Page 14 of A Wife for the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #3)

Alasdair woke up in his chamber with the image of Lily still fresh in his mind.

Heavens.

He saw her when he closed his eyes and felt her mouth against his. He heard the sound of her breath when he pressed her against the wall, and the memory stirred him at once.

He shifted in the bed with a low groan.

Great. Just Great.

He was already rock hard. Painfully hard. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to steady his breathing. It did nothing, and the ache only grew stronger, a weight that demanded immediate release.

He thought of her again. The way she opened her mouth when he brushed his fingers across her lips. The way her body shook when he drew her near. The feel of her curves beneath her nightgown. Her hair spilling loose as though it were meant for his hands alone.

His chest rose higher with each thought, and the ache in his groin throbbed like a blistering wound.

He could not bear it. He rose and walked to the bathing chamber. He exhaled and poured water into the tub, watching the steam fill the air. Then, he stripped out of his clothes and stepped in. At first, the heat calmed him, but soon it made him feel worse.

He was hard again, harder still, and he had to clench his jaw. A low sound tore from his throat. His head fell back, and he closed his eyes.

Lily.

He imagined her in the water with him. Her thighs around him. Her lips parting beneath his. Her breath warm against his ear as she begged him not to stop.

A sharp knock sounded at the door, jolting him out of his thoughts.

His chest heaved, and he cleared his throat, watching the door creak open.

Nathan stepped inside and stopped at once. His eyes met Alasdair’s and dropped to the floor immediately. “Apologies, me Laird.”

“‘Tis fine.”

Nathan nodded. “Me Laird, the elders sent word. They said that they will return this afternoon.”

Alasdair dragged his hands from the water and gripped the rim of the tub. “Could they wait until next week? What if Lily is as busy today as she was yesterday?”

Nathan hesitated, then took a step forward. “May I speak freely, me Laird?”

“Aye. Speak.”

Nathan exhaled. “As ye ken, I worked with yer braither.”

“Aye,” Alasdair muttered. “Jeremiah did ken how to deal with them.”

“He did,” Nathan said. “And he learned quickly. At first, he fought them with anger. He thought strength would silence them. But it didnae. It only emboldened them. These people thrive on pride. They take a man’s fire and use it to turn others against him.”

Alasdair blinked. “I daenae understand.”

Nathan exhaled. “Me Laird, I am saying these men are cunning. Ye may think they are on yer side and that they have yer best interests at heart. But by the time ye realize they have been against ye the whole time and want nothing but yer death, it might be too late.”

A tense silence ensued, and Alasdair’s eyes narrowed. “So what did Jeremiah do, then?”

“He changed,” Nathan responded. “He gave them patience and silence when they wanted nothing but fury. He let them believe they had the sharper tongue, but in truth, it was he who weighed every word. He spoke little, but when he did, it was final. They couldnae twist it. They couldnae turn it. And in time, they grew to fear him more than they feared his sword.”

Alasdair leaned back against the edge of the tub, his jaw tight as Nathan’s words sank into him like stone. After a long while, he exhaled, long and slow.

“And ye think patience will change them?”

“I think it will unnerve them,” Nathan replied firmly. “Ye cannae meet fire with fire. If ye lose yer temper, they will say ye are unfit. If ye let them strike, and ye answer only when it matters, they will see that their barbs cannae pierce ye. That frightens men like them more than any blade.”

Alasdair sat in silence, his hands still gripping the edge of the tub until his knuckles whitened. His groin still throbbed, but his mind began to settle. “Ye may be right.”

“I am, me Laird,” Nathan said quietly. “I watched yer braither interact with them. He always kept his calm and never let them see his anger. Do the same, and they will learn that ye arenae a man to be swayed or broken.”

Alasdair let out a slow breath. “I thank ye for yer counsel.”

Nathan shifted. “Shall I wait for ye, in case ye wish to ride out later this morning?”

Alasdair looked down at the water; he was still hard. His jaw tightened. “Go on ahead. I will join ye later.”

Nathan bowed his head. “Aye, me Laird.” He turned to the door, then paused. “Forgive me for speaking so plainly.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Alasdair said. “Now, go.”

Nathan nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

Silence fell again, and Alasdair leaned forward with his head in his hands. His body was still burning. He groaned low and slid deeper into the water, letting it cover his chest, neck, and face. The cold stung him, but at least it dulled the ache.

When he rose for breath, water streamed down his face. The ache had lessened, but it was not gone. He leaned back against the tub and closed his eyes.

It was only morning, and Lily was already affecting him this much. He needed to get it under control.

