To Desire a Highlander (32 page)

“Lady, you puzzle me.” He spoke another truth. “How is it that you bear such devotion to these isles and yet, by your own admission, you would barter your greatest treasure for passage to Glasgow? A city so great and teeming that I know fine you would suffocate from the crush before you’d gone ten paces from the ship that carried you there?”

Her chin came up. “I had my reasons.”

“And now?”

“I still do.”

Roag leaned in, studying her face for a very long time. “I believe you. But I dinnae think they have aught to do with what’s in your heart.”

“You cannot know what’s in my heart.”

Roag almost snorted.

Her feelings were writ all over her, leastways how she felt about her Hebridean home.

“Then tell me this,” he said, still watching her carefully. Her smile had faded, and although he couldn’t say why, he felt a powerful need to see it again. Truth be told, just the memory of it made his heart hammer. No other woman’s smile had ever affected him so strongly, as if he’d been punched in the gut, but in a good way. He might even be persuaded to think her smile brightened the room, making colors more vibrant, the air fresher and sweet. But other concerns rode him, and he meant to air them. “See here, lass,” he began, hoping to do so. “As I have refused to take you to Glasgow, I shall make you a different offer. When I leave here, what say you if my men and I return you to your beloved Isle of Sway?”

Her eyes widened—just as he’d known they would. “I cannot go back there.”

“Cannae or willnae, my lady?”

“Both,” she admitted, the sorrow that flickered across her face making him feel like an arse again.

But at least he had his answer.

Something was amiss at Castle Sway. And it was damaging enough to keep her from the home she loved so fiercely.

Worse, that love was now putting a shimmer in her eyes. Tears that misted her lashes and—to his great
horror—began rolling slowly down her cheeks. Lady Gillian was crying and it was his fault.

He’d provoked her. And she’d ripped away the last restraints of his heart, her upset unleashing something inside him. Something that had begun to change the moment he’d landed on Laddie’s Isle and pulled her into his arms, kissing her there and then.

It was all he could think to do now.

“Precious lass,” he said, his voice rough, “what have you done to me?” Not waiting for an answer, he bent his head and kissed her.

He’d only meant to brush his lips over hers, soothing and calming her. He’d half expected her to reel back and slap him. Instead, she brought her hands up to grasp his shoulders, melting into him. When she returned his kiss, even parting her lips, he slanted his mouth more firmly over hers, sweeping his tongue inside to deepen their kiss.

From somewhere outside himself, seemingly a great distance, he thought he heard her breathe his name. Whether she had or not, she was leaning into him. Her tongue even flirted with his, touching lightly, then swirling over and around his own in a sweet, questing way that steeled him at once. He tightened his arms around her, drawing her closer, his heart hammering as need more powerful than he’d ever known slammed into him.

He also knew that he had to have her. That he’d wanted her all along, regardless of how hard and often he’d tried to convince himself otherwise. More than that, unless he’d fallen into an entirely new world where he knew nothing of women, she wanted him with the same strong, unbridled passion. Whatever happened now would change both their lives forever.

And for his, he didn’t care.

Only she mattered, all else be damned.

But for her…

She was an innocent, he could tell. For all that she had such passion in her blood, so much fiery spirit, she was a maid untouched.

And he…

He was ignoring every shred of honor he’d ever possessed.

“Forgive me.” He shook his head, spoke the words against her lips.

He broke the kiss, tearing his mouth from hers. Gripping her face between his hands, he locked his gaze on hers, looking deep into her eyes. “Sweet lass, I didnae mean for this to happen. I’d sworn no’ to touch you, but you were crying and—”

“You kissed me,” she declared, lifting her chin, looking both proud and defiant. “I did not mind. And”—she blinked, lifted a hand to dash the moisture from her cheek—“I do believe it was better than before.” She touched her fingertips to her lips, a glimmer of wonder in her eyes. “Much nicer.”

“Nicer…” Roag couldn’t finish. Her bluntness, the way she looked at him, did something unholy to his insides. He felt as if the sun had risen in his chest and was bursting, sending dazzling golden light and warmth all through him. His heart thundered still, his pulse so loud in his ears he could hardly hear his own words. But he had caught hers.

And he’d been right—for they changed everything.

Lady Gillian enjoyed his kisses.

For sure, he wanted her. But there was more, and
whatever it was, he could feel it humming in the air between them, sizzling and crackling, waiting to be ignited. And when the sparks flew, the flames would consume them.

He wasn’t sure anything would remain. Ash and a hint of scorched air, a smudge of soot on the floor where they’d come together, all bound by beautiful memories that would brand them forever.

The heartache that would follow when they parted, the weight of it crushing down on him unbearably.

He didn’t care.

For the now, she was here.

And something told him that very soon, she’d be in his arms, and for more than just kisses. Possibly even before the morning light slipped through the window shutters. Here, in this edge of the world place, he could almost believe nowhere else existed. That for a brief time, at least, they could forget the reasons they shouldn’t give in to passion.

Dare he deny that he was duty-bound to leave here? That there was no room in his life for a woman? Worse, that he had so little to offer her even if there was. Frowning, Roag glanced at the night-darkened window and drew a tight breath. His heart thundered. Not touching her would be the hardest thing he’d ever done. Indeed, he wasn’t sure he could be so noble. The truth was he couldn’t resist her.

Surely the gods wouldn’t damn him for wanting her?

If they did, so be it.

Chapter Twenty-Five

G
illian felt the change in Roag more strongly than if he’d announced he bore yet another name. He’d tightened his arms around her as he’d kissed her, crushing her to him more fiercely than ever before. She’d felt the hard beat of his heart, her own racing as furiously. Now that he’d released her to stride away from her across this large, lofty room, she was even more certain. She clasped her hands before her, would swear she could still hear the wild rushing of their pulses. She did see dark passion burning in his eyes when he cast a glance at her. She wouldn’t have believed it, but her difficulty catching her breath seemed a problem that troubled him as well.

