Devon wasn’t quite sure what his expectations for the ride were…and later he’d tell himself that perhaps it was better he didn’t have any except to escape Murien’s cloying presence. Yet the day turned into one of surprises, most of which involved Kat.
His first surprise had been on arriving. Kat had looked tantalizingly beautiful, even more so than she had before. Perhaps it was the green habit, for it clung to her curves as if painted. Or perhaps it was that her hair was now pinned up, away from her face so that the loveliness of her features was even more evident. Whatever it was, there was something about Kat Macdonald that appealed to him. While Murien might be lovely in the conventional sense, something about Kat whispered of tangled sheets, damp skin, and other deliciously earthy matters.
Even after mulling it through, he could not distinguish what it was about her that made his thoughts instantly turn lascivious. It was not her manner, for she was neither brazen nor suggestive. It was more the curve of her cheek, the plumpness of her lips, the fullness of her hips. They all told Devon that if he was ever fortunate enough to win his way into her highly protected bed, it would be an experience he would never forget.
Which brought about the second surprise of the day—from the moment he saw Kat walking across the clearing toward him, his body reacted. But that was not the end of it. For the rest of the day, all he had to do was rest his gaze on her hips as she rode before him, and his manhood would stiffen instantly.
Never had Devon felt such lust for a woman. But perhaps that was a good thing, for it greatly dimmed his memory of Murien until he scarcely thought of her. He soon found that thinking of another woman around Kat Macdonald was an impossibility; she was so vibrant, so uninhibited, so different from any woman he’d ever met.
The third surprise of the day was less spectacular, but even more perplexing. For all the attraction he felt for Kat, it appeared that it was completely one-sided. He was the one sneaking glances, trying to catch her eye, and feeling bereft when she didn’t notice. She was totally caught up in experiencing Thunder, a fact that Devon found somewhat insulting.
In fact, Kat was so engrossed in the blasted horse that they rode for almost twenty minutes without speaking a word. Devon’s pride was pricked. He wasn’t used to being slighted. And while a part of him acknowledged that it was unintentional and he was probably due his fair share—for God knew he’d danced with numerous young ladies only to promptly forget their names—it didn’t make the experience any less irksome.
Finally, Devon decided he’d had enough. He urged his mount forward a bit until Kat saw him. She blinked as if surprised, and then smiled, her teeth white between her lips.
Devon’s ire evaporated instantly as she pulled up.
She glowed with enthusiasm. “What a lovely horse! Where did you get him?”
“Italy. My brother deals with a trader from there who dabbles in breeding. When the trader couldn’t pay, he offered to send the horse to close the debt.”
She bent over to rub Thunder’s neck. “Your brother is to be commended! I don’t know what the trader owed him, but Thunder was worth every guinea.”
Looking at Kat’s face, Devon realized that he would have paid twice the amount had the smile been for him and not his horse.
Devon wondered if Murien could even ride, and if she did, how she would compare to the effortless way Kat rode Thunder. No woman he knew had such a confident seat, and certainly none of them could have handled Thunder with such ease.
She sighed happily. “It has been so long since I had an opportunity to ride like this. I’m afraid I’m being rude, leaving you behind.”
“Nonsense,” he said, forgetting his ill feeling from a moment before. “Trusty and I were doing well on our own.” He had to admit that she’d given him a pretty animal in exchange for Thunder. They were no match in stride, of course, but the bay had a neat mouth and a steady pace. “This is a good animal.”
“Trusty is one of my favorites, though I fear riding your mount has spoiled me for all my horses. I shall have to sell them now.”
He grinned. “How many do you own?”
“More than I should,” she confessed ruefully, tucking a stray strand of hair behind one ear. “I felt rather decadent when I first began buying them, but I can afford them, so why shouldn’t I?”
“Why shouldn’t you, indeed.”
“Besides, having to keep them in grain helps me to get out of bed when the lads do. It’s a marvelous incentive.”