When he finished his bath and wore his clothes, he stepped out and crossed the passageway with steady steps, his jaw tight, though he told himself to relax.

He stopped before her chamber door and raised his hand. His knuckles struck the wood with a dull thud that echoed through the passageway, and he waited.

He heard the soft tread of her feet on the other side, then the knob twisted. The door opened, and she stood there, her hair falling loose over her shoulders. He studied her face and how the light from her chamber cast a glow on it.

For the briefest of moments, he forgot what he wanted to say.

She remained in the doorway, her eyes narrowed, until he finally remembered why he had come.

“May I come in?” he asked.

She stepped aside without a word, and he entered.

The air inside was warmer, and the smell of herbs and soap filled his nose. His eyes swept across the chamber. He studied the bed, which was neatly made, and spotted the cloak draped over the chair. Then, his eyes returned to the open window and finally to her.

“Where is Daisy?” he asked.

“She is off eating breakfast,” Lily responded, her voice clear.

His eyebrow rose. “Eating? She left her post so early?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I ordered her to eat. I willnae have a maid fainting beside me because she works on an empty stomach.”

Alasdair studied her, the firmness of her tone, the way her eyes held his without fear. A small smile tugged at his mouth, though he tried to hide it.

“How considerate of ye,” he murmured.

“‘Tis nae me being considerate,” she answered. “‘Tis simple decency. One doesnae need to be a laird or a lady to ken that.”

Her words cut through him, and yet he couldn’t stop looking at her lips. He couldn’t even push down the heated memory of them moving against his. He remembered the hitch in her breath as she had pulled him close.

The memory stirred him again; he could feel his groin tightening.

Good God. Was this going to happen every time he saw her now?

He shifted, willing himself to control it, but the ache was persistent. He placed his hand over his belt subtly and hoped she did not notice.

Her eyes narrowed a little. “What are ye doing here anyway? Daenae tell me ye thought ye can finish?—”

He cleared his throat, interrupting her. “I am nae here for that,” he said, though his body begged otherwise. “Even if I wished it had gone further, ye stopped. I only wanted to ken why.”

She cocked her head. “Because I felt like stopping it.”

The words struck him as if she had cut him with a blade, but he said nothing in response. Instead, he drew in a breath and nodded once. “Very well.”

He tried to ignore the hurt in his chest and sound calm, though he wanted to demand more of her. He stepped closer and lowered his voice.

“The council returns today. I would have ye there. I willnae command it, as I can see ye daenae like being ordered around. So I only ask. But they are comin’ to see ye specifically, and ye will make things easier on all of us if ye speak a few pretty words to them.”

Lily crossed the bare floor toward the chair and sat, her fingers trailing over the wooden armrest. “I told ye before. I am only here to heal, nae to play the lady of a clan. Unless ye wish to threaten me with imprisonment.”

“Nay,” he said, his voice hard. “Nay imprisonment. I only ask that ye think of the people. We just ended a war. It will do them good if they look to their Lady as well as their Laird. If ye stand with me, they will see it.”

He paused, half hoping the words would sink in.

“They need to see it.”

She lifted her chin, her eyes narrowed on him. For a long moment, she said nothing. The silence thickened until, at last, she gave a nod. “Very well. I will come.”

“Thank ye.”

Relief washed over him. His shoulders relaxed, but he kept his expression neutral. He turned as though to leave when his eyes landed on the open wardrobe at the side of the chamber.

Inside, the dresses he had chosen for her hung neatly on their hooks. The sight pulled him forward, his hand reaching to brush the fabric. It shone in the light and felt soft beneath his palm.

“These are fine dresses,” he said, his voice low. His eyes lingered on one. A gown of moonlight blue, threaded with silver lace across the bodice. “This one is me favorite. When I saw it, I couldnae help but picture ye in it. I still do every day.”

Lily rose slowly from her chair, and her eyes narrowed. “If ye think that will make me wear it, ye are wrong.”

He turned his head toward her, and a sly smile touched his mouth, though it did not reach his eyes. “Fair enough.”

She did not move. She only stared at him as though she wished to read his mind. He let the fabric fall from his hand and turned back toward the door.

The walk out of her chamber was difficult, and he felt the pull of her gaze on his back. He felt the ache in his groin. It was still strong, though he fought to master it.

He stepped into the passageway at last and pulled the door shut behind him. His breath came hard, and he pressed a hand to the wall, grounding himself.

He had to control himself. He could not go on like this, so easily puppeteered by her voice or her face or even nothing but the memory of her lips.

He had to find a way to keep calm in her presence. Yet the mere thought of it already sounded like a losing battle.