Gilly practically jumped out of her chair, her energy suddenly renewed. “I think we should have another go at it.”
Flora laughed. “Let’s try the lavolta again.”
Murdoch groaned, and Flora couldn’t help but chuckle at his much put-upon expression. She took his hand and led him into position. “Come, it won’t be that bad. And this time we’ll try the lift that had all England on its ear when Queen Elizabeth first performed it with Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester.”
When Murdoch mumbled something about the foolish Englishmen, Flora hid her smile and pretended not to hear him.
Lachlan had a mutiny on his hands, and he needed to do something about it. Or, rather, about someone. He shook his head. He didn’t know why he was surprised; trouble followed Flora MacLeod like a lovesick pup.
He climbed the narrow staircase up to the first floor, his shoulders banging against the hard stones as he went. The stairway hadn’t been built to accommodate men of his size; it had been constructed as an additional defense against attack, intended to prevent enemies from storming the keep. Though no enemy had ever caused as much trouble as Flora. How did one wee lass manage so much upheaval?
Part of him was pleased. Her involvement with his sisters, his keep, and his clan proved that she was softening. Whether she’d realized it or not, she’d assumed the role of chatelaine. The role that belonged to his wife. He’d noticed the subtle changes she’d made—fresh wildflowers in the hall, the addition of some old hangings to the walls, and the unmistakable improvements to the food. And he’d noticed the interest she’d taken in his sisters as well.
But this time, she’d gone too far.
He strode past the great hall to the small antechamber beyond. The private solar served as the chamber where he held council with his guardsmen. One such meeting had taken place this very morning, which was why he was here now instead of where he should be—training his men for the battle that was sure to come.
He paused outside for a moment, enjoying the joyful sounds of the pipes. Then he opened the door and started through, but the gurgle of laughter stopped him in his tracks. Mary and Gilly stood clapping their hands to the beat of the music as Flora and Murdoch spun and stepped in an energetic dance. All four were smiling and laughing. He hesitated to intrude. It was the first time he’d seen Mary smile in a week. The extent of his relief told him how much her unhappiness had weighed on him. He’d even begun to think that Flora might have been right. Did his sister truly care for his captain? And if so, did it change anything?
Lachlan wasn’t a man used to second-guessing himself. He supposed he had Flora to “thank” for that as well.
His gaze shifted to the source of his troubles. God, she was beautiful. His chest tightened just looking at her. And never far behind was the memory of that kiss. Of how damn much he wanted her, with an intensity that had penetrated deep into his bones.
He should have taken her that day on the beach. But his own reaction and the depth of his emotion to the kiss had disconcerted him. He’d been lost in the haze of a desire so strong, it went well beyond mere lust. And that realization had taken him aback—and held him back.
But no longer. The latest news smuggled out of Breacachadh warned that the situation on Coll had grown dire. As he’d feared, Hector was stripping his land and ill-treating his clan. At the council earlier today, his guardsmen had clamored to do something. But his hands were tied. If they attacked Hector right now, they would lose. They needed support. Argyll’s support. And Lachlan couldn’t attack Hector while his brother was in prison and subject to the whims of an angry king. But the waiting was driving him crazy. Every instinct urged him to attack, but his clan would never have survived this long if he were one to act recklessly.
He needed to marry Flora…now. He didn’t have the time to let nature take its course. In this case, it might need some prodding. And there was one way to assure that it happened right away.
Flora’s cheeks flushed pink, and her eyes sparkled with laughter. He’d never seen her look so radiant. This was the girl he’d heard about at court. This was the girl who could break a thousand hearts.
She wasn’t what he’d expected. She was headstrong and stubborn, but confident and compassionate as well. She was also lonely, scared, and emotionally scarred by her mother’s death—or, perhaps more so, by her life. But what stunned him most was her passion. She might be a sophisticated courtier, but she burned as hot as he did.
He knew she’d softened toward him, but would the attraction between them be enough for her to forsake her life in the Lowlands? To put to rest her fears of being used as a political pawn, of not having control? Though he was all too aware that when she found out why he’d brought her here, she’d realize her fears had been justified. The thought was deeply unsettling.
Not for the first time, he wished there were another way.
“Now be ready this time when I jump,” Flora said with mock severity to Murdoch.
“I’ll try,” the lad said. “But I don’t know where to put my hands.” When Murdoch realized what he’d said, his face turned scarlet. They danced in a circle, and then Murdoch took her by the waist and started to lift her.
Lachlan froze. He knew this dance. He hadn’t recognized it at first because it wasn’t usually danced to the pipes. He crossed the room in three long strides. The music stopped, and he felt four sets of eyes on him. Five, actually, including the piper’s.
“Brother,” Gilly said, clearly surprised by the interruption. And enormously pleased. He rarely appeared during the day; usually he was training his warriors or attending to the administration of the clan. Lachlan couldn’t tear his eyes away from Flora, but he spoke to Murdoch. “You’ll drop her like that, lad.”
“I know,” Murdoch said miserably. “I’ve done so three times.”
