by Amy Jarecki
She seemed to watch him, though her eyes were eerily vacant as they always were. Glittering blue, they were recessed a bit, but Ciar always felt the color made her look more mysterious. Moreover, when Emma Grant smiled, everyone followed, because the happiness she carried in her heart bore enough light to illuminate the great hall at Edinburgh Castle. Her smiles were infectious and addictive.
She stepped toward him. “Are you finished with your swim?”
He glanced downward, ever so glad he didn’t need to hide his nakedness from her. God’s stones, would he be hard for the rest of his days? “I am,” he said, turning his back and reaching for his plaid.
“I’ve been collecting shells.” She gestured toward a pile. “I’m not sure what to do with them now, but they are the most amazing shapes. If you hold the large ones to your ear, you can hear the surf.”
Ciar dried himself then tucked the tartan around his waist. “Can you?”
“Aye, we have an enormous shell in the library at Glenmoriston, and Robert says it sounds like being adrift in the midst of a calm sea.”
“Poetic of him.”
“Indeed. He doesn’t usually mince words.” She laughed, picking up the clamshell. “I think I’ll keep this one and put it on my mantel. That way I will always remember Gylen Castle by the shore on a wee isle, and my great adventure.”
“I doubt you will ever forget this…mishap.”
“Do not say that. It is an experience of a lifetime, and I intend to enjoy every moment.”
“Well then, let us pray you’re not captured by redcoats and sent to the gallows.” Ciar winced. He shouldn’t have said such a thing.
“Oh, no, that cannot happen. You said we were safe.”
He slipped the shell from her fingertips and held it to his ear. “Och, you’re right, the sea is quite prevalent in this one.”
She grinned, making rays of sunlight fill his chest. “Albert loves it here.”
“Perhaps Albert and I have a great deal in common.”
“But I thought you were going mad.”
“Did I say so?”
“Nay, but you’ve fidgeted enough.”
He returned the shell. “I don’t fidget.”
“Very well, oiling and sharpening your weapons three times a day isn’t fidgeting, it’s…hmm…it’s…”
“Being prepared.” He grasped her elbow, the gesture becoming second nature and comfortable. “What shall we eat for supper? The lamb pottage, or would you care for more of my delicious oatcakes and dried beef?”
“Let us make it interesting and have oatcakes and pottage.”
“Excellent idea.”
He started for the tunnel, but Emma didn’t budge. Bending forward, she hooked the leash onto Albert’s collar. “I’d like him to lead me.”
“I don’t mind helping.”
“Aye, but you won’t always be nearby to take my hand. And it has been liberating to have the dog to train. I cannot thank you enough for giving him to me.”
“He’s already been more useful than I’d ever dreamed he’d be.”
Honestly, Emma had been so instantly taken with Albert that Ciar had purchased the dog as a companion. But even though he was still young and excitable, he’d become invaluable. Ciar walked beside them, ready to catch Emma if she should stumble. The ground was craggy and uneven, and there were stones strewn about, covered by slippery moss. Amazingly, Albert walked slowly and picked his way around obstacles while the lass intently followed him as if the pair were a team working in harmony.
* * *
“The wine is fruity,” Emma said, drinking her second glass. Livingstone had brought a new cask along with the stores, and she preferred it to whisky, which made her head swim much too quickly, though she mustn’t overindulge in any spirit.
Ciar sipped, followed by a soft but guttural swallow. “It is nice.”
Oh, how she adored the sounds he made. “What shall we do this eve?”
“You could sing for me.”
“I think I’d rather listen to you sing. Besides, I prefer to play the harp.”
His cup tapped the table. “But your voice is so lovely. ’Tis soothing.”
She batted her hand through the air. “How do you ken?”
“I’ve heard you humming and quite enjoyed it. Your voice reminds me of an effervescent yet mellow viola—similar to when you played ‘The Selkie.’”
