Page 15 of Bewitching the Knight (A Knight’s Tale #2)

T he next morning, Samantha was immersed in setting up the dig site. It had a twofold purpose. One, she really wanted to see what was there. As the castle was built of wood, then of stone, this site had probably been there a long time. It might even have been the location of another village. Ian didn’t necessarily know everything he thought he knew. Beth, Janetta, and the others she’d asked at breakfast didn’t know anything about it. There could be some really old stuff out here. Old even in this time.

And two, since she’d talked Ian into going with her, she could keep an eye on him so he wasn’t poisoned, thrown from a horse, stabbed, beheaded, or anything else. Unfortunately, the historical accounts hadn’t specified how he’d died; just that he’d been murdered on September 30 th , 1260. If records of the event had been better kept—with pesky details like by what method he’d been murdered—maybe she’d trust the exact date more, but since she didn’t, she’d have to keep him close. Not exactly a hardship.

It was a warm autumn day, and it was only going to get hotter. Perfect weather for an excavation. Perfect for ditching murderers.

Samantha pointed to a young man. “You there. Finn is it?”

The young man hurried over and Samantha handed him one of the wood shovels with the iron reinforced bands she’d managed to procure. She pointed. “I want you to dig here. What we’re going to do is pull up the grass and roll it back like a carpet, all right? So I want you on this outer edge, push the shovel into the grass, then lift it, and do it again and again down to that rock. Okay? Give me a nice straight line.”

The boy nodded and she watched a moment, then instructed several other boys to dig the other perimeters.

Ian stood, his arms crossed, watching the entire spectacle with amusement.

“Care to help?”

Ian snorted, walked over to a large rock, and sat. “I’m just here to observe, or rather, to see if you truly intend to dig up an old rubbish heap.”

Samantha placed hands on hips. “It’s what I do. Anyway, you don’t know for sure it’s a rubbish heap.”

“You say it took years of training to learn this skill?” His expression was dubious.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I can see where this is going. But shut it, and you just might learn something.”

She had about ten to fifteen helpers at any given time, some coming, others losing interest and leaving, but it didn’t take long for those most interested to get into it, and the boys, and one girl, quickly pulled and rolled the grass. It gave them a nicely cut and uniform area to work with. Already she could see partially buried items, and what looked like broken pottery, or tiles, or crockery.

After the grass was removed, Ian finally wandered over, eating berries. He offered her a few. “I found these over in the brush. Care to taste?”

“No, thank you.” She waved away the offer as she crouched, studied the ground, and ran her fingers over a few spots.

He popped a few purple berries into his mouth. “What exactly are you searching for?”

Samantha pointed at some shards sticking out of the ground. “We’ll start with those.”

One of the boys quickly latched onto a large piece and tugged, and another boy dug his shovel into the newly revealed earth.

“No.” Samantha waved a hand. “Don’t yank at things. And if you dig like that, you might break something.”

Shamefaced the boys backed away. What she wouldn’t do for some decent trowels and screens right about now. And a hand broom and dustpan would be useful. And a camera, and a measuring tape. She sighed and turned to Ian. “You’d be surprised by what we might find. I can’t tell you how many times we’ve dug up jewels, skeletons, and torture devices. Once we found a sword that looked like it was covered in blood, but it was only rust, of course. Still, it was creepy.”

The boys whispered, smiled, and appeared more interested. Never let it be said she didn’t know how to handle her interns.

Ian pointed. “What about that?”

Samantha had her eye on the bulging earth. It could be earthenware, maybe a vase, but with only a tiny piece of white showing it could be anything. She hoped it was intact. She smiled at Ian. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

She instructed everyone to walk carefully, not to move anything, and to watch how she cleared the dirt so they could help do the same. Ian stayed at her side, still interested.

Kneeling in the freshly revealed dirt, she smiled, the familiar excitement thrumming through her. Using her fingers, she started to carefully clear the dirt. Without even glancing at Ian, she was hyper-aware of the fact he stood close. She was starting to care about the guy. The real man, this time. Maybe too much. She probably needed to try guarding her predisposed heart a little better.

She cleared the edges and the object proved to be rounded, and so far, intact. She glanced up the see the boys watching carefully. “Hand me one of the spoons I brought, will you?” She used the wooden spoon to carefully dig in the dirt.

Ian shifted on his feet. “Just pull it out.”

Samantha shot him a glare. “You have to be careful.”

“This is tedious—and hot—and unpleasant.”

“What are you, ten? And anyway, you’re unpleasant.”