Devon chuckled. He’d never met a woman who paid her own way in the world. Not once. Previous to meeting Kat Macdonald, he’d always thought a woman who dabbled in trade would be brutally harsh and unfeminine. Instead he was finding that it added a pleasant aura of confidence.
She sent him a curious glance, her skin smooth as silk beneath the flicker of sun that broke through the trees. “How many horses do you own?”
He didn’t know for certain, so he shrugged and said, “Far more than I can ever ride.”
“Me, too. I am forced ask the lads to exercise the horses whenever they can.”
“The lads?” A smile quirked his lips. “Is that what you call them?”
“Aye,” she said. “That’s what they are.”
“Even Simon?”
“He’s the oldest lad.” An answering smile curved her mouth. “And as such, he is in charge of a great deal.”
“Including your virtue.”
The smile left her mouth. “No one is in charge of my virtue but me.”
“I think Simon would disagree with you. He glares at me every time I see him.”
“That’s just his way.”
“Hm,” he said, unconvinced. He knew a challenge when he saw one and, having a sister himself, recognized a protective stance for what it was. “Well, if you ever decide you need someone to watch over your virtue, he would be an excellent choice.” Devon looked around. They were on a wide path that seemed a great deal used. “Where are we going?”
“This is the road to the village. There’s a path off to the right that leads to a stream. We can water the horses there, if you wish.”
“Excellent,” he said. He followed her onto a narrower path, and soon the rush of moving water could be heard. Once there, he dismounted and tied Trusty to a low branch, then went to where Kat was gathering her skirts and preparing to dismount. He reached out a hand.
Kat shook her head. “Thank you, but I don’t need any help.” She got on and off a horse at least four or five times a day, and it would be very irksome indeed if she couldn’t do it without help.
“Too bad,” he said, holding out his arms. “For I insist.”
She paused, uncertain what to do. But even as she hesitated, he stepped forward. His warm hands encircled her waist, and he set her on her feet as easily as if she wasn’t an ungainly size.
He didn’t release her, though, but stood smiling at her. His hands were warm through her habit, his mouth only a few inches above hers. If she wished to kiss him, all she’d have to do was raise ever so slightly on her toes and…To her chagrin, her body softened in response. With his devilish smile and black hair, he was an incredibly attractive man, far more so than most of the visitors who tried to trick her into their beds.
But this stranger with the quick smile and flashing eyes hadn’t attempted to hold her against her will. In fact, she was quite certain that were she to move now, his hands would drop from her waist and he would make no more effort to touch her. It was that knowledge that kept her still, enjoying the almost forgotten feel of a man’s hands on her body. A feeling she’d tried her best to leave behind.
St. John smiled, a dimple flashing in one of his cheeks. “Know what I’m thinking?”
“What?”
“That you smell as good as you look. Of warm summer days and hot scones with butter.”
This man seemed made up of words; some soft, some urgent, some funny, but all of them seductive. For the first time since she’d agreed to ride with him, a gen
uine stirring of alarm rose in Kat’s chest. Blast it. She should have never agreed to help Malcolm keep Devon away from the castle.
As if he could see her distress, he reached up to smooth the hair from her forehead, the touch gentle, his eyes darkening. “I’m thinking something else, too.”
“That you are hungry and should leave and hurry home?” she asked hopefully.
He chuckled. “No. Although the word ‘appetite’ did flicker through my mind.”
Her cheeks burned. “That’s quite enough, Mr. St. John.”
“Do you mean that?”
Kat wet her lips. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit she rather liked the feel of his hands on her waist.
As if he read her thoughts, he asked, “What is wrong with me holding you?”
She thought about this for a moment. Why couldn’t she just enjoy a man’s hands on her waist? She forced herself to relax the tiniest bit. “I suppose there is nothing wrong with it. I am just used to others telling me what is and isn’t proper.”