Butterflies swarmed in her stomach, which they had been doing far too often of late. And Emma didn’t really want to sing, she wanted to enjoy something with him. “I have an idea. Do you have a chessboard?”
“I do. In my library at Dunollie. ’Tis quite nice, made of walrus ivory.”
“I’d like to see it someday, though the board will do us no good at all at the moment.” She drummed her fingers on her cup. “We ought to play a game.”
“Hmm. What kinds of games do you know?”
Emma thought back. She liked chess because she could feel the pieces and picture the board in her mind’s eye—though Robert always became overtly irritated when she knocked over his king…on purpose, of course. The mere thought brought a snigger to her lips.
She couldn’t play cards unless she had a partner, and never had any luck at dice. Oh, yes, a brilliant idea came to mind. “At Yuletide when we were trapped indoors we used to play questions and commands.”
“Is not the game played with a group of people?”
“Aye, including cousins and clan, we always had a large gathering at Christmas when Da was alive.”
“And now?”
“Not as many visitors, though I reckon that will change…” Oh, dear, she’d almost said once the bairn is born, and she’d promised Janet she’d not mention it. “Um…once Robert and Janet have children. Have you played?”
“If I have, I do not recall the rules.”
“Well, there’s a commander, and everyone else is a subject. The commander asks a question of one of the others, and if the subject refuses or cannot answer satisfactorily, the poor commoner must pay a forfeit or have his or her face smutted.”
“Smutted?” Ciar asked, laughing.
“Indeed, fouled with all manner of vile things, like mint sauce and whipped cream or even dust from the floor. Once Robert had his face blackened by charcoal.”
“And he stood for it?” Another deep laugh rumbled through the cavern. “Now that I would have liked to see.”
Oh, how Ciar’s laugh could make everything shine with happiness. “It was quite some time ago. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen, and I think he rather fancied the lass who smutted him.”
“That explains it. Your brother would only humor a woman—never a man.” Ciar shifted in his seat. “What constitutes a forfeit?”
“The subject must do something of the commander’s bidding.”
“For example…?”
“Well, there was the time Lewis Pratt had to drop to his knees, put his head under Mrs. Tweedie’s hem, and low like a cow.” She tapped a finger to her temple. “Or there was the time I had to waddle around the drawing room squawking and pretending I was a duck.”
“What a sight that must have been.” Ciar snorted as if he was holding in an urge to chuckle. “I imagine it is best for the poor subjects just to answer the commander’s question in the first place.”
“Exactly. However, it is much more fun if they do not.” Though feeling a wee bit tipsy, Emma took another sip of wine. “Shall I assume the role of commander first?”
“By all means.”
In a heartbeat, heat spread across her cheeks. There were so many questions she wanted to ask and just as many she didn’t dare. Perhaps another cup of wine would help her to relax. As she poured, she squared her shoulders and assumed a practiced air of composure. “Let us start with something simple. If you had three wishes, what would they be?”
“Hmm. Are the wishes for myself, or can they be political?”
“Yourself, of course. Bringing politics into it wou
ld turn an enjoyable game into something far too serious.”
Pacing herself, she took only the slightest of sips while she wriggled in her seat ever so anxious to hear what he had to say.
He took his time drumming his fingers. “To begin with, I’d wish to have the false charges brought against me dropped and stricken from the record.”
“A seriously important subject. However, given the circumstances it’s exactly what my first wish would be.” She leaned in, unable to help the grin stretching her lips. What would he say next? Wish to marry a princess? Wish for the sturdiest and fastest horse in the Highlands? “And the second?”
“I’d ask for health and happiness of clan and kin.”
Unamused, Emma sat back, almost teetering. “Dull but important. I suppose I’ll grant you that.”
“And lastly I’d like the harvests to be prosperous for the rest of my days.”
“Alas, I do not think you have the gist of it as of yet. Here I was champing at the bit thinking of all the fantastical things you might wish for. You could have been far more creative.”