He chuckled.

She glanced up at him. “You know, recently my boss made me take a class on How to Win Friends and Influence People. You could do with taking such a course.”

“I’ve heard tale of it before.”

She shot him another look. “Sure, you have.”

“I assure you, I have. ’Tis written down, is it not? A scribe telling the reader such foolishness as to smile and remember the names of those he meets.”

She glanced up, trying to remember if she’d talked about this with him before. Probably. He obviously needed the instruction. “Well, if you’re so bored, go on and try it out. See if it works for you. Try it on these boys.”

“Think you I won’t?”

Ah. She’d heard that tone before. A man who couldn’t resist a dare. “Of course you won’t. You’ll just stand around being petulant and bored.” Samantha glanced at her young interns, looking ill-at-ease as they studied their laird. More adults came and went on the road, if you could call the dirt path a road, and two new boys headed their way.

Ian lifted a hand. “Greetings, Gowen. Are you not the smith’s son? How do you this fine day?”

Samantha lifted her head to see Gowan’s confused expression, then giggled and went back to digging.

“And Hugh? How do you? Are you enjoying helping Cook turn the spits in the kitchen?”

Samantha chuckled, but didn’t glance up this time. Her prize lay partially exposed. Soon, she’d identify it in all its glory.

Ian sighed. “The boys are leaving. Was that the intended response?”

Samantha giggled. “Looks like you need more practice.”

Ian bent over to get a better view of what she was doing. “Pull it out now.”

She brushed more dirt away. “Not quite yet.”

Another sigh. “We used to have to stand about like this for the king. So dinna worry, I’m used to it.” There was a lilt to his voice. A challenge. He knew that would get her attention.

She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but couldn’t help it. She glanced up. “What were you doing?”

Ian smiled, obviously gratified by her interest. “Mostly keeping watch for the husbands of the women he was…” he glanced at the boys. “Visiting.”

Samantha sat back on her heels. “King Alexander is already a rogue? At his young age?”

“As to that, I canna say.” He tilted his head toward the boys.

Samantha clapped her hands. “Boys, time to take a break.” After they were out of earshot, she said, “Tell me.”

Ian’s lips curled. “The king once pressed me and another guard to watch the door of a married lady he was fond of. He knew my feelings about faithlessness, and commanded me anyhow. As we stood about, the lady’s husband returned early. Suspicious, I expect.”

Her eyes widened. “He did not. What did you do?”

“I rushed after the husband to save the king, only to find him sitting with three ladies, a boy, and a priest, having a lesson. They all looked as surprised as we felt, though feigned, no doubt. The husband gaped like a fish sucking air. Especially when they asked him to join ’em.”

She giggled. “They did not. You’re pulling my leg.”

“I’m what?” He glanced at her legs, tucked beneath her.

“Teasing me.”

“Ah. I later saw the boy, the one who’d been wi’ them. He was showing his friends a gold ring. It was the ring the king wore on his smallest finger, and I asked him where he got it. The boy admitted he knew of the husband’s plan and warned the lady. So when I next saw the king, I asked him where his ring had got to. For reasons unknown to me, he stormed off without answering.”

She laughed. After a slight hesitation, she asked, “And how do you feel about faithlessness? You said the king knew how you felt.”

He gazed down at her. “Marriage is sacred.” He wasn’t smiling now, but serious. “A vow not to be broken. Ever.”

A firestorm of emotion rushed through Samantha, pooling in her stomach, leaving her heart beating hard. She swallowed. “I feel the same.” Ducking her head, feeling foolish—after all, Ian wasn’t referring to vows made to her —she went back to digging and within a few moments Ian sighed again. She’d sufficiently dug around the thing to know it wasn’t broken, and since she was afraid he’d leave, she did something she never did. With a twinge of guilt, she pulled the item out of the ground. Thankfully the object came away in one piece. It only took a moment to recognize it and her jaw dropped.

Ian laughed. He threw his head back and within moments was laughing so hard he wheezed. The boys came running to see and they started to giggle.

Samantha shot Ian an annoyed glance. “For your information, bucko, this is a good find.” She shook the pot.

Ian was still laughing when he said breathlessly, “If…if it’s a chamber pot you need, you…ye’ll find plenty at Inverdeem. They’re all about the place.”

She shook her head and studied the pot. That attitude, right there, was why she shouldn’t have a crush on Ian. He wasn’t a nice man. But her lips twitched and she acknowledged that, jerk or not, he was funny. Besides, there was no helping how she felt. “I’ve found worse.”