She blinked a few times, trying to compose herself.

She hadn’t expected him to kiss her. But he had. And she’d felt desperation in its fury, almost as if the kiss would be their last. That the moment he tore away from her, they’d be ripped apart, never again to share such powerful desire.

And desire him she did.

More than that, she suspected she was falling in love with him.

She’d lost so much already and wouldn’t be able to bear bidding farewell to him as well.

“Dinnae tell me I’ve forgotten how to kiss a lass? Has my lacking put such worry on your face?” His voice startled her, coming from across the room.

“No, I…” She couldn’t finish, her face flaming. Hadn’t she just told him how much she’d enjoyed his kiss? She had, and she couldn’t believe she’d been so bold. “There was nothing wrong with your kiss.”

By the gods, now she’d made it worse.

“Aye, well.” He grinned at her, his eyes twinkling. “Then I am much relieved.”

Gillian pressed a hand to her breast, her own eyes so full of the sight of him that she could scarce breathe. How could any one man be so magnificent? He was kneeling before the hearth, pouring water from one of the roof stairwell’s pails into the iron kettle that now hung from a chain above the fire. His dark hair fell down over his forehead, the glossy black strands catching the firelight. The light also played across his shoulders, emphasizing their width. She tightened her fingers into a fist, felt the hard beat of her heart through the wool of her shawl. Her pulse quickened even more when she realized the purpose of his task.

He was heating water for a bath.

“What are you doing?” She narrowed her eyes on him, all manner of possibilities whirling through her mind.

His smile flashed again, as if he knew.

“Can you no’ see?” He glanced at the pail in his hands.
When he returned his attention to her, he looked so handsome in the shimmering blue-green glow of the driftwood fire that she almost swayed where she stood.

He could’ve been a Celtic sea-god risen up from the waves. But his eyes were manly, not godlike. They held warmth and tenderness, and just enough mischief that her knees weakened. A rush of pure female need swept through her, bringing a tide of excitement such as she’d never felt. She did know that no matter what came, if she never saw him again, the look on his face now, this moment, would stay with her all her days, even haunting her dreams.

She took a deep breath, wondered if her emotions blazed bright for him to see.

He raised a brow at her. “I have no’ yet seen you so quiet, Gillian-lass,” he said, his voice soft, teasing. It was the first time he’d spoken her name without “lady,” and the way he’d said it sent warmth spilling into her heart.

“Dinnae tell me nae one washes at Sway?” He held her gaze, a corner of his mouth lifting.

“Of course,” she blurted, sure her cheeks were glowing red. “You’re making a bath.”

“So I am.” He pushed to his feet and crossed the room with long, sure strides. Sending her another smile, he ducked into the little stair cut in the wall, returning almost as quickly with two pails of rainwater. “You forget, sweet, that I was raised in the kitchens of Stirling Castle. My friends and I were oft given the task of carrying washtubs and water abovestairs for the fine ladies who’d ordered them.

“Even as wee lads, we had ears and learned fast that the ladies most often wished to bathe when they were
troubled.” He set aside one pail, already emptied, and began tipping water from the second into the steaming kettle. “Whene’er a scandal broke, or some turmoil weighed on them, they aye felt a need to soak in a bath. The warmth seemed to soothe them.”

“You observed much.” Gillian’s own gaze drifted over him, the fluttery sensations in her belly making it hard to think.

She was powerfully attracted to him, and having him prepare a bath for her was an intimacy that made her shiver. The desire ignited by his kiss spooled deeper now, tingling deliciously in places that should shame her, but didn’t.

Instead, she wanted him to kiss her again. Was she turning into a wanton?

She didn’t know, so she smoothed her skirts, hoping that by doing so she would ensure that he wouldn’t see that her hands trembled—they did, for he was affecting her that strongly.

“I am surprised you noticed such things, young as you were.” It was all she could think to say.

To her surprise, he laughed, the dimple that then flashed in his cheek only making her pulse quicken more.

“Aye, well.” He stood looking at her, the two pails clutched in his hands. “The lads and I didnae see as much as we would have liked!” His smile deepened, and so did his dimples. “The auld harridan who ordered us about made sure we left the fine ladies’ chambers before the women had so much as removed a pin from their hair.”

“What a shame for you and your friends.” Gillian found herself smiling, her worries of earlier fading.

“So it was!” He disappeared again into the roof stair, and then hurried back with two more pails of water. “I am gladdened to see you amused,” he said, filling the kettle. “Did I no’ just tell you that a bath settles many woes for ladies?”

Gillian’s levity dimmed. “I do not have any woes.”

“Nae?” He glanced at her, busy now setting the wooden bathing tub before the fire, arranging a large linen sheet so that its length lined the tub. “You have no’ yet told me how you can judge my kisses. No’ hearing your answer is a woe of my own,” he teased, clearly attempting to coax her into smiling again.

She did have cares, but didn’t wish to speak of them.

For sure, not now.

So she drew a long, deep breath and went over to him. “I am not called the Spitfire of the Isles for naught,” she declared, tipping back her head to look up at him. “It is not in the nature of a Hebridean woman to deny herself pleasure. Nor do we lie—ever,” she added, holding his gaze. “It would be a falsehood if I said I did not enjoy your kiss just now, or the one you gave me when you first landed on this isle.”

“How did you ken if they were good or no’?” He looked down at her, his voice rough, and his eyes darkening. “Are you so well used to kissing? Passionate lass that you are?”