“What would you suggest?”
“Perhaps a new fleet of sea galleys or a magical sword that never needs sharpening.” She looked away. Or a bonny wife who will love you forever.
“But I asked for things that are important to me. Did I satisfy the commander’s wishes, or must I pay a forfeit?”
“Nay, I believe your last two wishes could have been far more astounding. You must do better at surprising me. I am afraid you’ll have to pay a forfeit…but not one too dastardly, since you are new to the game.” Emma swayed in place as if she were playing a cheery folk tune. “You must kiss Albert on his belly, and I want descriptive details of every step.”
The dog’s toenails tapped across the stone floor when he heard his name mentioned.
“His belly, aye?”
“Mm hmm.”
“I suppose a kiss is better than having my face marked with charcoal.” Ciar grumbled something not even Emma could hear, and then added, “Come, ye overgrown urchin.”
Albert moved between them.
“Put your paws up here.” Ciar thumped his chest. “I’ve taken hold of the dog’s arms. Now I’m diving for his underbelly. Mmmwa, ye hairy beasty!”
Albert yowled and shook, his tail slapping Emma’s knee.
Emma clapped then scrubbed her knuckles through the dog’s fur. “It seems the laddie enjoyed the attention.”
“Aye.” Ciar pounded the table with three quick raps. “Now I’m the commander, am I not?”
“You are.” She sipped again, letting the fruitiness of the wine tantalize her tongue. “Give me your worst.”
“Very well.” His voice turned serious, and then he hesitated. “If your eyes were opened, what is the first thing you would want to see?”
Emma’s breath seized in her throat. Oh, Lord in heaven, did he not know how often she’d prayed for the gift of sight, if only for a day? She would rush outside and take in all the colors from the grass to the sky to the flowers.
Ciar sat very still. He expected an answer. And though she wanted to experience everything, from nature to the colors of silks and fire, there was one thing she desired to see most of all.
“You,” she blurted as her face burned. Clapping her hands over her cheeks, she was absolutely certain her blush had nothing to do with the wine. Had she really spoken such a shameless thing aloud? Goodness, if she kept flirting with him, he might make her stay in one of the ruined, dank vaults.
The rough pads of his fingers swept across her hand. “Och, I’m not a handsome man, lass. You may not like what you see.”
“To me you’re handsome. You’re beautiful. And Betty says by the girth of your shoulders Robert was smart to make you an ally of Clan Grant.”
“Betty? What remarks has your lady’s maid uttered about me?”
Emma’s head swam with hundreds of responses, most of them unutterable. “Um…you’re rough-hewn but robust.” And such a man attracts me like no other.
“And you? Are you of the same mind?”
“I told you I was.” Before she thought better of it, Emma leaned forward and placed her hands on his cheeks. With a sharp inhale, he stiffened and grabbed her wrists. Cringing, she drew away. “Apologies. I should have asked permission first.”
“The err is mine. I wasn’t expecting you to ‘see’ me at the moment.” His grip eased as he drew her fingers back to his beard. “I must ask Livingstone to bring a razor.”
“The hair feels softer than a few days ago. And so thick. I’d wager it makes you look fiercer than before.” She couldn’t help but explore more. “You have a prominent nose, but I think it suits the ridges of your cheeks.”
Ciar closed his eyes as she moved upward, the lashes tickling her fingers. His brow was broad and framed by a great deal of hair, soft, but masculine.
“It is decided. You are inarguably handsome, and there is nothing you can say to change my mind.” She forced herself to draw away, lest she let the wine take over her sensibilities and kiss him, which she absolutely must not do. “The first thing I want to set eyes on is you. And that was not an easy question to answer, mind you. You could have laughed in my face or, worse, ridiculed me. Therefore, I will not be smutted, no, no, no.”
“Agreed, though I didn’t realize subjects could be so insistent,” he said, chuckling. “I’m afraid you are far better at this game than I.”
