A Gypsy in Scotland (MacCallan Clan Book 1)

by Tanya Wilde

  “Laugh until their heads fall off,” Hugh drawled, stretching his arms. “Like I’m trying not to do.”

  Lash’s interest perked. “What exactly will they do upon their return?” he asked, wondering how well Honoria’s siblings would take the news of him endangering their family. “Round up my brother and toss him in a dungeon?”

  “Aye, and throw away the key to the lock,” Hugh said. “But before that, they’d attempt to run him off.”

  On that point, Lash remained skeptical.

  The unexpected touch of Honoria laying a hand on his arm fired up his blood. “Whatever the plan, we will not abandon you, Lash.”

  An overwhelming surge of emotion washed over him. There she went again; saying words that burrowed deep in his bones, staring at him in a way that made him want to melt into a puddle.

  Him. Melt. A puddle.

  “Aye,” the Highlander drawled from the sofa. “It so happens we have a vacancy for a gardener.”

  Chapter 15

  She found him in the north tower, staring out the window overlooking the castle’s sweeping gardens and the stretch of unspoiled nature that followed. In the past, she had watched countless sunsets and sunrises from the exact spot he stood rooted on, enthralled by the untamed beauty surrounding them. Honoria had always found the temperamental weather romantic, poetic in the way sunny spells and dark shadows rolled over the hills with brazen wantonness.

  It had been four days since he taught them the Spanish Flamenco. Four days of keeping each other company with cards, reading, and more dance lessons. Four days of Hugh plastered to their sides, pretending she did not find the tall, broad-shouldered Rom in their home beyond appealing. Four days of waiting to be alone with him.

  Now that she’d finally found him alone, all she wanted to do was run her hand over his back, feel the flex of his muscles beneath her fingers, and delve her hands into his inky black hair. She must be mad to feel this way?

  Aye. A thousand times aye.

  “It’s mystical, is it not?” she murmured, resting her back against the thick stone wall. She knew the view by heart—could close her eyes and picture the exact moment of the day. But this was the first time he was in that view.

  And it was breathtaking.

  Green eyes turned to fix on hers. Searched her face. “Yes.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “The view is at its most spectacular when the evening sun illuminates the thick woodlands and unimpeded hills.”

  “Then I cannot miss that, can I?”

  She pushed away from the wall and wandered over to the window. “I’ve spent hours on this very spot, watching the clouds float to and fro, ushering storms over the countryside and painting the sunset sky with color.”

  “Like a princess locked in a tower.”

  “Or an enraged woman attempting to soothe her wounded pride.”

  A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “There is no place for greed and anger in nature; it gentles the heart when you are face to face with it.”

  “Is that what the Rom believe?”

  He lifted his shoulders. His gaze seemed to draw her in, trap her by some ancient magical spell. “That is what I believe.”

  She quirked a smile. Her gaze dropped to the spot he’d been stabbed. “You are almost fully healed.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “Och, well, I am thrilled to have saved a wandering soul.”

  “We are all wanderers.”

  Honoria gave a curt nod. “You are right; I’d love nothing more than to wander out the castle door.”

  He flashed her a grin. “I thought I was the only one growing restless.”

  “You are not, I assure you. Speaking of wandering, you must be anxious to carry on your search for your sister.”

  “At times I wonder if I’ll ever find her. She might be lost to me forever.”

  “I am sure she is safe, Lash. You will find her.”

  “You believe that?”

  “Aye, I believe if your sister is anything like you, she may very well rule the world someday.”

  His laughter came loud and unexpected, surprising them both before his mouth flattened to a somber line. Fierce pools of green delved into her.

  “You are in danger, Honoria.”

  He said it so solemnly, her brows furrowed. She tapped her finger against the wall. “Your brother would need an army to penetrate these stones. And loads of weapons.”

  “I’m not speaking of my brother.”

  She arched a brow. “You? Because you are a big, bad Rom?” She shook her head, a small smile quirking her lips. “I am not intimidated.”

  He closed the space between them with one step, his leg skimming her thigh through her skirts. She had to crane her neck to keep his gaze. And suddenly, her breath didn’t quite make it back to her lungs.

  “Tell me this: Why are you paying so much attention to me, a, big, bad Rom?”

  “Do not tell me you are one of those men blind to how handsome they are? Oh, wait, such men do not exist,” she teased.

  “I’m still a Rom. You are a lady. You should not be paying any attention to me, no matter how I look.”

  “So you admit you are handsome?”

  “I’m not jesting.”

  “Nay, but as you are aware, I’m not like any other gad—gad-whatever—am I?”

  “You certainly are not.” His voice dropped to a dark, seductive whisper. “You should go before I do something we both might regret.”

  She shook her head. “Nay.”

  “No?”

  A thousand times nay.

  He stood so close, mere inches separated their bodies. And there was the look in his eyes. One she hadn’t seen before. He looked at her as though there were no other women in the world but her.

  It was a look she hadn’t thought to imagine from a man.

  The truth of that struck her.

  Fiercely.

