by Eliza Knight
“I’ll not hear anything else on the matter,” Edan insisted, knowing that when they were alone, Raibert would not let the matter rest. “That is all. Go and make merry, but not too much, for we will be leaving in the morning, storm or nae.” Edan dismissed his men, and they filed out of the tent, all except Raibert, who lingered near the opening as Edan had guessed. The man had become indispensable to Edan, something of an advisor, having worked so closely with Connor before his murder.
Edan eyed him, refusing to say what he knew Raibert wanted. He didn’t want to talk about it, not now. He wanted to go swim in the loch and work out his frustrations. If Raibert wanted to know the truth of the matter, he was going to have to work to get it out of Edan.
“Was that all, my laird? What of the lass?”
Edan let out a long sigh and shook his head. “As I said, ’twas all a misunderstanding.”
Raibert crossed his arms over his chest. “A misunderstanding is taking a man’s place at the table, not knowing he’s been sitting there for the past decade. A misunderstanding is when ye ask for roast goose and ye get a gorse pie. A misunderstand—”
“Enough. I know what a misunderstanding is. She says she didna send the letter.”
“But she did.”
“Someone did.”
Raibert squinted his eyes. “She is bonny.”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“If she were a man, ye’d not let her off the hook so easy.”
Edan grunted. “Aye, likely. But if she were a man, we’d fight it out with fists and blades. In the Highlands, a man has to fight his battles and be trusted by his fellow warriors and laird to not turn tail, lie or misunderstand that when a sword is coming at him, he needs to fight. A man’s place and attention to duty can mean life or death. Such is not always the case with women.” Even as he said it, he knew it sounded like folly. No matter the case, man or woman, the type of misunderstanding in that missive was a matter of life and death. And if he were honest, he bet that Blair would take him up on a fight. Edan let out a frustrated growl.
“Ye like her.”
He gritted his teeth now. “I’ll nae answer that.”
“Confirmation.”
He more than liked her, if the heat still rushing through his blood was any indication.
“I kissed her.” Raibert’s eyes widened at Edan’s words. “After her father offered her to me in marriage and I declined.”
Raibert’s eyes widened, and he let out a whistle. “Ye didna accept and still ye kissed her? Hardly seems fair.”
Edan scrubbed a hand over his face. Damn the rain, he needed to swim.
“Why did ye say nay?”
Edan shrugged. “I didna come here to take a bride.”
“Nay?”
“Nay,” he said firmly.
Raibert grunted. “What man rides hell bent for leather over a mysterious missive only to walk away when all looks well? What man kisses a lass and forgives her such a transgression, and then walks away?”
“This man.” He rolled his eyes.
“Too bad, my laird. She’d have made a bonny wife, and someone else is nae likely to pass up the opportunity. Myself included.”
Edan growled, leaping forward to curl his fist around the collar of Raibert’s leine. “Ye’ll nae touch her.” Bloody hell, he couldn’t imagine anyone else touching her without rage filling his blood. No one else should be able to sample the delicacy that was her kiss. Lips that tasted of the finest fruit, a tongue like honey. He could have feasted on her all day.
Raibert held up his hands in surrender, a smirk on his face, as though he’d provoked Edan on purpose. “All right. All right. But, my laird, ’tis a fact, ye need a wife.”
“Not yet.” Edan let his clansman go, feeling the walls of the tent closing in around him.
Raibert shook himself with a laugh. “I know ye’re not keen to hear it, Edan, but now would be a good time.”
“I’ve only just become laird and figured out most of what I’m supposed to do in such a position, and ye’d have me add a woman to the mix?”
Raibert shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest, his stance indicating he wasn’t going to budge, either physically or in his words. “Providing heirs to your seat, sons and daughters to populate our clan, is half of what ye’re supposed to be doing.”
He hated how right Raibert was. “Then I’ll be choosing a wife who is suitable for our clan.”