“My turn.” She cleared her throat. “Did you swim…um…” Good heavens, how could she finish? And why the devil hadn’t she considered the nature of her question before she opened her mouth?
“You are well aware I swam this day.”
“That wasn’t my query.”
“Very well.” He cleared his throat. “Did I swimmmm…?”
“Naked.”
Silence.
Emma wiped a hand down her face as the air in the soundless room grew more uncomfortable. She didn’t need to touch him to sense the intensity of his stare boring through her.
“Am I utterly shameful for asking?” she whispered, hoping he heard, but praying he hadn’t.
“What did you think?” he asked, blast him. He was supposed to answer directly, not pose a question.
Emma bit her lip, her mind racing. I thought you disrobed and walked into the surf without a stitch of clothing on your person. That very moment was exactly when I would have given my soul for a brief gift of sight. Och aye, to see you—the brawny Highlander who preoccupies my dreams—to see all of you would have granted me a memory to cherish for all my days.
“You were bare, were you not?” she asked, trying to sound unperturbed, trying not to reveal how fast her heart raced between her breasts. But the ensuing silence made her so very self-aware. In an effort to mask her mortification, she pounded the table. “The commander demands an answer!”
“I was,” Ciar said boldly before he drank, though his cup scarcely made a noise when he set it down. Why had he been reluctant to tell the truth? “I…ah…er…I must apologize for my vulgarity, disrobing in your presence. I didn’t think…”
Emma clapped a hand over her chest to prevent her heart from leaping across the room. “Did you speak true when you said I stirred a fire deep within you?”
“Ah…” He audibly gulped. “That is two questions, commander.”
“Did you?” she demanded, pounding her fist once more.
“If you believe I would lie about something so deeply personal that was uttered with the gravest of humility and intended only to be heard by your ears and yours alone, you are quite mistaken.”
Unable to sit for a moment longer, Emma grasped his shoulder and stood. Slowly, she slid her fingers down the length of his arm, stopping only to swirl a gentle touch over the back of his hand.
Never in her life had she felt so bold or so empowered.
Might it be the wine? Nay…not this night.
He felt something for her—something affectionate, just as she d
id for him. She refused to allow any other doubts to cloud her mind. The only thing that mattered was being there alone with Ciar MacDougall, a man who had always treated her with respect. A man she had admired all her life.
She slid onto his lap and laced her arms around his neck. “You may have spoken true, but the commander demands you pay a forfeit for wounding me this afternoon.”
Not waiting for his response, she moved closer, first finding his lips with the pad of her thumb, then sealing her lips with his.
Ciar gripped her waist powerfully, his mouth softening against hers. Fresh in her mind was the stolen kiss in the corridor at Achnacarry, and as she swayed against him, she pulled on that experience to impart the most determined, passionate kiss she could muster.
Encouraged by his shudder, she plunged her fingers into his hair and explored with her hands. She adored the natural curl. His sturdy neck. His powerful shoulders.
She adored him kissing her.
As his lips gently slid away, she embraced him, caressing her cheek over his. “You have no idea of the torch I carry in my heart for you.”
“Och, mo leannan,” he purred. “I am not a saint. Being intimate with you makes me crave more—so much more.”
“I never assumed you were anything but a man, flesh and blood. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I am on the only adventure of my life. I want to experience everything. I may die a spinster, but I intend to have the memory of this time with you to cherish in my heart for the rest of my days.”
His lips gradually moved over hers. His tongue swept into her mouth with slow, languid strokes. His mouth was silky and warm, and she never wanted this moment to end.
Emma’s head swam, whether from the wine or from the hot desire coursing through her blood she did not know. She needed, craved more. More kissing, more of him.
She gasped as his lips trailed to her neck. “Show me what happens between a man and a woman. I want to know. I have to know.”
He froze, his body rigid against her. “Och, I cannot take your innocence.”
“Not even if I give it to you freely?”