Lachlan heard Gilly snicker, but he would reprimand her later. Right now, he had eyes for only one person. He stepped in front of Murdoch and took Flora’s hand. “May I?”
Eyes wide, she nodded.
“Duncan,” Lachlan said, indicating for the music to begin again.
It had been a long time since he’d been to court and stayed long enough to dance, and it took him a moment to remember the steps. But after a few minutes it came back to him, and he relaxed, allowing himself to enjoy the subtle flirtation of the dance. And of touching her. Holding her so close to his body, he could feel the gentle warmth surrounding her and smell her delicate floral scent. With shouts of encouragement from the enthusiastic gallery, he and Flora executed the intricate dance steps of the galliard with smooth precision.
Never had he been so aware of the movements of another. He felt tied to her, bound by some invisible cord. Each time their hands touched, he felt a shock run through him. The quickening of her breath and the race of her heart were like an elixir. From her expression, he could tell that she was just as affected.
They moved to a close position. She shuddered when his hand slid around her waist to her hip, and her hand came up to rest on his shoulder. They were so close now, their bodies almost touching. It was torture, holding her like this and not kissing her.
They stepped forward in a turn, and when the moment came to lift her, their timing was perfect. Just as she sprang into the air, he lifted her up with his hands, using his thigh for support. He held her there for a long beat and slid her down, tight against his body, savoring every moment of the physical connection. His body responded instantly to her sweet femininity. Never once did he take his gaze from her, unable to turn away from what he saw in her eyes, even though it made his chest ache.
It took him a moment to realize that the music had stopped and that his sisters were cheering. Hell, he’d forgotten they weren’t alone. Releasing her, he took a step back, breathing heavily from the exertion of the dance. And from something else.
“That was wonderful, brother,” Gilly said. “Why have you never told us you knew these dances?”
He turned to his siste
r and shrugged. “There’s not much opportunity for court dances in the Highlands.”
“No, there’s not,” Flora argued, “which is why—”
He didn’t let her finish, anticipating what she might say. “I need to speak with Mistress MacLeod,” he said to the others. “In private.”
“But…” Flora stopped her protest when she saw how quickly they moved to do his bidding.
When the door clicked shut, she swung back around on him with her hands on her hips. “We weren’t done. Do you know how hard it was for me to find someone willing to help?”
“I can imagine,” he said dryly, knowing his men.
She sighed and then shot him a curious glance. “So you have spent some time at court.”
He shrugged. “Long enough to learn a few dances.”
Her gaze turned probing. “What else are you hiding?”
He stiffened. Inadvertently, she’d hit precariously close to the truth. He steered her away with a jest. “Not a gold silk peascod and slops, I assure you.”
Her mouth twitched. “Somehow I can’t quite picture you in anything but Highland garb. Though I’m sure you would look magnificent in anything—”
She stopped, her cheeks flaming with color.
He warmed, not at the compliment, but at the underlying sentiment—and at what it had revealed. Aye, she was softening. And it made him happy for more reasons than it should.
Trying to cover up her mistake, she turned, intending to replace the chairs she’d moved for the dancing.
“Don’t.” He took her by the arm. “I’ll have some of my men see to it.”
She stared at his hand wrapped around her arm as if he’d branded her. “Was there something you wanted?” she asked tightly.
Yes, damn it. You.
But that wasn’t why he’d come. Hell, he’d almost forgotten. He dropped her arm. “I’ve been informed of some disturbing threats being issued against some of my men. Threats that have my men very angry and tired. And when my men are angry and tired, it becomes my problem.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she said, trying to flounce away.
But he took hold of her again, stopping her. “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” He brought her a little closer, took her chin in his hand, and forced her to look at him. “Do you deny giving instructions on private matters, such as the sleeping arrangements of a man and his wife?”
She shrugged indifferently. “I don’t recall.”
He didn’t buy her innocent act for one moment. It sounded exactly like something she would do. He’d heard an earful from his men about her interference all morning. She’d damn well better explain herself.
He brought her closer still, his anger overriding his good sense. She wasn’t as blithe as she seemed; he could see the nervous pulse in her neck—right below her tiny soft ear. If he put his mouth…God, he wanted to make her come apart in his arms.
“You encouraged the women to ban the men from their beds?”
A telltale blush stained her cheeks. “I did no such thing.”
Minx. Why must she always challenge him? “Let me refresh your memory. Do you recall discussing my men’s bathing habits?”
She lifted her chin defiantly. Always so damn defiant.
The air between them felt suddenly charged. Every inch of his body was primed to take her in his arms and bring her to submission. To bring her to him. He’d had enough. He hadn’t planned on this, but his patience had just run out. He wouldn’t force her, but then again he wouldn’t need to.
For more reasons than one, it was time for this dance to end.
Flora didn’t know what made her persist in flirting with danger. She knew she was pushing him, knew that she was making him angry, but somehow it didn’t matter. She liked him like this. Liked the glimpse of emotion. For the past week, he’d been unfailingly attentive, polite, patient—not objecting to anything—and remote. She hated it. Where was the man who had kissed her with such fiery passion?