His laughter died off a bit at a time. He wiped his eyes. “And better, as well, I’d hope?”

She lifted her head, met his gaze, and arched a brow. “Yes, I’ve found some very valuable objects in my time. Objects fit for a king, in fact.”

Now it was his turn for narrowed eyes.

And her turn to laugh.

Later in the day they walked the castle road, everyone returning at once.

“I still don’t see why we couldn’t stay longer.” Samantha’s slightly petulant tone had Ian biting his tongue to keep from grinning.

“Everyone is hungry,” he said. “’Tis time for supper.”

“We could just eat the rest of the berries the children picked.”

Ian managed to keep from laughing and admitted he’d enjoyed the day. More for the charming company than the task. “The extras go to Cook. I hope she’ll make pie.”

Samantha stopped talking, but remained cross, her brows drawn as she studied the ground.

Ian bit back another smile and admitted he liked her. Her obsession with digging up old things was amusing, especially the seriousness with which she took up the task. After the chamber pot, she’d been overly-excited to find a broken basin, an old piece of wood she’d determined an important artifact, and decorative tiles of some sort. All of it rubbish, just as he’d predicted. All of it meaningful as far as she was concerned.

The boys were a bit on the sullen side, kicking rocks out of the road, occasionally jostling each other. The fact that moldering bones and torture devices remained undiscovered had about ruined their day. Ian smothered a laugh.

As they headed down the road, he noticed another group coming toward them. Probably more curiosity seekers, too late to play in the scrap heap. Everyone from castle to village seemed interested in Samantha’s endeavor, and Ian had no doubt news had already spread about the chamber pot, much to the amusement of all, surely.

As they ambled closer, Ian recognized Willie and several men from the village. The old man walked with purpose, his chest stuck out, stabbing a walking stick into the ground as he strode toward them, resolve and intent in every step.

Ian reached for his dagger, then scoffed when he realized he’d done so. The last thing he wished was to end such an enjoyable day with ugliness, but his weapon would not be necessary against his own clan.

Ian stopped walking, as did everyone else, except Samantha who wasn’t paying attention. He held out an arm, forcing her to hold. “Samantha, stand back.”

She glanced up, startled. “What? Why?” She noticed the approaching men. “Oh,” she said in a small voice. The fear-laced tone from this intelligent, proud, and canny woman infuriated him. She stepped back among the others who, Ian was gratified to see, engulfed her among them, effectively hiding her.

The two groups met, stopped, and faced off. Ian crossed his arms. “Aye? What is it, Willie?” Ian’s tone held a warning. “You look like a man wi’ much on your mind.”

Willie’s jaw jutted forward. “We’ve come for the witch.”

Ian lowered his brows, irritated. “Which witch?”

Willie’s face scrunched with anger. “Ye know verra well which one. She’s the only one you’ve got. We mean to see her.”

“She’s a seer?” Ian said coldly, deliberately misunderstanding for the second time. “I thought you said she was a witch.”

Willie glowered, his white hair lifting in the breeze. “The fact she’s bewitched you proves that.”

Ian tilted his head. “I dinna feel spellbound.”

“Weel, you wouldna, would you?”

“Convenient logic, that, is it not?”

“Truth.”

Ian let out a harsh breath. “I’m trying to be patient wi’ you, I truly am.”

Willie jabbed a finger in the air. “I want that witch burned, Ian McGregor. She’s causing all sorts of trouble in the village yer turnin’ a blind eye to. Your father would have seen to such by now.”

“Unfortunately for you, I’m not my father nor the type of man to stand by and watch an innocent woman burn for the amusement of cruel and impious savages.”

Willie’s eyes widened with offense. “I’m a savage now, am I?” He pointed to Samantha. “The Godly thing to do is to send her back to her master before she visits more evil.”

Ian crossed his arms. “And what evil might ye be referring to?”

“Mistress Kila has taken sick. And Molly cut her hand this morn while making breakfast. And Nola’s wee kitten died.” Willie appeared positively triumphant. “The third one in the last fortnight. What say you to that?”

“Only that I hope Kila feels better soon, and that Molly is more careful around knives. As for the cat, how many die each year? It happens often enough.”

Willie’s expression turned ugly, his wrinkles deepening. “Just give her to us and we’ll be on our way.”

Ian glanced behind him. The women surrounding Samantha looked frightened, but she stood tall, her hair glowing that eerie shade in the sunlight. Her face was blank, but he was coming to know her well enough to recognize the strained look in her eyes as fear. But good on her for not showing it.