“Society is a capricious mistress.”
“She is vicious,” Kat said, remembering a time when she’d felt the full brunt of disapproval.
His hands tightened slightly and he pulled her closer, his face only inches from hers, his gaze intent. “Listen to me. When you and I are alone, there is no society. No Kilkairn. No Simon. Just Devon and Kat. Do you think you can remember that?”
There was sincerity in his gaze and something more. Kat bit her lip. “Mr. St. John, I have to ask you a question.”
He raised his brows.
“What are your intentions?”
He looked at her for a long moment, his blue eyes searching. “For today?”
She nodded.
“For today, I plan on kissing you again, which is a realistic goal, I think. There is nothing wrong with a kiss between newly formed friends.”
“Friends?”
“Like us. Then, after today…” He shrugged, his eyes gleaming with humor. “That is up to you, though I must admit I hope that a kiss might eventually lead to other things.”
Kat blinked. “Well. You are certainly honest.”
“I didn’t think you’d accept anything less.”
She wouldn’t, of course. She just wasn’t used to having the truth tossed at her in such a bald way. In her experience, the truth was something elusive and hidden, something one had to ferret out on one’s own.
Perhaps there was more to Mr. Devon St. John than the other wastrels who had visited her brother. And he was right about one thing—there wasn’t anything wrong with a kiss between new friends. He’d already stated that he’d allow her to decide how far that kiss would go.
Besides—she stole a glance up at him through her lashes—perhaps another kiss would assuage her curiosity about Devon and break the tug of longing his presence sent through her. Even now, she was achingly aware of his hands on her hips, of his chest just inches from hers. “I suppose one kiss won’t hurt.”
“Excellent,” he said gravely. “We’ll get to that in a moment. Now, relax and just enjoy being held. Isn’t this pleasant?”
It was more than pleasant. It was warm and increasingly sensual. She caught his gaze and managed a smile. “You are right; it does feel well.”
“So I think. Kat, you are beautiful, intelligent, and quick-witted. All of which make me want to hold you even more. If there is something wrong with that, you have to tell me.”
When he said it like that, it made her want to wrap her arms about his neck and kiss him in earnest. The feeling startled her, and she cleared her throat. “St. John, what if I say I want to be released?”
He dropped his arms and stepped away immediately, leaving Kat feeling strangely bereft.
“See?” he said quietly. “That is all it takes. One word and I’ll stop.”
She nodded. He meant the gesture to comfort her fears, but it only raised more.
“So,” he said, moving back into place, his thumbs tracing small circles on her back. “May I tell you what I am thinking at the very moment?”
Good Lord, a man who liked to talk while holding you in his arms. It was…frustrating. Kat wanted the kiss he’d promised, and being so close to him was making it hard to even think. Perhaps if she pretended to listen, then she could get her kiss more quickly. “Yes? What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking of all the reasons a dalliance with a tall woman can be beneficial. For one, neither of us has to bend so far.” He lifted a hand and drew his fingers down the side of her face.
The soft, simple touch sent a shiver through her, as did the almost somber tone of his words. “I—I have never been glad I was tall,” Kat said breathlessly.
“You should be. You have amazing legs.” His hand returned to her waist, and he was once again holding her before him.
She looked down at her skirts. “How would you know? You can’t even see them.”
He wagged his brows. “Couldn’t I? When you were riding Thunder, your skirts outlined them. Along with other things.”
Her cheeks heated. “Oh.”
“You have legs that could capture a man and never let him go.”
Heavens. He was certainly bold. And handsome. And yet…there was something almost wistful about him. As if he was searching for something.
She managed a small smile. “Fortunately for us both, I don’t intend to use my legs to capture a man.”
“No?”
“No.” She took a deep breath, aware of the slow build of heat that surged between them. “Mr. St. John, I—”
“Devon.”
