if she expected to find him nude.

“I assure ye, I am fully covered once more.”

Her face was still just as red, and the way she swallowed, her fingers curling within the folds of her too-small gown made him wonder what exactly she was thinking.

“Have ye eaten yet?” he asked.

Myra shook her head.

“Come then, the meat will fill ye up.”

She nodded briskly and sat at the table picking up a piece that was burnt black as tar on the bottom. Whoever was in charge of cooking at the
tavern
did a horrendous job.