All the same, Ian’s protective instincts rushed to the fore. He looked into the faces of Willie’s collaborators and they ducked their heads and shuffled their feet. Willie was the only one who met him stare for stare. “I wasna aware you’d been made laird in my absence this day.” He jerked his chin at the other men. “You follow Willie now, do ye?”

The men, shoulders slumping, eyes on the ground, withdrew a few feet, offering soft denials and excuses.

“I expect Willie’s been alleging omens and portents—and if any in the village so much as sneezes—’tis the Lady Samantha to blame, eh? I’d thought better of you men.”

As his kinsmen shuffled again, Willie’s lips tightened. “Does this female, come from nowhere, mean more to you than the safety of your own people? Do ye even see us as kin?”

“O’ course you’re my kin, but mine to rule. I’d stop my own father from killing an innocent woman.”

“Only as you’d no love for your father.” Spit flew from Willie’s mouth and he tried to push past Ian. There were gasps of fear and outrage from both parties at the attempt.

Incredulous the man would use force against him, his laird , Ian tripped Willie and let him fall to the ground, hard. Jaw clenched tight, anger pulsing through him, Ian slowly withdrew a dagger. Willie, wide-eyed, flinched as Ian crouched and pressed the sharp blade to his throat. The old man whimpered.

“You’re the one who doesna understand.” He spoke softly, but even he could hear the anger in his gruff, low tone. “Anyone, and I mean anyone, who burns another woman to death in my clan will suffer the same fate by my own hand. D’ye understand now?” He looked at the gathered men. “And that includes every-man-one-of-you. Are we clear enough?”

After gazing long and hard into Willie’s frightened eyes, Ian removed the knife from his throat and stood.

Willie scrambled to his feet and glared at Samantha, now visible, even as he shuffled away. “You’ve bewitched him. He’s turnin’ against his own kind.”

Samantha stepped forward. “I haven’t done anything to you. I swear I’d never harm anyone. Why are you doing this?”

Ian answered before Willie could spew more venom. “Why does any man do such a thing? Fear and ignorance. I saw it happen wi’ my very eyes when I was young. A traveling priest murdered my mother whilst everyone in the village stood about watching. No one should have the power of life and death beyond God.” Ian raised his voice. “Do ye think you’re God Almighty Himself, Willie? Shall we kneel on bended knee before you?”

Willie, backing away, shook his head. “Nay. We’ve simply an obligation to—”

Ian didn’t wish to hear it again. “How old were you when my mother was slain? Old enough to stop it, I’ll wager. Did you enjoy the sight? The smell? I remember it myself to this very day. Where was your blasted obligation then?” He yelled the last after the retreating men.

“Yer mother’s death blinds you,” Willie called back. After casting one last venomous glare, the old man hobbled down the road, his lackeys already moving fast ahead of him.

Samantha touched Ian’s arm and he tensed. “I’m sorry. Your mother…” She shook her head, clutched his upper arm, and pressed her head to his shoulder. After a long moment, he pulled free and hauled her into his side and she wrapped her arms around his waist.

They stood, sharing heat and comfort, as Ian slowly calmed.

He needed to get some answers to his questions about the crown, find out who Samantha’s people were, and send her home. He’d have to accompany her. With hair like hers, she’d not last a day before some frightened simpleton killed her. The thought of her dead…his jaw clenched and his hold tightened for a moment before he reluctantly pulled away and started walking again.

That was, of course, what he should do. Send her on her way. But he wasn’t sure he would. If he waited long enough, the snow might fall. Then it would be too late. She’d have to stay until the spring at the very least.

In the meanwhile, he’d have to watch her closely. Not exactly a hardship, he admitted. His gaze landed on the freshly picked berries, tied in a handkerchief and carried by a young girl. It gave him an idea. While he might not be willing to take her anywhere for the moment, but on the morrow, when the sun was high again, mayhap it was time he did something about that hair.

* * *

At midday the next afternoon, with the sun high in the sky, Samantha lifted her bare feet from the river and pulled her knees close. Sitting on the shore in a borrowed brown dress, she shivered. “It feels slimy and cold.”

Ian, lying in the tall grass a couple of feet away, eyes closed, arms crossed behind his head, didn’t move. “I’ve no doubt it is.”

A moment later Samantha sighed. “I’m hungry.”

Ian chuckled, the sound deep and low, making her shiver, but he still didn’t open his eyes. “Aye. We’ll go have a bite in a while.”

