The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(19)
“What are you doing out here?” he snapped. “Dressed like this?” It wasn’t difficult to see why she’d been mistaken for a serving girl.
Her eyes widened at his tone, but he was too furious to stop. He took a step closer, looming over her. The soft scent of flowers wafted through the air, and he had to fight against the sudden urge to inhale. She smelled incredible, fresh and innocent. Making what had just nearly happened ever more outrageous.
His fists clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to shake some sense into her, which she was clearly lacking. “Do you realize the danger you were in? Do you know what could have happened?”
She nodded furiously, seeming to shrink away from him.
Damn. He was scaring her.
What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn’t recall ever losing his temper with a woman before. Even with his sister Muriel, and that headstrong termagant would try the patience of a saint—and he was far from a saint.
He stepped back, dragged a hand through his hair, and fought to control his anger. Anger that didn’t make sense. The lass was no concern of his.
He stripped the rage from his face, schooling his features into their usual cool implacability. “You know who I am?” he asked in a far more even tone.
She nodded and ventured another quick glance from under those long lashes—the coy, womanly gesture made all the more seductive by its utter innocence. Her blush intensified.
“Why are you out here alone?” he repeated. “Where are your attendants?” She could ask the same thing of him. It was rare for a chief to be without his large retinue, but Tor had left his men at the hall to find MacDonald.
“I—I had to run an errand.” Her hands twisted nervously. “It took longer than I expected.”
She was lying.
“Dressed like that?” Tor knew little of women’s fashion, but even he could tell the difference between the fine ensemble she’d worn earlier and what she had on now. She’d also removed the jeweled headpiece she’d worn to the feast, as well as the expensive pearl earrings and necklace. Clearly, she was attempting to disguise herself. The question was why.
“I didn’t want to get my good clothes dirty.” She pointed to the damp hem of her gown, where he could see the tip of one dainty foot covered in mud.
“You expect me to believe that?” He crossed his arms and gave her a long, penetrating stare, waiting.
She squirmed guiltily, but to her credit didn’t yield. He knew men who had withered under less. The fear she’d shown earlier seemed to be forgotten.
“What errand to the village could be so important?” he asked, noticing the sand that was mixed with the mud.
Her eyes avoided his and the hand twisting intensified. The lass was a horrible liar. “Please,” she beseeched, “it’s a personal matter.”
He studied her a moment longer, wanting to question her further. She was up to something and he was curious—too curious. But, he reminded himself, it wasn’t any of his concern, nor did he want to get involved. Her actions tonight proved what he already knew: A girl like this was trouble. Naïve and vulnerable, despite her sensual appearance. She was the kind of woman a man would have to keep an eye on. He was glad she wasn’t his responsibility, but someone should be watching her more carefully. “Does your father know you are out here?”
She blanched, fear returning to her delicate features. “Please.” He was surprised when she placed her hand on his arm. “I beg of you not to say anything.”
She looked very young, very innocent, and very scared. It was a surprisingly powerful combination.
He gazed down into those softly imploring eyes and felt a strange discomfort near his lungs that made him wonder if he’d eaten too much at the feast.
“Please,” she begged again, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.
He stiffened, every muscle, every nerve ending reacting to her gentle touch. He’d felt the blade of a sword less intensely.
As if just realizing what she was doing, she yanked her hand back and dropped her gaze to her toes.
Clearly, she was embarrassed to have touched him so familiarly. In truth, he didn’t know what to make of it. He cleared his voice and said, “Your father can see to it that the man is punished for what he tried to do.”
I would kill him.
“No, please.” He could hear the panic in her voice. “I just want to forget this happened. If you say something to my father it would only make him angry.” With her, she meant. And the notion clearly terrified her.
His face darkened, guessing why. Did Fraser take his anger out on his daughters? Every instinct in his body recoiled at the idea. “Does he beat you?”
“No,” she said quickly.
Too quickly. He shouldn’t have asked. He erected the wall back in his mind. Not your concern. This girl was not for him. And he did not need to add to her troubles. “I’ll keep your secret, but only if you give me your word that you’ll not leave the castle again without attendants.”
He almost reconsidered when he saw her expression. She was looking at him as if he’d just slain a dragon, her dark eyes shimmering with gratitude, her incredible mouth curved into a wide smile. The effect was striking. She wasn’t simply beautiful, she was radiant. But that look in her eye made him uneasy.
“Do you mean it?” she said. “You won’t say anything?”
Monica McCarty's Books
- Monica McCarty
- The Raider (Highland Guard #8)
- The Knight (Highland Guard #7.5)
- The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)
- The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)
- The Saint (Highland Guard #5)
- The Viper (Highland Guard #4)
- The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)
- The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)
- Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)