Page 15 of One Forbidden Kiss with the Laird (The Cinderella Shepherd Sisters #2)

S elina was breathing hard by the time they reached the tumble-down little cottage that sat close to the low wall that ran around the perimeter of Sir William’s estate.

It looked as though it had been abandoned at least ten years earlier and was in a bad state of disrepair.

The little garden was overgrown with weeds so tall they reached Selina’s waist and part of the roof had slipped, leaving some of the inside open to the elements.

Even the front door was hanging on its hinges, the wood rotten and soft around the edges.

‘Does this place belong to anyone?’ Selina asked, hesitating on the threshold. It was clearly uninhabited, but someone might still own the cottage.

‘Mrs Douglas used to live here when I was a boy. She died a year or so before I left for Canada, so the place hasn’t been occupied for over a decade.’

‘There were no children to take it over?’

‘No. Everyone thought she was a spinster. When we were children my friends and I believed she was a witch, but she was just a lonely old woman who hadn’t had the easiest time in life. My mother used to go and visit her towards the end, take her a basket of food and ensure she was comfortable.’

He stepped inside, glad to be out of the worst of the weather, even just for a few minutes.

‘When she died a husband appeared. Apparently they had married young and bickered relentlessly. He had walked out sixty years earlier and never returned to the village. The cottage passed to him, of course—even after all that time leading separate lives he was still legally her husband—but after her funeral he left again and didn’t return. ’

‘That’s a sad story.’

Miss Shepherd stepped inside, removing the bonnet she had donned a couple of hours earlier to protect her from the sun.

Now it was sodden and drooping, a sad testament to the ever-changing weather.

She shivered and he saw that despite their rapid dash through the rain her dress was soaked, the material sticking to her skin.

The material was a pale blue, nothing fancy, but where it was wet it had gone thin, almost translucent.

Callum swallowed, finding it hard to keep his distance. He wanted to cross the room and run his hands over her body, to scrunch up the wet material and lift it over her head. It was a desire he’d felt before when they’d been alone together, but never so strong as now.

Suddenly the room felt very small and he grappled with his cravat, feeling as though it were tightening around his neck. Miss Shepherd seemed oblivious to his distress, exploring the room with a natural curiosity.

‘It feels a little voyeuristic,’ she said, peering up the dilapidated stairs. ‘Like looking into a life I should know nothing about.’

‘Mrs Douglas’s husband did not want any of her possessions.

Some has been taken over the years, I am sure, but her reputation meant most people were keen to stay away.

Ask any of the locals outright and they will tell you they don’t believe witches walk among us any more, but most will make the sign of the cross and look away from the cottage if they find themselves nearby. ’

‘You have been here before, though?’

‘I came with my mother a few times while Mrs Douglas was still alive. That dispelled any lingering suspicions that she was anything more than a lonely and destitute old lady.’

‘You never found a cauldron, or a black cat?’

She craned her neck up and then curiosity got the better of her as she set her foot on the first step.

Callum lunged forward immediately. The stairs were wooden and had been exposed to the elements for the past decade.

The wood was soft and rotten, even where it looked intact, and easily splintered underfoot.

Miss Shepherd was petite, but if she put her whole weight on the first step he had no doubt it would crack and splinter.

Although she wouldn’t fall from a height he had seen the damage rotten wood could do to the flesh.

Quickly he grabbed her, pulling her from the step before it could crack completely. In his haste he spun her round, pressing her up against the outer wall of the cottage.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, looking down at her, taking in the eyes wide with surprise. ‘The stairs are rotten. I did not want you to hurt yourself.’

‘You saved me again, my lord.’

‘Callum,’ he said. ‘Please call me Callum.’

‘Callum.’ She tested out his name, the hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her, couldn’t step away.

He took in the delicate curve of her cheek, the long lashes that framed her eyes and the very slight upturn of the end of her nose.

This close he could even see the smattering of freckles on her cheeks.

He wanted to move in even closer, to count those tiny freckles as he kissed each and every single one.

‘I promise I am not normally this accident-prone.’

‘Perhaps I make you lose your concentration.’

She stiffened at his comment, looking up into his eyes from under her dark lashes.

‘Perhaps you do,’ she said.

He could see the rise and fall of her chest quicken slightly and saw the way her lips parted as they had a few days earlier when they had been alone in Taigh Blath.

Then he had stepped away, he had mastered his desire, overcome the searing attraction he felt, but today he was not sure if he would be able to be so strong again.

Every single fibre in his body was screaming out for him to kiss her.

He shifted ever so slightly, his body moving independently of his mind, pressing in closer, and he heard Miss Shepherd’s sharp intake of breath.

In that moment he wanted to forget about all his responsibilities, to forget about anything other than the perfect lips of the young woman standing in front of him.

Unable to resist any longer, he moved even closer and kissed her, losing himself in the soft sweetness of her lips.

As she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair he found himself wishing he could stay in this moment for ever. Her body was receptive to his touch, her hips pressing against his and her arms pulling him closer.

‘I have wanted to kiss you ever since I first tackled you to the ground at the edge of the loch,’ he murmured, pulling away for just a moment.

She looked beautiful with her cheeks flushed and her hair in dishevelled ringlets loose around her face.