  Honoria had been so focused on going to Edinburgh, her obsession increasing with each rejection; she hadn’t given thought to anything beyond her goal. Was that still what she wanted? Or was she being obstinate in the face of her brother’s refusal? Had her obsession become about proving a point more than doing what she desired most?

  In truth, she did not know.

  Her eyes drifted shut, and Honoria haled deeply. She did know a new obsession was forming. A tiny seed blossomed in her mind and heart. And it centered around one man.

  This man.

  For once, Honoria decided to take something she wanted, instead of asking for it. For once, she did not take no for an answer. For once, she delighted.

  She rose to the tips of her toes and kissed him.

  Lash couldn’t draw breath. For six bloody seconds, he could not move. And when he did manage to pull air into his lungs, it was all her. Rosemary and Jasmine. And the kiss—Christ—the kiss. It was soft and sensual, like a woman who knew what a man wanted before he even guessed at it. And she knew exactly what he wanted.

  He had avoided being alone with her for fear of his control snapping. Had been aware that every kiss, every touch, tied them together in ways that could unravel them both.

  Now she was kissing him and a legion of soldiers could not drag him from her lips.

  It was not enough.

  It would never be enough. It defied reason, and yet he could no more fight this pull any more than he could fight the stars for dominion of the night sky.

  So he surrendered himself to the downfall and lifted her against him, pressing her back into the wall as his tongue thrust with desperate strokes into her mouth.

  Her lips were soft. Her body warm and inviting. He never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted Honoria, with her wild hair and sweet smiles. It was inevitable, he supposed—his control snapping. The desire to take her there, up against the wall, overtook almost all of his senses.

  How was he ever going to walk away from her when the time came?

  Pushing the thought aside, refusing to dwell on it—at least
for this moment, he kissed her like a man possessed, his mouth wandering over her soft skin, outlining the shell of her ear, wrenching a sweet shiver from her.

  His mouth, greedy, wanted to savor every inch. It searched for the bare skin of her shoulder, tracing along her collarbone. Her hair, which had fallen free from its pins, ran like silk through his fingers.

  A witch, she had to be, for she had completely and utterly bewitched him.

  He broke away from her, dragging in a lungful of air. “Honoria, I don’t think…” Words failed when she speared her fingers into his hair and yanked down.

  “Stop thinking,” she said, her eyes delving into his. Stars sparkled in their depth.

  “Dangerous things take shape when we are alone together.”

  “If the shape is you, then I want all the danger I can get,” she confessed. “I want nothing more. Nothing less. Just you.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  She hushed him with a finger. “I am asking for nothing more than this moment. Do not take this from me.”

  “And after this moment has passed? What happens then?”

  “Let us leave that up to fate.”

  “You are the most peculiar woman.” He searched her face—her beautiful, heart-shaped face. He wanted to give her every opportunity to walk away, so that when she didn’t, she’d know beyond the shadow of a doubt she wanted this, him, as badly as he wanted her. “This is not how your first time ought to be.”

  “This is everything I want it to be.” Her voice brushed over him, soft and sensual.

  “I want you so badly I can’t breathe,” he admitted softly and lowered his forehead against hers. “I can’t sleep for knowing your bedchamber is across from mine. And when I do shut my eyes, you haunt my dreams, even before I saw your face; your voice guided me back to the light.”

  “I dream of you, as well,” she confessed on a whisper. “I feel your arms holding me tight.”

  “What else do you feel?”

  “I feel your weight pressing into me, you kissing parts of me that—”

  He cut off her words with his mouth, sliding his tongue between her lips. He had survived his childhood. He had survived seven months of long-suffering nights on his own. He had even survived the knife his brother plunged into his chest. But he would not survive the raw honesty of her words.

  He pulled away, his gaze burning into hers. “Honoria,” he breathed.

  “Aye?”

  “What happens between us cannot be undone. Do you understand? One more second and I won’t be strong enough to stop.”

  “Good.” She offered him a radiant smile. “Don’t stop.”

  He bent his head to capture her lips again. This time, he did not stop. Had he been given a choice between drawing breath and her, he’d choose her every time.

  “Lash,” she let out his name on a trembling breath. “What are you doing to me. . .”

  “Loving you, monisha.”

  His woman.

  Lash didn’t believe in enchantment, but there was something magical about stripping away the clothes from her body. One by one, the layers of her clothing disappeared, tossed carelessly aside until there were no barriers beneath his touch.

  She was no less urgent in her desires, grasping the shirt he wore in her small fists and tugging, hard. Buttons scattered across the floor.

  Lash barely noticed. He teased the center of her breasts, savoring her peaks until they were puckered and tight. He felt primitive, wild. Defenseless.

  Making swift do of his breeches and boots, he reached between their bodies until he found her core. With a harsh, ragged breath, matching her own, he teased one finger between her thighs until she was slick for him.

  She moaned and dropped her head against his shoulder as her legs wrapped tightly around him.