“Why isna she? Her da is one of the most powerful earls in Scotland, and both of her brothers control a large portion of the firth—allies for us on the waters.”
“I already told him nay. I canna simply march back inside and tell him I’ve changed my mind after realizing the advantages.”
“Pardon my saying so, my laird, but ye can, and ye’d be fool not to.” Raibert did not ask to be dismissed and ducked out of the tent, shaking his head. Had it not been Raibert, who’d helped him so much over the last couple of months, Edan might have called him out for speaking to him that way, for turning his back.
Had he been wrong in declining the offer? Beyond how much he wanted her?
Nay. His gut instinct had been to decline, and he had to trust his gut, didn’t he? Maybe not. The lass would be hugely advantageous to his clan, to himself as a laird, to have such allies to call upon should he need to.
Not to mention he was lusting so badly after Lady Blair that he felt like a green lad straight out of leading strings. It was almost as though he’d never been with a woman before, the way he was fantasizing about undressing her, revealing every inch of her flesh like he was discovering a woman’s body for the first time.
Edan tossed back the rest of his whisky, feeling the fire of frustration racing through his blood.
He needed the chill waters of the firth on his back. That seemed the only way to calm himself down, else he would go storming back into the castle and demand that Blair be his.
Blair allowed her maid to help her dress for the evening bonfire celebrations, but thus far, she’d refused to leave her chamber. Outside, the rain had given them a short reprieve from her tears, but Edan Rose and his men were still camped beyond the walls—and worse, her maid had let slip how excited she was for a chance to dance with one of the men.
They were staying.
She’d hoped they were leaving.
Once the storm came to an abrupt stop and the sun beamed down on them, drying the messy grounds, Blair had thought maybe, just maybe, they would depart.
But nay, no such luck for her. And now that she knew they were staying—that he was going to be out there—she couldn’t leave her chamber.
She’d spent the whole day thinking about what she wanted, as her mother had suggested, except Blair was fairly certain the thinking she’d been doing hadn’t been what Lady Arbella had in mind. Nay, because Blair had spent all day thinking about that kiss, and how much she wanted another one.
The way his lips had slid sensually over hers. His breath on her face. The touch of his hand on her hair, as he’d tugged free the ribbon, that somehow felt like he was setting her free. The way his larger body had pinned her to the wall. The way his muscles felt beneath her fingertips, the pound of his heart against her palm. The very heat of him. The power. The sensations that whipped through her body, even now making her hot and…needy.
She wanted to feel it again, his kiss, his heat, his body. The power that her own body leeched from him in that kiss.
And if she went outside to dance and feast around the bonfires, she was certain to feel that tingling in her blood that made her bolder. The same tingling that had tunneled through her limbs and propelled her to run through the night toward the firth where she’d tossed in that silly empty bottle. Only this time, she might kiss Laird Rose right in front of everyone, and her family would know her for the wanton not even she had realized she was.
Blair leaned against the cool stone of the window casing, hoping for some relief for her heated skin. She stared do
wn at the fires that raged below, and the laughter and singing and music floated up toward her, tugging at her, enchanting her.
Everyone looked to be having such a good time. Their bodies rocked in the light of the orange flames; their voices raised in song and elation. She wanted desperately to enjoy it, too.
Just as she’d not participated before this year in the maiden’s morning dew rituals at Dunrobin, she’d also been hesitant about dancing round the fires. So pagan it had always seemed. But now, when she gazed upon them, she realized it was a celebration of being alive. Each time at Dunrobin, she’d stood off to the side. Reserved, preferring to watch rather than participate, and now she found her fingers drumming a tune against the stone, and her soul swaying to the music of the pipes.
Maybe if she just went down and stuck to the shadows. Watched tonight as she had any other night. Held tightly to the new part of herself that seemed without control. Avoided Laird Rose. Aye, that was the most important part. If she caught sight of Edan Rose, she had to run away from him, as she should have done before he kissed her—else she’d run into his arms.
