The Devil in Plaid(36)

“Ye’re nearly ten years my senior,” she pointed out.

He shrugged. “That is not such a great difference. I’ve heard of lady’s marrying men that were forty or more years their senior.”

Fiona shuddered. “How dreadful.”

“I agree,” he said. Then he rolled onto his back, interlacing his fingers beneath his head. “What shall I ask ye next?” He sat up. They locked eyes. “What do ye love?”

She smiled, the tension easing from her shoulders. “Baby animals, riding, my duties as lady.”

He seemed to consider her for a moment. At length, he said, “Both my parents died from a fever that swept through the village. I was but ten years of age, which means Castle Làidir has been without a lady for nigh on two decades.”

She glanced about the room. Two days ago, she never would have dared to utter the words that were now on the tip of her tongue. She took a deep breath. She needed to leap—“If ye don’t mind me saying so, yer keep could use a feminine touch.”

He smiled. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than for ye to take on the true responsibilities of lady of the keep.”

Her heart drummed in her chest. She threw her arms around his neck. “I will not disappoint ye,” she promised.

*

He held her close, then wove his fingers through her hair, bringing his lips a breath away from hers. She looked up at him. In her eyes he saw an exquisite mix of innocence and curiosity. Slowly, tenderly, he kissed her, desire coursing through him. She was everything woman with her soft curves and everything beautiful with her compassionate heart. He had glimpsed her throughout the day while she toured the grounds and castle and met his kinfolk, and he had noted the care with which she spoke to Julia and the other servants. In her heart was love. It shone in her eyes when she greeted his kin. He could not believe he had been so blind to her goodness.

A soft moan escaped her lips, making his body hard. He wanted to kiss her deeper, harder, to reach her very soul. She softened in his arms, tempting him. But he forced himself to stop, his kiss never reaching the promised heights of passion. He didn’t want to rush her. More than anything, he didn’t want to frighten her. He stood up from the bed and walked over to the basin and splashed water on his face.

What he needed at that moment was a dip in the cold river.

Taking a deep breath, he returned to the bed and laid down, pulling her into his arms. Her hands pressed flat against his chest.

“May I touch ye?” she whispered.

He groaned inwardly. God’s blood, but he had never wanted a woman more.

“Of course ye can. ‘Tis yer right as my wife.”

She reached out a tentative hand and lightly grazed a thin scar that slashed across his chest. Then she touched another that puckered the skin on his shoulder.

“Ye bear the marks of a warrior,” she said softly as she trailed her fingertips down his stomach.

“Aye,” he rasped, his voice strained. Hunger seared his soul.

“How did ye come by them?”

“I have fought in many battles.”

Her fingers dipped just beneath the waist of his plaid. “All right,” he blurted, gently clasping her wandering hand in his. “Yer touch is driving me wild.”

She beamed at him. “Is it?”

“My body aches for ye.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt ye.”

He cupped her cheek, marveling at her innocence. “’Tis a good pain, but it will test my restraint.” He curled around her, pulling her back into his chest. “Let us rest. We can discover more about each other on the morrow.”

She nestled into his embrace, her soft bum wiggling into him. Again, he groaned.

“Are ye sure ye’re all right?” she asked.

“Aye, to be sure,” he managed to say, his whole body tense.

Long after she had fallen asleep, Jamie held her, his eyes wide, his body crying out in protest.





Chapter Twenty Two


The morning sun rose cool and bright, alighting upon the keep. He bent low in his saddle, urging his mount faster. Upon entering the baily, he slid to the ground and charged up the stairs of the keep two at a time. He swung open the door to the great hall, spotting Fiona at the high table with Matthew, breaking her fast. When she saw him, her eyes lit up.

“Ye needn’t worry any longer,” he called out as he hastened across the room. “They’ve arrived”

The smile that spread across her face flooded his heart with warmth. There was something innocent and childlike in her joy. She stood, and he took her hand, leading her down from the high dais. They crossed the great room and hastened down the stairs. He knew the moment Fiona spotted her maids, by the squeal that fled her lips.

“Go ahead,” he urged her, releasing her hand.

She lifted her skirts and raced toward the wagon from which Esme and Abby were being helped down. At a distance, he watched their tearful reunion. He wondered how long it would take for Fiona to tell them about the not-so-terrifying Laird of the MacLeod. When her maids looked at him as if he had three heads, he knew she must have broken the news to them.

“Laird MacLeod.”

He turned to see who addressed him. It was Alasdair MacDonnell.

Jamie offered his hand in greeting. “Welcome to Castle Làidir, Captain.”