He kissed her again and then revelled in the way she moaned as he trailed his lips down her neck from earlobe to collarbone.

Callum could think of nothing else but the woman in front of him.

He did not wish to consider the consequences of what he was doing—for once he was allowing himself to think about only pleasure.

His hand caught Miss Shepherd around the waist and he held her tight, wondering if he could rip the wet material of her dress where it clung to her body.

He had this almost uncontrollable urge to strip the clothes from her, to reveal what was underneath and then spend the rest of time exploring every inch of her with his fingers and his mouth.

He knew she was an innocent and he knew what he was doing was wrong, but for a few minutes he could not listen to the good and moral part of himself, for a few minutes he was swept away in his own desire.

Miss Shepherd pulled him closer to her, her hand brushing lightly against his groin and causing him to groan loudly. She looked surprised and he realised it had not been a calculated move and the look of shocked innocence made him want her even more.

He kissed her again, his tongue tasting the sweetness of her lips as he pressed her against the wall of the cottage.

His fingers searched for the fastenings of her dress and as he found the ties at her back he gripped them forcefully and began to pull.

Callum felt as though he were in a dream and for a while he could fool himself that the decisions he was making would not affect anything in real life.

All he wanted was to slake the desire that had been building for the past week every time he had set eyes on Miss Shepherd.

As he pulled apart Miss Shepherd’s dress at the back he felt the material of her chemise underneath and his fingers were just bunching the damp cotton when Hamish barked, getting up from his position by the door to stand at the threshold.

Callum recoiled as if he had been shot. He looked down at Miss Shepherd, his body filled with shock and immediate regret. He had half-ravished the poor young woman and, even though she had kissed him willingly, was under no illusion that he was the one in the wrong.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, running a hand through his hair, unable to stop the expression of horror from spreading across his face. ‘I should never have allowed that to happen.’

Miss Shepherd did not move. She looked beautiful even in her dishevelled state, Her hair was falling loose around her shoulders, her dress hanging low, exposing more skin than was acceptable in polite society. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips a deep, rosy red.

She looked up at him and he felt the weight of her distress.

‘Miss Shepherd…’ he said, wanting more than anything to reach out and take her in his arms again, but knowing if he touched her he would be lost. ‘Please, forgive me. I lost control. You have my sincerest apologies.’

She started forward and for a moment he thought she was going to flee the cottage.

Thoughts of everything he had risked flooded through him as he was almost overcome with shame.

For ten years he had promised everyone who would listen that he would right his father’s mistakes, that he would be single minded in his pursuit of restoring the Thomson family fortunes.

Those ten years of promises had been forgotten in a single moment with Miss Shepherd.

He moved to block her way, all he wanted to do was reason with her, to ask her to forgive his foolishness.

‘You are worried I am going to tell someone,’ she said, her voice flat.

He stayed quiet, aware he deserved her wrath.

‘You are thinking of your marriage to Catherine.’ She stepped closer, poking a long finger into his chest, her eyes alive with fury. ‘You kiss me, you nearly take my virtue and all you can think about is saving this horrible union you want to make with the Kingsleys.’

‘Miss Shepherd…’

She spun away, pushing past him. This time he let her go. As she crossed the threshold, stepping out into the rain, she looked back.

‘Have your precious marriage to Catherine. I will not say anything. The quicker you marry, the quicker I can leave this godforsaken place and never come back.’

Before he could stop her she turned and ran, darting out into the heavy rain as if she barely noticed the awful weather.

Callum did not move for a whole minute, his body rigid. It was only when Hamish came and nuzzled against his hand that he was spurred into action.

Cursing under his breath, he hurried out the door of the cottage, shielding his eyes from the rain to try to see Miss Shepherd.

A mist had descended as often did later in the afternoon on the unsettled days and the visibility was poor now.

He took a moment to look in all directions, wondering if Miss Shepherd knew the way back to the house or if she had just taken off at a run in a bid to get away from him.

Hoping she had at least some sense of the direction of the house, he started to make his way back towards Taigh Blath, his heart heavy.

For years he had prided himself on being different to his father.

He never drank to excess, limiting himself to at most one glass of liquor of an evening if he was in company.

He did not gamble either—his whole life had been shaped by his father’s poor business decisions and even poorer skill at the gaming tables.

Ever since he had inherited the title and the responsibility for his people he had vowed he would dedicate his life to restoring the land to them, to bringing the wider family home, for making the area somewhere people wanted to live, somewhere there was plenty of work.

Through all the hardships he had suffered in Canada, months of surviving only on what he could catch in the frozen wilderness, weeks without seeing another human, he had stayed strong and focused on the reasons why he was doing it all.

Yet one glance at Miss Shepherd and he had risked everything he had worked to put into place.

As the towering height of Taigh Blath came into view he forced himself to push aside the image of hurt and betrayal on Miss Shepherd’s face as she saw his regret at their intimacy.

There was no excuse for what he had done, it was unforgivable, yet he believed what she had said when she had promised not to tell.

It should feel like a victory, like something positive to salvage out of this awful mess he had made, but the heartbreak in her eyes had been so awful he knew he would never forget that moment, or forgive himself for it.