A few minutes later Samantha squirmed, trying to get comfortable on the grass. “My dress itches.”

Ian sighed. “Then take it off. I was simply trying to preserve your modesty, but if ye have none, then be done wi’ it.”

Samantha turned a narrow-eyed gaze onto him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Ian finally cracked an eye and grinned. “I would, indeed.”

Samantha sighed, put her feet in the cold water again, and wiggled her toes. The water sluiced over them and she dug her heels into the dark mud. “How much longer does it have to stay on?”

“Another few minutes should do the trick. We don’t wish to rinse it off before the stain takes, do we? ’Twould be a waste of berries.”

Samantha glanced at him. “This better work,” she said darkly. Not wanting to dye her hands, she resisted the urge to itch her goopy head. Ian had mashed the berries and spread the mixture and had the stained purple hands to prove it. “Are you sure about this? Purple is just blue and red, so what if it simply turns out more red?”

“It won’t. But I suppose if it does, it’ll prove you’re a witch.”

She flicked water on him.

He flinched, chuckled and settled more comfortably on the ground. “Don’t blame me. All I know is I had to do aught about your hair before it gets you killed. Or would you rather shave the whole mass off and be done wi’ it? We could tell my clan you’d had a sudden bout of fever.”

Samantha shot him another dark look. “Try it, buster and see what happens.”

Ian laughed, opened his eyes, and studied her. “I don’t know what you’re so cross about. I gave up pie for you. And look at this.” He lifted his hands, stained from mashing the berries and spreading the mixture in her hair.

The purple stains did look strange covering his large hands in uneven patches.

“Are you sure you didn’t drip any onto my face?”

Ian crossed his arms behind his head and closed his eyes once more. “Ungrateful wretch. It would serve you right if I’d dotted your nose. The next time some great fool wishes to color your hair, I hope you find the gumption to tell him no.”

She growled a sound of frustration. “I don’t seem to be very good at that, do I? Any fool who comes along and wants to change my hair color—and I fall for it like a fish on a hook.”

Ian cracked an eye open again. “I’m trying to help you.”

“We’ll see, won’t we?”

Ian lay with his eyes closed, and his arms crossed behind his head, and it gave her the perfect opportunity to study him. His dark hair gleamed in the sunlight. His tanned face and broad cheeks, his long lashes. Mm. He was incredibly handsome. Even in repose his wide shoulders and muscular physique showed to advantage. His long tanned legs, thick with muscle, stretched out and crossed. He was so handsome it almost hurt to look at him. Almost.

“I feel your gaze on me, lass.”

She was embarrassed for a moment, then shrugged. “I can’t help it. You’re pretty to look at.”

She could see his cheeks turning pink and she chuckled and decided to lay it on thicker. “So big, so strong, and handsome,” she purred.

“Enough! Silence yourself and look toward the river.”

Sighing, she did so, and splashed her feet in the water. “Spoilsport.”

He snorted.

Just when she wondered if he’d truly fallen asleep, he finally sat up. “All right, then. Let’s see what we’ve wrought.” He arranged her so she sat on the edge of the shore, her back to the water. He sat facing the river and submerged his feet. He pulled her close, hoisted her upon his lap, and slowly bent her backward. His strength as he gently tilted her, one arm clutching her back, the other her head, was impressive, making her feel light as a feather. Add to that, his nearness, the way she was wrapped so tightly in his arms, the warmth emanating off him, and it all left her breathless. He lowered her until her head touched water.

Samantha stiffened. “It’s cold.”

“Move closer,” he murmured. “I’ll warm you, right quick.”

She laughed.

He rinsed her hair, one hand rubbing the strands as his other arm kept her reclined. It was a vulnerable position, and the feel of his body, those big fingers moving on her scalp, his thighs supporting her back—she swallowed, and deliberately looked up at the blue sky, rather than into his face, so close to her own.

“Lean back a bit further, then.” His voice was low, a quiet rumble as he lowered her.

She obediently wiggled further onto his lap so he could dunk more of her head into the water. It wasn’t so cold now. She was getting used to it. When he started massaging her scalp, the pads of his fingers digging, stroking, she went boneless, her eyes slid shut, and she broke out in goosebumps, nerve ending flaring to life. “Mm. That feels wonderful.”

“Aye,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. “I like the feel of you in my arms, at my mercy.”

She opened her eyes. His face was directly above hers. If he lowered his head they’d be kissing again. Her breath caught as they looked into each others’ eyes, and her mouth tingled with heightened sensitivity.

