My Lady Captor. Hannah Howell

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ e’en more dangerous if ye get on this bed.” He curled his arm around her tiny waist and tried to pull her slim body on top of him, but she tensed just enough to prevent his doing so without pain.

      “Aye, verra dangerous indeed, especially for a mon with as many stitches in him as the tapestry on yonder wall.”

      Ruari laughed softly, grabbed her thick braid, and pulled her face close to his. He brushed his mouth over hers, and his body echoed the faint tremors rippling through her. Sorcha Hay was a passionate woman, the heat in her veins equal to his; Ruari was certain of it. He ached to enjoy that fire in its full glory. For now he would have to satisfy his hunger with a few stolen kisses.

      Sorcha did not fight him as he took her mouth in a fierce kiss. She savored the heat it ignited within her. It was a dangerous path she was allowing him to pull her along, but she knew he did not have to pull too hard. When the kiss ended, she remained still in his arms, fighting to catch her breath as he traced the lines of her face with tiny soft kisses.

      “I am a wee bit surprised ye wish to kiss a madwoman,” she whispered. “Are ye not afraid of catching my madness?”

      “Nay, I dinnae fear succumbing to your delusions. I do wonder, howbeit, if ’tis your touch of madness that gives your kisses that hot sweetness.” He touched his mouth to hers, lightly sucking on her lower lip. “Ah, lass, I wish I wasnae injured. I am eager to spend the night all asweat with you.”

      Sorcha abruptly shook loose of the haze his kisses had plunged her into. She scrambled free of his hold and stood by the bed, torn between hitting him for his insulting words and accepting his crude invitation. He was looking at her as if he knew her thoughts, and she cursed. Fighting the temptation to pour the jug of cider over his head, she strode out of the room, swearing to herself that she would fight his seduction. She viciously silenced the voice in her head that laughed mockingly.

      Chapter Six

      “This isnae good,” muttered Neil as she moved to stand next to Sorcha in the inner bailey. “Nay, this isnae good at all.”

      Sorcha grimaced, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as the evening chill began to add a bite to the breeze swirling through the inner bailey. She had been watching Margaret and Beatham play with four active puppies in front of the stables for twenty minutes. The pair were so engrossed in the puppies and each other that they had not noticed her scrutiny. They were, in truth, oblivious to everything and everyone around them.

      She had warned Margaret several times, the last one only two days ago, moments after leaving Ruari’s arms and realizing the depths of her own weakness. Margaret was not heeding the warnings any better than her own heart heeded the ones she gave it. Sorcha could heartily sympathize with her cousin. Beatham Kerr was a handsome, sweet-natured young man. It was also clear that, unlike his older cousin, Beatham’s passion for Margaret was not simply a carnal one. It was difficult to know what to do or even if there was anything she could do.

      “I have warned the girl many times,” Sorcha said, sparing a quick glance up at her scowling aunt.

      “So have I. E’en muddle-headed Bethia took the lass aside for a wee talk.” Neil shook her head. “Margaret smiles, assures us all that she kens what we mean, thanks us kindly for our concern, and blissfully carries on just as ye see her now. Either she is more witless than I kenned she was or she is being polite when she does that. She is simply too kindhearted and sweet to tell us to mind our own houses.”

      “I think ’tis a wee bit of both. Beatham is no help either. He is as sweet and as witless as she is. I begin to think that they both believe that, despite all that has happened and all that will happen, they will get what they want—each other.”

      “Mayhap ye can speak to Sir Ruari. He may be able to knock some sense into the lad.”

      “I am sure Sir Ruari has already done so.”

      “I dinnae ken how ye can be so certain when ye havenae been near the mon in two days.”

      “I have been verra busy. There has been no time to coddle the fool.” She scowled up at Neil when her aunt made a sharp mocking noise. “And what was that for?”

      “Ye are a poor liar, child.” Neil crossed her arms beneath her ample bosom and met Sorcha’s look squarely. “Ye have been hiding from that mon for most of the time he has been here.”

      “That isnae true.”

      “Hah. If ye were animals, he would be the wolf and ye the poor trembling hare. Ye have ne’er had to be so cautious about your feelings, dearling, so ye cannae expect to suddenly become skilled at concealing them.”

      For a minute Sorcha considered continuing to strenuously deny what Neil—and too many others—thought. With a sigh of resignation she decided it was useless. Neil was right. She was not used to concealing what she felt and was undoubtedly doing a very poor job of it. It might also help to have someone she could talk honestly with.

      “And what do ye suggest I do? Pin my heart to my sleeve and wave it about as a banner heralding my stupidity?”

      Neil laughed, then quickly sobered when Sorcha glared at her. “Nay, lass. And just because your heart goes in a direction ye dinnae wish it to, doesnae mean ye are witless. When I was a young lass, I suffered from a fever of the heart.”

      “Truly?” Sorcha immediately regretted her blatant surprise, afraid it would hurt Neil’s feelings.

      “Aye, truly. I ken I seem a hard woman, but as I said, I was young.”

      “Ye are but three-and-twenty now. ’Tisnae old.”

      “I was but sixteen when I lost my heart. The mon was no good, but I refused to see that. Weel, my heart did. My head kept telling me to be careful, but I was too fevered to heed that good advice. Didnae heed anyone else’s good advice either. He was tall, strong, and handsome. I thought I had ne’er seen a bonnier face.”

      “I suppose Ruari Kerr does have a bonnie face,” Sorcha murmured.

      “Oh, aye, ’tis pleasant enough”—Neil exchanged a quick grin with Sorcha—“To make a long, dreary tale short, I loved that rogue with all the blind heat a young lass can muster. My own good sense and the warnings everyone gave me proved to be true. He didnae abide with me long. We were handfasted, but that was just so he could share my bed without one of our kinsmen threatening his life. The mon didnae e’en stay the year and the day. A few months and he disappeared into the mists, ne’er to be seen again.”

      “How is it that I ne’er learned of all this?”

      “I was living with my sister Fenella in Stirling. Once I realized the fool wasnae returning, I came back here. ’Tisnae spoken of because no one wished to open old wounds. Now that I have spoken of it, I realize those wounds are healed now.”

      “I am sorry, Neil.”

      “Nay, no need to be sorry for me. I was sorely hurt, but once the pain eased, I realized I had no deep regrets. I had myself a fine time while that rogue was with me. Aye, I would cleave the maggot’s head in twain if I e’er saw him again, but I am now able to recall all that was good, and those are some verra sweet memories.”

      “I am not sure I understand what ye are telling me,” Sorcha shivered and wrapped her arms around herself in a vain attempt to protect СКАЧАТЬ