Nay, this was a bad idea. She shouldn’t. She should stay in her room and work on her needlework. Mending shirts. Darning socks. And even as she listed off the many things she should be doing, Blair’s feet shifted toward the door, as if by their own accord. Her hand reached for the handle, and she watched, as though it weren’t her own fingers lifting the cool iron. Resigned to her fate, she shuffled down the corridor and took the stairs as slowly as possible. The scent of roasting meat filtered through the castle. The closer she drew, the louder the music, the more joyful the sounds of celebration. The more her heart pounded. The more she felt like she was sucking in her breaths through wool.
And then she was outside, the cool crisp air of the evening met with the heat of the fires. Lasses danced around the fires holding hands. Men drank from mugs while children leapt about chasing dogs, and she spied a few couples that had sneaked off into the darkened corners—one of whom Blair was certain was Aurora and the guard from the postern gate.
Blair could no longer judge her cousin’s escapades, given she’d indulged in one herself just that morning. And though she was loath to admit it, she was secretly hoping for another dalliance right now.
Cora danced toward her, her blond locks swaying free, and her gown a beautiful deep green with a swath of Sutherland/Ross plaid across her middle. She gripped Blair’s hand and tugged her toward the fire. “Dance with me, Blair.”
How could Blair refuse her? The haunting melody spoke to her soul, and before she could deny her, she felt her feet moving, her hips swaying. As soon as she was in line with the other women, the flood of excitement pulsed through her limbs. She danced and laughed, intoxicated by it all. When she finally managed to get away, sweat slicked down her back. Blair took a proffered mug of spiced wine and swallowed a sip quicker than she should have. The warmth slid down her throat to make her belly tingle.
Blair swayed a little to the music, scanning the crowd as she moved around the fire.
So far, she’d spotted several of Laird Rose’s men, but not the tall, striking warrior himself. Her gaze kept floating toward the tents set up for him and his men. Had he barricaded himself over there, as she’d done in the castle?
Was he afraid of what would happen should they meet again?
Well—she was, too, but that hadn’t made her stay in her chamber, now had it?
Without hesitation, and definitely without thinking, Blair slipped into the shadows and glided unseen toward the main gate. The music faded behind her; the soft sound of her footfalls muted by the noises of those celebrating. With a glance up at the guards on top of the wall, who were chatting and drinking ale, she hurried undetected over the bridge toward the tents. Some of the Ross men who hadn’t joined the festivities were sitting on overturned logs around their own campfire, passing a jug of what was most likely whisky as they jested back and forth. She paused to study their lighted profiles, but none were Laird Rose.
He was most definitely hiding. She grinned, feeling a flicker of excitement ignite inside her. Oh, but what fun it would be to tease him for trying to avoid her.
Then her smile faltered. She wasn’t going to tease him. In fact, she sobered, what was she even doing here? What if he wasn’t hiding at all and had instead found another lass to kiss?
This was foolish. They barely knew one another, and to tease a man she didn’t know after only having shared one kiss seemed incredibly naïve, did it not? Once more, she’d let the willful part of herself do the thinking.
Shaking her head, Blair turned to leave. If she hurried, no one would spot her, and she’d not have to explain to anyone the wayward direction of her thoughts. But before she had taken two steps, she paused mid-stride. There he was, lit up by the light of the fires and the moon. Heaven help her.
Blair nearly swallowed her tongue at the sight of him walking back toward the tents without a shirt on. He wore trews that sat dangerously low on his hips, barely tied at all, and the very muscled length of his powerful torso was exposed in all its glory. He shook wetness from his hair with his hand, causing the muscles on that arm to bulge with the vigor of it. Blair’s gaze scanned his nakedness and a chest that dipped and curved in the moonlight, as though he’d been forged by the heavens. She was completely mesmerized, lapping up the very sight of him. She’d witnessed men without their shirts on before. And certainly warriors with physiques that were just as strong. But there was something about this man that had her breath catching and her knees going weak.