  The undisguised need in her voice shattered his flagging control. And then he was inside her, the hard length of him sliding between her smooth folds, passing all her barriers, stretching her, filling her so deep, Lash never wanted to leave her warmth.

  He thrust once, twice, losing count as her nails dug into his shoulders, fanning the flames of their desire until they were burning like wildfire. And that’s when Lash felt it—the connection between them—the invisible thread that bound them from the start, weaving deeper into his being, anchoring in the center of his soul.

  He hissed when she wound her legs tighter around his waist. His thrusts grew more frenzied, hard and deep until there was nothing left but raw pleasure.

  Magic.

  His eyes locked onto her face in awe, a goddess in the throes of passion, and watched rapture cloud her features. When she cried out his name, it prompted the growl of his own release.

  It was a while before either could move, their legs locked in place, their breathing shattered.

  “That was . . .” Her words gave way to air.

  Soul-shattering.

  “Magical,” she finished softly.

  He smiled against her skin. “You are magical.”

  You are where I belong.

  But he didn’t say that. Was not ready for what those words meant. Instead, he kissed her, overcome by emotion, knowing at that moment, he was truly lost.

  Chapter 16

  “I have arrived at a conclusion,” Honoria declared.

  “More terrifying words have never been spoken.”

  She slanted Lash an aggrieved look. Curled up in each other’s arms, her skirts spread out beneath them, they watched the clouds slowly shape across the sky through the tower window while his fingers stroked lazy circles over her breast.

  “The conclusion being I must do what makes me happy.”

  His smile was gentle. “And what makes you happy, monisha?”

  “Not much,” she murmured. “Laughing often, pursuing my dreams, and sharing my life with someone who makes my heart beat faster—doing all that for as long as I live.”

  “A noble path.”

  “But not one without effort.”

  “Life is rarely ever without effort.”

  “Harder with nine brothers.”

  “They wish to protect you.” His finger flicked over her rosy bud.

  “The irony of your touch whilst saying such a thing is a breath of fresh air.”

  That earned her another flick, harder this time.

  Honoria sucked in a breath. “I suppose I ought to add to my earlier conclusion that I have found someone who makes my heart beat faster.”

  His finger froze on her nipple.

  Several heartbeats passed.

  To her dismay, his hand disappeared, and he hoisted himself onto one elbow to stare down at her. “Who?”

  “You do not know?” she teased.

  “I’d rather you tell me.”

  Courage, Honoria. You have that in spades. She dragged in a fortifying breath, and admitted on a small whisper, “You.”

  He blinked down at her, and Honoria watched, dread pooling in her belly, as all trace of good-humor disappeared from his features.

  “Honoria, we should talk. . .”

  “About?” She opted for innocence.

  “Your expectations.”

  “I have no expectations.”

  Liar. You have at least one. Perhaps two.

  “Says the lady who lives in a castle.”

  Honoria groaned. “That does not define me. Neither does a lazy title.”

  “All women have expectations.”

  “Och well, I don’t, if that is what you are worried about.”

  Honoria resisted the urge to wipe the strand of hair falling across his brow. He expected an answer, she could tell. He did not trust that she harbored no ill-conceived expectations from him.

  He wasn’t entirely wrong.

  Honoria did want something. She wanted him.

  When had he become her new dream? How had that happened? She was not certain. But she did not want him by way of duty or expectation. She wanted him to want her back. She wanted h
im to want her for who she was, not for what they shared here today.

  “You are right, I do want something,” she admitted. “But that has nothing to do with what happened between us.”

  He arched a brow.

  “Escort me to Edinburgh?”

  The question, so forthright, came like a crushing blow. Chaperone her to Edinburgh? There are a thousand different reasons he could never do that. The first and foremost being, no matter what had transpired in this tower: she wasn’t for him.

  And along with that reason entered another thousand reasons why she wasn’t for him, the first and foremost of that being, she was not of his kind.

  And along with that entered yet another thousand reasons she could not travel with him anywhere, the first and foremost being, the incrimination that followed him would extend to her.

  And that, beyond all other reasons, was the crux of the matter.

  She had no idea the cost of what she was asking of him.

  He withdrew from her, heart pounding. “What you are asking is impossible.”

  “You are including Edinburgh in your search for your sister, are you not? I wish to go with you.”

  “Honoria . . .” His mind whirled a thousand paces.

  “My brothers are due back any day now. If I do not take this chance, I might never get one again,” she whispered.

  He shut his heart to the vulnerable note in her voice. What she was asking of him . . . could never happen. He reached for his breeches, rising to yank them on. He still wore a shirt, though it hung loosely where the buttons had popped, so he tucked it into the band of his breeches as best he could. “I will pretend I did not hear that.”

  “Why?” She rose to gather her apparel. “It’s a simple enough request.”

  “There is nothing simple about it.” He exhaled a deep breath. “Do you know how irresponsible of me it would be to grant your wish?”

  The irony slayed him.

  He began to pull on his boots, but the rustling of skirts as she dressed drew his gaze back to her. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was blinking rapidly as if to keep from spilling tears.

  Lash cursed. “Honoria . . .”