The name crept into her thoughts and wrapped about her brain as if never to leave. She closed her eyes for a moment but refused to say anything more. She didn’t think she could. The moment lengthened, stirring restless feelings she’d thought she’d forgotten.
She shook herself mentally. It is just a feeling, and sometimes feelings are not real. Thank God she was immune to men who bandied soft words and warm hands. Men who declared their love on Monday, only to realize by Tuesday that they’d made a mistake. Yet here she was, with a man who promised nothing more, yearning for his kiss. She put her hands over St. John’s and pulled them off her waist, then moved out of reach. She crossed her arms over her, as if warding off a chill.
For some reason, that tiny moment caught at her, lodged in her chest like a weight. She searched desperately for a safe topic of conversation. “How was Malcolm? Did you see him this morning?”
St. John smiled as if he knew what she was doing, but he turned and gathered the horses and led them to the water. “He was fine. A little distracted, perhaps. But that’s all.”
She followed him to the edge of the stream. “I suppose he and Fiona have been fighting again.” Kat knelt by the bank and picked up a smooth rock.
Devon turned to look at her. “There is a lot of tension at the castle.”
“Aye. Whatever their argument is about, it is very desperate because neither will budge an inch.”
Devon’s brows lowered. “I’ve arrived in the midst of a domestic dispute.”
“That is Malcolm’s entire marriage.” Stormy, violent, and flush with passion. There were indeed times Kat yearned for peace. She hefted the rock in her palm. “I don’t think I believe in marriage anymore.”
“Nor I.” He caught her gaze and shrugged. “Not for me, anyhow. My brothers, however, seem to be rather fond of the arrangement. My sister, as well.”
“Only one sister? Poor woman.”
He grinned, his eyes crinkling in the most disarming manner. “Don’t pity her. Sara more than held her own. When I was eight, I hid a snail in her bed. I waited and waited for her to scream, but she didn’t do anything at all. Two nights later, I found an entire army of ants in mine. She’d poured sugar in the sheets, and it took me weeks to get rid of them.”
Kat chuckled. “Served you right.”
“Indeed it did, though at the grand age of eight, I felt sorely misused.”
/>
“Poor man.” She dropped the rock and stood. “Would you like to ride into town?”
“What’s there?”
“Nothing really. But it’s a beautiful ride.”
He looked directly at her. “It’s beautiful here.”
“Yes, but—you’ll want to eat soon.”
“You’re right.” He turned to Thunder and unbuckled the bag that hung across the horse’s back. “Which is why I brought a luncheon.”
She laughed then, the sound low and musical. “A man of resources.” Devon found himself chuckling with her as he pulled out the picnic lunch.
They sat beneath a tree and ate. Devon tried to keep the conversation light, talking of this and that adventure with his brothers and sister, but it was difficult. Every time Kat opened her lips to take bite of the flaky pasties that he’d filched from the kitchen at Kilkairn, Devon’s mind would burst into flames of heated, sultry imagination. He barely ate himself, but simply watched Kat.
He welcomed the building heat. It was what he’d counted on to save him from the ring. With every breath, every word, Kat was proving herself to be the woman to keep the ring from working its magic.
Still, she needed some gentle wooing. Though she didn’t flinch from his touch, he felt both her hesitation and her yearning, and something in him wanted to change that, to soothe her fears away. So he talked, and better yet, he listened, learning from her every word.
Soon the conversation turned to glasswork. He was amazed at the process and the length of time it all took. He wondered what other skills she possessed. Looking at her pouty mouth, he decided there were one or two that, if she didn’t already know, he’d take great delight in teaching to her.
The shadows grew and lengthened, and before either knew it, the sun was slowly descending. Kat started. “St. George’s dragon, it’s late.” She jumped up, brushing leaves from her skirts.
“Must you go?”
“Aye. The lads will be wondering what has become of me and we’ve an order to fill before—” She colored. “You don’t want to hear this.”
And the Bride Wore Plaid Page 13