His hand stilled and he slowly pulled her part way up, only to breathe in sharply, turn his head, and wring out her hair. A moment later he helped her stand, then climbed off the river bank himself.

He straightened and blew out a harsh breath.

Feeling suddenly shy, slightly disappointed, she shivered as the water dripped down the back of her dress. She leaned sideways, wrung out her hair and asked, “Well? How does it look?”

His expression was dubious.

“’Tis darker, anyhow.” He hurried to help her squeeze the mass. “I suppose we’ll have to wait for it to dry to be sure.” His brow furrowed and he looked worried.

Samantha’s mouth parted. “What? Why do you have that expression on your face?”

Ian stepped back—lowered his gaze—rubbed at his neck. “I don’t think ’tis red anymore.”

“What color is it?” Samantha lifted her hair into the direct sunlight. It simply looked wet.

“Mayhap the color of berries? When it dries it’ll no doubt look a bit more brown.”

“Are you saying it’s purple?”

Ian backed away. His cheeks sucked in and it looked like he was trying not to smile. “Perhaps a wee bit.”

She tried to squeeze more water out of it, lifted it again into direct sunlight. Even wet, she could see the purple hue. She looked to see him pressing his lips together. “I can’t believe I let you do this. When am I going to learn?” Her eyes narrowed on his lips, pressed tight. “I have to kill you now. You know that, right?”

Laughter exploded from Ian and he backed away, purple hands raised. “Berry colored is better than sinful red though, right? And anyhow, dinna I tell you to stop letting strange men put colors in your hair?”

Samantha, mouth set, picked up a large stick and started after him. “You’re a dead man, McGregor. A dead man walking.”

Laughing, he turned and ran.

Dropping the stick she picked up one of her shoes and hurled it at him.

He dodged and it missed. Laughing, he snagged it off the ground and held it up, a challenge.

She flung her other shoe and he sidestepped, but it hit his arm and he managed to juggle it in the air for a moment before capturing it. “Oh, ho! I’ve got me some new shoes. Think you they’ll fit?”

She ran at him and he rounded a small tree. She dodged one way, but still laughing, he kept the tree between them and she couldn’t get to him. “Give them back.”

He grinned, watched her with glittering eyes, and moved as she moved.

She tried not to let him see her smile, but who knew The MacGregor had it in him to play like this? She lunged, then winced, as she feigned a sticker and lifted her foot. “Ow! My foot!”

He warily rounded the tree and she jumped him. “Gotcha!”

Laughing, he let himself be taken down and they ended up on the ground with her half-sprawled on his chest. “Faker,” he said. “Now you’ve got me, what will you do wi’ me?”

Heat radiated off him. Power. His chest was warm and thick with muscle. She looked at his lips, reached out and rubbed her index finger against his soft mouth.

He kissed her finger.

She shivered, and studied his gloriously handsome face. The green eyes, tanned skin, the hard line of his jaw, all invited her to touch. She’d like to kiss him senseless was what she’d like to do—had been thinking about another kiss since the incident in the chapel. But what she said was, “Too bad you ruined my hair. If you hadn’t, I might have kissed you.”

“You look like you want to kiss me anyhow.” His voice was deep, velvety, tempting. “I’ll not stop you if it’s advantage-takin’ yer after.”

“You won’t stop me, huh?”

“Aye. Just to be polite, ye see.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Oh, polite is it then?” She mocked his Scottish accent with a fake one of her own.

He laughed.

She twisted her body and shoved against his chest to get up and he swiftly sat and wrapped his arms around her, trapping her arms. Side by side they faced each other.

She wiggled to get away, but not very hard. “Let me go,” she said breathlessly. Ha. She sounded like Marilyn Monroe. A child would know she didn’t mean it.

“Just one kiss, and then I’ll release you.”

She tilted her head, considering. “Well, maybe. Just to be polite.”

His eyes heated and he smiled. Gathering her closer, he lowered his mouth and kissed her, long and deep, his lips clinging to her own, and heating her blood. His mouth—warm, vital, and urgent—devastated her senses before he finally lifted his head. A quake ran through him and, breathing sharply, he let her go and stood.

He held out his hand, and helped her to her feet. “Shall we get some dinner, then?”

“Sure.” Her heart pounded in her chest and she tried to sound normal.

She put her shoes on, he found his boots, and they walked back toward the castle, neither of them speaking or touching.

Sudden shyness overwhelmed her. She’d seen Ian angry, suspicious, careful, and stern. But a teasing and playful Ian was hard to resist.

She sighed.

And so was a polite one.