Page 11 of Lyon’s Gift (The Highland Brides #2)

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER TEN

“ G et off the horse, wench.”

“Nay,” Meghan replied. “I’ll not. You cannot tell me what to do.”

He stood before her with his hands upon his hips, looking at her much as though she were a wayward child he’d like to toss over his knee and spank. To his credit, he did no such brutish thing. He merely raised a brow at her.

“We had a bargain, do you not recall?”

Meghan shook her head. “ You perhaps had a bargain,” she reminded him. “I merely suggested it would be a pity for everyone to see you carry me in against my will.”

Meghan was well aware that they were drawing an audience, but she didn’t care. Let them all watch. They should see that their new lord was naught more than a ruthless Sassenach barbarian.

“Have it your way,” he said, and reached out to pluck her off the horse. Meghan squealed in surprise, and she expected him to toss her over his shoulder, but he surprised her by cradling her within his arms like a wee bairn. It flustered her so much that she forgot to scream.

“What are you doing?” She scowled up at him.

“What does it seem I am doing? I’m carrying you over the threshold.” He had the audacity to wink at her. “A loving husband and his blushing bride.”

Meghan glared up at him. So much for her plan to show him for the barbarian he was. “You’re not my loving husband,” she assured. “Nor I your blushing bride.”

He lifted her up to whisper into her ear, his breath warm and sweet against her face. It sent gooseflesh down her arms and legs. “Perhaps not, wench, but that’s what my people see.” He drew away and grinned down at her and Meghan suddenly ceased to breathe.

She couldn’t find her thoughts suddenly, so discomposed was she by the intimacy of his embrace... his whisper... his tone...

Good lord, what was happening to her? Her body was reacting curiously, quickening, and her heart pounded against her ribs.

He seemed to realize what having his arms around her did to her, because his eyes were twinkling. “Go ahead and scream if you like,” he dared her.

The rat—he’d understood her intent, and had thwarted her so easily. Meghan wished she could scream. But truth to tell, she couldn’t. She could only stare at his lips, vaguely aware that he bore her through the courtyard past the prying eyes of his people and over the threshold of his door. He carried her up the stairs then, and into his chamber. There he dumped her unceremoniously upon the bed and walked away.

The cad! He intended, she surmised, to remind her of her place. Well, she hadn’t wed him as yet, and neither was she going to. Let him think so, if it pleased him. Her brothers would come for her soon enough, and then she’d have the last word. Rotten misbegotten knave. Until then, she was perfectly content to play his little game.

“You cannot simply lock me away, you know,” Meghan announced, before he could close the door behind him.

He stopped and turned to peer within. “Of course I can,” he replied and smiled coolly at her.

If the truth be known, his arrogance both infuriated and intrigued her. How could that be so?

He grinned. “Watch me.”

Meghan wasn’t certain whether to be angry or amused by his response. No one had ever been so impervious to her. It seemed no matter what she said, or what she did, he would do as he pleased with a smile on his face. She was certainly accustomed to despotic men, but somehow Lyon Montgomerie was different. It was more than evident in the way he looked at her and in his actions—that he certainly was not indifferent to her appearance. Unlike other men, though, he was not reduced to babbling when he spoke to her. Nor did he seem particularly inclined to oblige her every whim. To the contrary, she’d never met a man who seemed so little concerned with her opinion of him. In fact, he didn’t seem to care whether she approved of him or not. And more, he seemed amused by her apparent disregard of him.

The two of them seemed, in truth, to be engaged in some strange battle of wills and wits, and Meghan, for one, didn’t intend to lose.

He turned once more to go, and Meghan said quite deliberately, “If you’re not going to stay and abuse me... would you mind terribly sending in my grandmother to keep me company?”

If Meghan had hoped for a reaction from him, she’d hoped in vain, because he simply smiled tolerantly and said without hesitation, “Of course. I shall send her up directly.”

Meghan smiled sweetly at him. “Thank you.” She batted her lashes coyly.

“You never cease, do you?”

Meghan’s brows lifted. “Whatever do you mean? I’ve no notion what you’re speakin’ of.”

“Of course you do… I can see it in your eyes, wench. You know pr ecisely what it is you are doing, and it’s not going to work.”

“What’s not going to work?” Meghan asked in her most innocent tone. “I’ve no idea what you’re referring to. ’Tis merely the least you can do. If you’re going to keep us both prisoners here, you might as well be kind enough to let us serve our gaol time together.”

“Prisoners?” He lifted a brow. “Do not think of yourself so,” he bade her. “You’ve my word you shall be given all due respect as my wife.”

Meghan cocked her head at him, giving him her most willful glance. “I do not remember agreeing to such a thing, Sassenach. Though if it pleases you to think so... have yourself a merry time with the notion. You can go now,” she said dismissively. And with a sigh, she laid back upon the bed, stretching out upon it as though it were her own and his presence of little consequence.

Lyon watched her make herself at home upon his bed, and experienced an immediate reaction to the sight of her lying there. She lounged upon it as though she had nary a care in the world... as though she were a sated mistress waiting for the return of her lover.

His mouth went dry, and though he’d planned to go, to prepare messages to send to David and Dougal MacLean, he suddenly didn’t wish to leave.

Most particularly because she seemed to wish him to go .

Or did she?

He closed the door and smiled when her head popped up at once to peer at him. Her surprised expression at finding him still present shifted at once to that already familiar expression of bored disdain she had perfected so well. Their gazes locked and held as he approached the bed. The room went completely silent but for the sound of his own footfalls across the creaky wooden floor.

“I shall tell you what pleases me, wench,” he said, leaning over her and pinning her to the bed between his arms. Her small gasp of surprise pleased him immensely.

“What?” She blinked, but held his gaze.