The steely control that she admired also served to keep a part of him away from her. But when he was angry, he didn’t hold back. And there was something exciting, and more than a bit thrilling, about that.
She purposefully feigned boredom, flicking at a ball of fuzz off the shoulder of his plaid. “I may have said something about a man bedding down with dogs if he smelled like one.”
He was furious, though she suspected it was more her attitude than her words.
“And don’t you think that might have been interpreted the wrong way?”
“How so? I think they interpreted it precisely as I intended it. I see no reason why a man can’t wash before he comes home to his wife.” She looked at him pointedly. “You always smell clean. I wouldn’t kick you out—”
She put her hand over her mouth, mortified by what she’d been about to say. But in truth, with him standing so close she couldn’t think about anything other than how amazing he smelled. And of nestling up and resting her cheek against that warm, broad chest.
His eyes darkened, and his voice was dangerously low. “You wouldn’t kick me out of where, Flora?”
He was looking at her as if he wanted to ravish her, but it didn’t frighten her at all. It actually sent a thrill of anticipation shooting through her veins. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. “I was speaking metaphorically.”
His arm slid around her waist. The way it had been when they’d danced. That dance…She shivered. He could put any courtier to shame. Who would have thought a warrior of his size would dance so beautifully? Graceful, but strong. When he lifted her, she’d felt as light as a feather. It was different dancing with him. She’d never been so aware of a man’s hands on her. She’d never noticed how seductive a dance could be. How each little touch could shock with tiny tremors of awareness.
She’d never wanted a man before. Not like this. Not with every fiber of her being. The truth hit her square in the chest. She cared for him. He was different. He had to be. She wouldn’t feel like this otherwise. That was what had held her back from trying to escape.
“Where, Flora?”
The dark promise in his voice made her tremble. His mouth was so close. She wanted him to kiss her again. But he knew that. “Bed,” she said softly. “Out of bed.”
With a growl, he kissed her. Nay, not kissed—he devoured her. His mouth was hot and hard, and his lips demanding, as he took her in his arms and kissed her as though he would never let her go.
She wanted to believe it. Wanted to think that the wave of emotion swelling inside her meant something. That the passion between them was special. Because it was to her. No man had ever made her feel this way. Made her blood heat and her limbs go weak with the press of his lips against hers.
All she could think of was getting closer to him. It felt so good, it almost hurt. To be in his arms again. Kissing him. Feeling the familiar hard press of his body against hers and the rapid beat of his heart that did not lie.
His warm masculine scent surrounded her, engulfing her senses. He kissed her harder and deeper. His mouth moved over hers, branding her, searing her with his heat. But it wasn’t enough. Wrapping her hands around his neck, she leaned her body closer, dissolving. Moaning as the passion welled inside her. She opened her mouth, wanting the wicked press of his tongue against hers. Wanting the dark, rich taste of him filling her mouth.
With a groan, he complied, sinking his tongue deep into her mouth. She opened to him, returning the sensual thrusts of his tongue the way he’d taught her. The subtle erotic rhythm increased the strange restlessness rising inside her, struggling to break free. He bent her farther back, taking her even deeper as his hands slid down to her bottom and he lifted her firmly against him.
She melted in a pool of heat, feeling the power of his erection pressing against her, hot and demanding. He was big and hard, just like the rest of him. She shivered, this time not with fear, but with desire, and felt a wicked urge to rub up against the solid len
gth of him. She might be a maid, but she was well-enough versed in the details of mating—courtesy of the more profligate women at court.
He pressed against her again, this time more insistently, setting off a thousand little explosions of awareness. Unconsciously, her legs opened around him, wanting to feel him closer.
He froze, every muscle in his body taut. She could almost feel the blood surging through his veins under her palms. “Do that again, lass,” he whispered against her mouth, “and having care for your innocence will be the last thing on my mind.”
Heat stained her cheeks. “I’m sorry—”
But he pressed his finger over her mouth, stopping her. “Your instincts are perfect, my sweet. I just want you too much.” His eyes were dark and stormy. “I want to give you pleasure.”
He already was. Unimaginable pleasure.
She relaxed, closing her eyes as his warm mouth trailed down her neck, making her shiver. His hands were on her breasts, squeezing gently as his mouth slid over the sensitive flesh of her chest. She didn’t know what he was doing, but she didn’t care. Deftly he worked the fastenings of her gown and kirtle loose enough so that with a gentle tug her breasts popped over her stays. He didn’t move, staring at her until her skin flushed pink under the smoldering intensity of his gaze.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he said hoarsely. He glanced up at her, perhaps sensing her embarrassment. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, lass. Your breasts are perfect. Big and round. I can’t wait to taste you.”
She shivered.
He weighed her in his hands, sliding his thumb over the taut tip of one nipple, and her legs turned to jelly.
She grasped his broad shoulders to prevent herself from collapsing, savoring the feel of the hard, bulging muscles in her hands. God, he was strong, every inch of him as tightly wrought as steel. Just touching him sent a thrill surging through her. Though the linen of his shirt was fine, she felt a violent urge to rip it off him and splay her hands across his hot skin, recalling all too well the hard, sculpted ridges of his magnificent chest.