My Lady Captor. Hannah Howell

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СКАЧАТЬ shouldnae I? ’Tis naught but a jest.”

      “’Tis no jest. Did ye not just see what happened in here?”

      “Aye, and I mean to learn how ye played that trick. If ye think to afrighten me, it willnae work.”

      “To what purpose should I wish to afrighten you?”

      “Who can understand the workings of a woman’s mind?”

      “Opinions such as that could cause ye a great deal of trouble at Dunweare, sir.”

      “And ideas such as yours can cause ye a great deal of trouble.”

      Suddenly Ruari was angry and, to his astonishment, afraid for her. He reached out, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her close. Her closeness proved a distraction. He became intensely aware of her clean scent, the touch of lavender that wafted from her hair and clothes. Her thick, dark braid rested on his chest, and he could all too easily envision it undone, its silken waves caressing his skin. When he realized he was staring at her full mouth, hungering for a taste of her lips, he forced his thoughts back to the matter at hand. He could not believe she was mad or simpleminded, so she had to be suffering delusions bred of her kinsmen’s wild tales. It was time someone made her aware of how lethal such delusions could be in a land rife with superstition.

      “I am fully aware that my gifts are not widely accepted,” Sorcha murmured.

      “Not widely accepted? Such a gentle way of speaking, especially from a lass who has proven to have a sharp, stinging tongue. Such ideas can get ye killed, ye fool lass. Ye speak of things people dinnae understand, things people fear. Such tales can raise talk of the devil, and ye must ken what dire fate that can bring.”

      “Aye—death.”

      “Then why babble on so?”

      “I dinnae babble and I rarely speak of these things. I but felt ye deserved the truth since ye are caught up in our trouble through no choice of your own. And I think seeing ghosties isnae truly something that would rouse people’s fears to a deadly height. It does make them uneasy. That can stir up some verra dark gossip and much unpleasantness.”

      “Then cease talking such muck.”

      “’Tisnae muck, sir. ’Tis the simple truth. I cannae change that. I am what I am.”

      Ruari stared into her huge brown eyes. He saw no glint of madness or amusement that would prove she was playing some jest. The girl truly believed what she said. After what had just happened, he discovered there was a part of him that believed her and he swiftly subdued it. He had often heard of those who could peer into the shadows so many people feared and see what lurked there, but he had always scoffed at such tales. Ruari sternly refused to relinquish his skepticism.

      He grew strongly aware of how alluring her small, heart-shaped face was and allowed that fascination to take hold. Being tempted by Sorcha was preferable to hearing her speak of ghosts and ill spirits. He decided the wisest thing to do was to ignore her talk, neither to ridicule nor accept it. He wished she was as easily ignored.

      “Mayhap ye think ye speak to the spirits because ye are lonely,” he said, his voice quiet and soft as he moved his hand just enough to stroke her thick braid.

      “Lonely? Dunweare swarms with my kinsmen.”

      Sorcha found herself all too aware of their closeness, but she was unable to pull away. Her gaze was fixed upon his mouth, each movement of his lips causing her pulse to race. Men were scarce at Dunweare, and thus far she had escaped all knowledge of how tempting some of them could be, both physically and emotionally. She heartily wished she had remained so blissfully ignorant. Ruari Kerr’s allure reached so deeply inside of her it was frightening.

      “Ye are lonely for a mon, sweet Sorcha. How old are ye?”

      “Twenty,” she whispered, knowing she was being seduced by the soft caress of his deep, rich voice, but unable to fight him.

      “Long past marrying age. Mayhap, my bonny brown lass, ye are pining so for a mon ye have conjured one up in your mind.”

      “And ye claim that I speak nonsense,” she muttered, but her brief flash of irritation was swiftly smoothed away by his sudden smile. The man looked so good when he smiled Sorcha was sure it was a sin.

      “Lasses can grow as lonely as any mon. Your wee cousin Euphemia is proof of that.”

      “My wee cousin needs a sound cuff offside her empty little head.”

      “And what do ye need, Sorcha Hay?” Moving carefully to avoid any pain, he reached up to follow the fine lines of her face with his fingers. “Ye need something. I can see it in your eyes. They are huge, dark pools of longing.”

      It was hard for Sorcha to subdue a blush. The man saw too much. She prayed he did not see that her longing was not for just any man, but for him alone. The intense feelings swirling inside of her were exciting, frightening, and confusing. His touch, the way his lightly callused fingers moved over her face, made her want to lean closer and pull away at the same time. She was indeed filled with longing, but it pulled her two ways. She ached to find out just how good Ruari Kerr could make her feel, but she also longed to flee from him, to forget him and all the new confusing emotions he stirred up.

      “I need ye to release me ere I reopen a few of your wounds,” she said, but knew her threat lacked strength. Her voice was low and husky, robbed of the steel needed to relay a warning.

      “Nay, I think ye but try to flee from what ye truly need. Ye hide in tales and imagination, locked away from the touch of a mon.” He threaded his fingers into her thick, soft hair and tugged her mouth down to his. “Ye need the heat of passion in your blood to burn away all the delusions besetting ye.”

      Before Sorcha could reply to his arrogant statement, he brushed his lips across hers. All thought fled from her mind. She doubted she could put two sensible words together upon pain of death. A shudder tore through her when he gently nibbled at her mouth. She put her palms upon the bed to push herself away from him but lacked the strength to complete the move.

      “Ye are a strange lass,” he whispered as he teased her lips with small kisses. “Boyish in some ways, quite mad in others, yet thoroughly tempting. Enough play, I think,” he growled and kissed her.

      Sorcha uttered a soft, low moan as he ceased his teasing and began to kiss her thoroughly. She greedily opened her mouth when he prodded her lips with his tongue. The slow, heated strokes of his tongue inside her mouth caused her to tremble from the strength of the desire racing through her.

      Suddenly Sorcha panicked. She tore her mouth from his, stared at him in open-mouthed shock for a moment, then scrambled off the bed. Without another word, she fled the room. Ruari Kerr had certainly shown her how good he could make her feel. If one small kiss could so enflame her, she was not sure she wanted to discover any more. Even as she ran away, however, she fought the urge to return to him, to his kisses and his touch.

      Ruari eyed the door closing behind Sorcha with speculation. He idly touched his lips, still warm and damp from their kiss. He savored how her sweet taste lingered on his tongue. Sorcha Hay was all that he considered unsuitable in a bride, despite her good birth, and he had a few hard questions concerning her sanity. It had been a long time, however, since any woman had fired his blood with one short kiss the way Sorcha did. He decided his СКАЧАТЬ