Lyon could see the question in her eyes. She wasn’t so dauntless as she would like to have him believe. And yet she faced him squarely, her delicate chin lifting in challenge—tilted at a perfect angle so as to meet his lips... did he but lower his mouth to hers.

And Christ, what lips she was blessed with... full and pouty, perfectly shaped... He imagined them to be soft and luscious... imagined them wrapped about him in the most wicked way.

Her breast lifted with another soft gasp, and his gaze fell to her full bosom, lingering for an instant before returning to her face. It was all he could do not to bend for a taste of those sweet luscious lips. The scent of her rose to taunt him... that sweet elusive scent of her that awakened his body’s hunger in a way no woman had in much too long a time.

“Seeing you here upon my bed,” he whispered. “That pleases me.”

She moaned softly in answer, and he could see that her own reaction shocked her, for it registered there upon her face with a startled blink.

God, he wanted her.

And yet he wanted her willing.

He wanted more than her body.

He wanted her to lie beneath him and call out his name in pleasure in the dark of night... and to think of him the first instant her long lashes lifted from sleep in the morn. He wanted to see the longing in her deep-green eyes, and the yearning in her body in the taut peaks of her breast—he wanted to feel them harden beneath the palm of his hand. He wanted her to moan with pleasure when his hands covered her breasts and wanted her to cry out when his mouth replaced his hands.

He wanted to initiate her into every wicked pleasure he had ever indulged in...

And more.

She did that to him somehow... this woman whose name he did not even know. This woman who looked at him askance, and pretended an indifference she couldn’t possibly feel with that look she now wore in those beautiful eyes: a look of pure virgin innocence mingled with uninhibited curiosity. He sensed she hid a passion as deep as his own.

God help him, if it was the last thing he did... he was going to seduce her into his bed. And he was going to employ every device he knew to keep her there.

He was going to woo his way into her heart.

And he was going to bind her to him for always.

That he vowed as he stared down at her lovely face, flushed now with color.

He moved closer, savoring the heat between their bodies, hovering above her mouth, until the warmth of her breath teased his lips.

Meghan held her breath as he stared down at her.

Never in her life had she been kissed by a man—never had she desired it.

And yet... somehow she could suddenly think of little else but the way his lips would feel upon her own. She swallowed convulsively.

Poised above her as he was, with his beautiful lips so near her own, and his vivid blue eyes locked with hers, Meghan felt utterly dizzy.

That look he wore... she wasn’t so naive that she didn’t comprehend what it meant. She’d seen Colin gaze that way at his women much too oft to mistake it.

“You’re just like all the rest,” she murmured huskily.

He shook his head and was so near that Meghan imagined she felt the brush of his lips.

Or had it been real?

“Nay,” he assured her. “I am not, wench, and do not make the mistake of thinking so.” His eyes gleamed wickedly, and Meghan immediately sensed that perhaps he spoke the truth. Perhaps, as with the others, her face had caught his eye, but his response to her was anything but familiar.

“You cannot force me to wed with you,” Meghan said a little breathlessly. “And I will not. You cannot make me.”

Was she trying so hard to convince him?

Or herself?

“Quite true,” he agreed, smiling. “I cannot force you. But you will.”

Meghan narrowed her eyes at him. “Dinna be so certain of yourself. I’m not some foolish lass who sighs after every handsome lad. You will not win me with flattery.”

His smile deepened. “You think me handsome, do you?”

Meghan’s face burned. “I didna say such a thing. Dinna put words in my mouth, Sassenach.” But she was surely thinking it. Never in her life had a face appealed to her more. It was the face of a man, not that of a boy. And yet Meghan could very much spy the deviltry of his youth in his every expression. He was a man who relished his pleasures... and it was obvious to Meghan that his pleasure at the moment was her.

“I would not dare put words in your mouth,” he assured her.

Never in her life had a man looked at her so. It was not solely the hunger so apparent in his eyes, or the intent written in the expression upon his face... Nay, there was something more...

“Not when there is something else I’d so much rather do with that lovely mouth of yours.”

Meghan shivered at the silky tone of his voice.

He was a man who knew what he wanted and was used to getting it, she realized.

“Do you not know what those lips do to a man?”

Meghan shook her head, blinking. Was he going to kiss her now? It seemed to her that he meant to, for his eyes slitted and he tilted his face, as though to lock his mouth with hers.

She held her breath in anticipation.

Would she let him?

Should she?

“One day,” he vowed, “you will ask me to love you.”

“Nay—”

“Shhh...”

His breath blew warm and sweet upon her lips. Meghan closed her eyes for an instant, letting the sensation brush over her. Good lord, but she felt defenseless against this form of seduction. She knew how to deal with men who leered, men who vowed their love after first setting eyes upon her, and overeager beaus, but she didn’t know how to deal with this man at all—nor with the strange way he seemed to speak to her body. It answered to him like a slave to its master... no matter that her head and heart both said nay.

He withdrew a little, giving her space to breathe, to think.

“I think you will.” He offered her an incorrigible grin.

“I’ll not,” Meghan assured him, with more certainty than she suddenly felt.

“Then prove me wrong,” he challenged her, rising from the bed abruptly. Meghan blinked in confusion at his unanticipated answer, at her own keen sense of disappointment. He abandoned her there, leaving her to stare after him, dumbfounded, as he walked away.

“You will wed with me,” he said, “because you know I speak the truth. It is the most obvious solution to our little dilemma.” And then he closed the door behind him.

What in God’s name had just happened?

Had she wanted him to kiss her?

Surely not.

Then why was she so disappointed that he had not?

And why should she feel rejected, when he’d made his intentions and desires clear from the first ?

Because for once, she hadn’t been the one in control, Meghan realized.

And truth to tell, it galled her that he had been.

The knave. How dare he simply walk away and leave her like this.