The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(24)

As soon as their eyes met, she instinctively dropped her gaze as if hiding her eyes from his view.

Hiding. That was exactly what she was doing. The question was why, and from what.

“Lady Mary, Lady Margaret,” he said, approaching the two women with a bow.

Lady Margaret turned to him with a gasp. She gaped at him, and then at Mary. “You’ve met?”

He grinned, seeing the blush rise to Mary’s cheeks.

“Briefly,” she said tightly.

The lass really needed to relax. She was pulled as tight as a bowstring.

“Not too briefly,” he corrected, unable to stop himself from teasing her. He liked seeing the color in her cheeks. “I’m looking forward to furthering our acquaintance. I hope you are not bored with the Games already? Perhaps they are not exciting enough for you?”

He knew he was being horrible, but he couldn’t help teasing her.

She wasn’t shy, though. Her eyes met his full force, flashing at him in outrage.

“Oh, it was exciting, wasn’t it, Mary?” Lady Margaret interposed.

He thought she nodded, but her jaw was clenched so tight it was hard to tell. “I’m sure Sir Kenneth has heard enough accolades for the day, Margaret. He doesn’t need to hear them from us.”

She gave him a smile that made him frown. She had a way of making it sound unflattering. He was used to reading a certain amount of feminine admiration in a woman’s gaze, but with her there was only cool challenge. He didn’t think he liked it.

“There is still the sword dance to be held this afternoon. If Lady Margaret doesn’t object, I would be happy to escort you.”

Lady Margaret looked at him in surprise. “Why would I object?”

“No!” Mary said over her. Her blush deepened as she realized she’d spoken too harshly. “I mean, I regret that I must return to the castle. I’m feeling unwell.”

Lady Margaret became immediately concerned. She put her hand on Mary’s arm. “Is that why you rushed off?” She laid the back of her hand across Mary’s forehead. “You do look flushed.”

Mary nodded, not looking in his direction. Probably to avoid his provoking grin. “I think the sun was too much for me.”

Lady Margaret turned to him. “Mary has just recovered from an illness. This was the first time she’s had a chance to see the Games all week.”

“Is that so?” he drawled.

She couldn’t avoid looking at him any longer. He could see a flash of anger in her blue-green eyes that reminded him of sun glinting on the sea. He hadn’t expected so much spirit from such a quiet exterior, and his intrigue grew.

“Aye, I’ve been very unwell.”

He swore he could see her chin stiffen, challenging him to disagree with her.

“My sister is a healer. If you like, I could send her to you.”

Her mouth thinned, hearing his challenge. “That is very kind of you, but I’m sure that will not be necessary. I think I just need to lie down.”

“Lying down sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Though there was nothing suggestive in his voice, he knew she’d understood when he heard her sharp intake of breath.

She was outraged, as no doubt she should be. But he could also see by the delicate flutter of her pulse below a surprisingly velvety-soft-looking cheek that she was more intrigued than she wanted to let on.

The devil! The man had no shame. He was propositioning her right in front of Margaret, fixing her with that taunting look in his eyes—as if he knew a naughty secret. And blast him, he did!

There was such a heavy undercurrent of suggestiveness running between them, Mary was certain Margaret must feel it. Not wanting to guess what he would say next, she was glad when one of Margaret’s daughters came up and distracted her with a plea to go with her friends to the sword dance.

Realizing he was no doubt trying to get to her, she schooled her features into a polite mask and bowed her head. “My lord.”

She turned away to head for the nearest tower, but he grabbed her arm. “Wait.”

She flinched at the contact. The heat of his hand on her arm was like a brand, startling in its intensity. She could feel the imprint of every one of those thick, blunt-edged fingers pressing into her. Talented, deft fingers that could bring so much pleasure.

Heat washed over her. Don’t think of it.

But all she could do was think of it.

Standing so close to him was hard enough. Her pulse had taken a sudden erratic lurch and her skin felt strange—as if a thousand bees were buzzing all over her—the moment he drew near. She felt like very dry kindling hovering over a roaring fire. When he touched her, her body flooded with a warm, drenching heat that told her exactly what she was feeling: desire.

Instinctively sensing the danger, she wrenched away.

Surprisingly, he let her go. His hand released her almost as quickly as she’d tried to remove it. When she gazed up at him, there was a slight frown between his brows, almost as if he’d felt it, too. Ridiculous.

Once again she nearly had to blink from the brightness. When she’d first glanced over and seen him standing there, she felt as if she were looking right into the sun—or rather, right at the Sun god himself.

It was only his mail sparkling in the sun like a shimmering star, she told herself. But with the layer of dirt from battle covering him, she knew it wasn’t just that. It was he. He shone as brightly as any star. Everything about him flashed and shimmered, from the golden streaks in his dark brown hair, the dangerous gleam in his challenging blue eyes, and the lean hard lines of his pugnaciously handsome face to the white flash of his take-no-prisoners grin. Though the men appealed in different ways, Sir Kenneth Sutherland could rival Gregor MacGregor for the title of most handsome man in Scotland, and she suspected he knew it.