Thankfully, he’d yet to spot her. His gaze was aimed toward the castle as he walked. Was he thinking about joining the festivities? Was he thinking about her?
Oh goodness, if he saw her here, she’d be mortified!
And he was only getting closer. She didn’t have time to bolt away; he’d notice her for certain then. The only thing left to do was hide and pray he walked on by. Then she could slip back to the castle, where she would barricade herself in her chamber. Blair ducked into the first tent she could find and waited for his shadow to pass.
And waited.
The darkness of his shadow paused just outside the tent where she hid. She clapped a hand over her mouth, holding her breath. Go, keep going!
But he did not keep going. In fact, the shadow reached for the flap of the tent. With dawning horror, Blair realized her mistake. She must be in his tent.
She pressed her hands to her mouth to keep from gasping. Maybe, by some miracle, he’d be distracted and would go over toward his men and have a sip of whisky, allowing her enough time to escape. For if he were to find her, what would he think of her being in his private tent? Alone! At night! She could have melted right into the earth.
Blast it, Blair! What the hell were ye thinking?
His fingers curled around the edge of the tent opening and then stopped. It seemed to take forever before he opened it fully to stare at her, as though he’d known before even looking that she was there. Time seemed to stand still as his gaze locked on hers, a tiny lift to one corner of his lips. Water dripped from his hair, down his nose, his neck, his chest. She jerked her gaze upward, realizing she’d let it slip. He truly was an incredible specimen.
Edan ducked inside the tent, taking up the expanse of the opening, the top of his head brushing the soft roof. The flap dropped down, encasing them both in near darkness, save for the light that seeped through the side walls.
“My lady,” he drawled. A line of firelight that came through a crack in the walls of the tent slashed across his mouth. His lip quirked further, as though he found this humorous.
If she weren’t so mortified at how forward she was being, she might have also found it funny. But as it was, she was currently hoping the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Or that he’d drop into sleep from exhaustion, and she could leap over him and run away.
“I’d ask what ye were doing here, but I think I already know.” He took a step towa
rd her, and her heart dropped somewhere near her boots.
Zounds… What did he think?
Her tongue felt twisted; her throat dry. She couldn’t form words and so only shook her head.
“Nay?” Oh, why did he have to draw out his words like a caress? Every utterance from his mouth stroked a path down her body all the way to her toes. “I’m wrong, lass?”
Miraculously, she found her tongue. “Wh-what do ye think I came for?”
The slow grin lit by the slashing light on his face was enough of an answer. And her belly did a flip of excitement at the wicked thoughts such a promising grin brought her. Aye, she did want to kiss him.
She shook her head, both to him and to herself. “I only came to see where ye were, as the celebration is…is… There is a feast… And ye were not there...” Everything she was saying was weak and not at all the true reason for her having snuck into his camp.
He was only a foot away from her now, and she was finding it harder and harder to breathe. He smelled fresh like the firth, and his hair was damp. Relentless rivulets of water dripped onto the bare flesh of his chest, demanding she follow their path with her eyes. Her body was getting hotter. The hairs on her arms, and even those on the top of her head, seemed to be rising and reaching for him.
She kept her gaze locked on his, afraid that if it traveled southward, she would not leave this tent a maiden, for the dark look in his gray eyes promised so many wicked things—including the deflowering of her very carefully guarded maidenhead.
“I should go.” Her voice was low, breathy.
“Aye, ye probably should.” His tone was equally husky, filled with a desire she felt in every inch of her being.
She didn’t move.
“My lady…” He stepped closer, leaving only a few inches of air to separate her from what she so desperately wanted—his mouth on hers.
She willed her feet to move, but they didn’t budge. And like in her chamber when she’d tried to stay behind, to refuse participation in a night filled with hedonism, her body seemed to have a mind of its own. Desires it was intent on fulfilling. She tilted her head back and stared up into his shadowed eyes, her lips parting, and a soft breath leaving her.