The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(37)

Lifting his mouth from hers, he smiled. “When can I see you again?”

Her heart stopped. One night. “I-I’m leaving soon,” she hedged.

His eyes narrowed. “I hope not too soon. You’ll stay at least until after the Games? My sister is getting married on Saturday. There will be a few days of celebration.”

Did he want her to go to his sister’s wedding? She tried to hold back her racing heart but it was sprinting away from her. “I don’t know.”

“Of course—it depends on Lady Margaret. Would it help if I talked to her for you?” He slid the back of his finger down her cheek, down her throat, and over the firm slope of her br**sts, drawing a feathery circle around the tip. “I’m not done with you yet,” he said in that dark, husky voice of his that seeped right through her good sense. “I don’t think I’m going to be done with you for quite a while.”

Her skin prickled. Her ni**les beaded. Her breath quickened. Her entire body responded to the sensual promise in his words. Was it just words, or did it mean something? She had to find out. “Lady Margaret told me you are to be betrothed.”

He frowned, as if he were surprised she’d heard about that. “What does that have to do with us?”

She looked away so he wouldn’t see the stone of disappointment he’d just cast carelessly at her heart. He said it with such honest befuddlement she couldn’t even be angry with him. She was angry with herself. “Nothing,” she said softly. “It has nothing to do with us.”

Why should he think there was anything wrong with making love to another woman while his betrothed or his wife waited for him at whatever castle he put her in? There was nothing wrong with it. It was the accepted—expected—thing for noblemen in a political marriage. She was the one who had unrealistic expectations, not he.

One night was all she’d wanted, so why was she disappointed that it was all she was going to have? His response had just ensured it.

“Good,” he said, rolling back over and tucking her against him. She rested her cheek against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart and trying not to cry.

“We should go,” he said, though his voice gave no indication of any hurry. “But I’m just so damned tired. I can’t seem to make myself get up.”

His voice trailed off. She wasn’t surprised when a few minutes later she heard the even sounds of his breathing. He’d drifted off.

Grateful for the reprieve, she was careful not to wake him as she slid away from the warmth of his body, stood, and straightened her clothes. All she could think about was getting out of there. She didn’t want to face him again. Not here, and not at the feast.

This had been a mistake.

Kenneth Sutherland wasn’t like her husband at all. He was far more dangerous. Atholl had never bothered to try to seduce her. Kenneth Sutherland seduced with every long look, every gentle touch, and every heart-pounding kiss.

Would she ever learn?

She needed to leave. Not just this room, but Scotland. Before she forgot how to be content with what she had and yearned for things that would only make her miserable. Again.

Seven

Kenneth woke slowly, trying to clear the fog from his mind. But his head felt as if someone had sheared a sheep inside it. Opening his eyes, he shot upright, startled by his surroundings. By the shards of light streaming through the planks of the door.

He winced at the knife of pain in his side.

Hell. Covering the offending area with his hand, he braced himself as he stood. Whatever dulling effects last night had worked on his pain, they were gone.

Last night. He realized three things at once: it was morning, he’d missed the feast, and he was alone.

He swore, not knowing what angered him the most.

What the hell had happened to him? It felt as though he’d been knocked out. The moment he’d closed his eyes, he’d slipped into a deep sleep. He hadn’t slept that solidly in years.

His mouth fell in a grim line when he reached down to pick up his tunic and saw a swatch of dark green silk. He knew what had happened to him. She had happened to him.

Why in Hades had she run off without waking him?

In many cases he would be relieved to wake up and find himself alone after a night of lovemaking, but damn it, this wasn’t one of them. He vowed to go back to uncomplicated and eager-to-please just as soon as he was done with her.

He jerked on his tunic, wrapped the plaid back around his shoulders—the fire in the brazier had gone out hours ago, and it was bloody cold in here—and picked up the offending veil.

He and Lady Mary were going to have a nice long talk about what he was going to expect from her—a little common courtesy, for one thing. And she wasn’t going to run off like that again. He would decide when it was time to leave, damn it.

He stalked out of the library, slamming the door behind him, and headed toward the Hall to look for her. But it seemed the morning meal had ended some time ago. There were only a few people milling about, and none was the one he wanted to see.

Just what the hell time was it?

He swore again. The morning was quickly going from bad to worse. If the morning meal was over, that meant he didn’t have much time until the wrestling competition got under way. One of the most important days of his life, and he’d nearly slept through it. His anger at his wee nun was growing. She’d distracted him. And had done a bloody efficient job of it, damn it.