Page 11

CHAPTER 11

Anna lunged after her parting suitor, grabbing Gordon by the back of his saffron-colored shirt, crying out, “Ye have it all wrong, M’Laird! I told ye—that drawin’ wasnae even to do with ye.”

He didn’t turn back to look at her, and she doubted she could have pulled him in any way that would make him twist around to face her again. It would be like putting a piece of string around a mighty oak and tugging on it, in the hopes of making it fall.

“Can ye be that lass, then?” he asked, his voice giving nothing away.

Can I be a lass who ye daenae hide away to make yer bairns and nothin’ else? She almost laughed, still uncertain of whether he was toying with her, or if he had really meant it—that he wanted an equal, or someone as close to equal as a woman could be in this world.

Slowly, he turned around, and when he pushed her back against the tree a second time, the impact only stole half her breath away. Or, perhaps, it had nothing to do with the tree at all, but the closeness of him: the obvious strength of him, the heat that radiated from his body, the fact that he could crush her in an instant if he wanted to, yet she felt no real fear that he would harm her.

Ye could steal me away and nay one would ken… That thought lingered in the back of her mind as reassurance. If he was anything like Elinor’s husband, Laird Dalmorglen, he would have snatched her without delay. That, if nothing else, told Anna that Gordon wasn’t nearly so awful as that beast, that he was a man of greater substance, greater honor, greater morality.

Indeed, she had to wonder how many of the coming Lairds would have stolen her from the woods if they’d been granted the same opportunity that Gordon had now.

“Ye’re curious if I have what it takes to be yer husband,” Gordon whispered, “but ye havenae stopped to think if ye have what it takes to be me wife.”

She blinked up at him, breathing hard. “I ken me worth, M’Laird. I ken what I’m capable of.”

“And on a bitterly cold night, snow comin’ down so thick ye cannae see yer own hand in front of ye, and sheep loose from their fields, could ye abandon the warm to chase ‘em back to safety?” he asked, pressing closer, so she had to strain her neck to keep looking up into that intense eye of his.

“I wouldnae chase ‘em,” she replied, shivering at the thought, “but I wouldnae linger in the warmth of me bed either. I’d rouse the kitchens and have hot soup waitin’ for those who’d actually be of use chasin’ sheep in a snowstorm.”

A frown creased his brow, as if he were trying to decide if that was a suitable answer or not.

“I’m nae some precious lass, raised to never lift a finger,” she added defiantly. “I havenae been coddled, if that’s what ye think of me. Och, if ye had paper and charcoal, I wonder what ye’d draw if ye thought of me—some doe-eyed waif who’d blow over in a light breeze, nay doubt.”

His frown smoothed. “Yer actions this mornin’ daenae suggest a capable lass.”

“I could have rescued meself,” she insisted stubbornly, tilting her chin up.

As she did so, her heart jumped, her stomach tying itself into knots. Gordon’s lips were just a murmur away, his face suddenly much closer than she had realized. He pulled back half an inch, as though accustomed to women recoiling, waiting for her to turn away or lower her gaze from his scarred features.

On the contrary, Anna took the opportunity to get a better look at him, gaze skimming over the collection of scars, from the smallest to the largest: silvery marks, glinting in the morning sunlight like minnows swimming beneath a clear stream. Beautiful, in their own way. Yet, she still couldn’t see that mysterious, covered eye, her fingertips itching to remove the patch.

“But thank ye,” she said, as he instinctively caught hold of her wrists, pinning them to her sides, as though he could tell what she was thinking. “I ken I would have survived the bog, but I’d have been missin’ for half the day to do it. So, I thank ye for yer aid this mornin’… and for seein’ to it that I dinnae return to the castle lookin’ like a mud goblin.”

Something like mirth almost gleamed in his eye, but she couldn’t be sure if she was just imagining it: a trick of the hazy light. Either way, it was gone a half-second later, stone cold once more.

“Ye’re welcome,” he said stiffly. “But ye havenae answered me question…”

“Which question?”

A different gleam shone in his eye, as he leaned forward, dipping his head almost to her shoulder, hiding his face from her. Denying her the ability to see the expression that matched the husky tone of voice, as he murmured, “Are ye that lass? Are ye capable of bein’ Lady Lyall?”

Anna’s breathing quickened. She’d begun the charade of the auction with the firm determination that she would chase every last laird away, and would end up free to do as she pleased as a spinster, so why was she entertaining Gordon like this?

Because it’s yer choice, a small voice whispered in the back of her head. And if ye daenae choose, yer faither will.

At the core of herself, she was well aware that there was no conclusion to the auction where she didn’t end up as someone’s wife. Even if she did manage to send all the lairds running, her father would just arrange a marriage with whomever had run away last.

But Gordon interested her. She couldn’t deny it. Perhaps, Jackson’s words last night had been more influential than she’d thought, increasing the curiosity in her mind instead of flattening it into indifference.

Gordon’s mouth edged closer to her shoulder, the air between his lips and her skin crackling as though lightning was about to strike.

“Are ye willin’ to surrender control to me?” he growled, taunting her with his closeness, teasing her with possibility. Without a word, he seemed to say: I can kiss yer skin right now, if ye do as I say.

And she must have been mad from the cold and the panic of being stuck in the bog, because she found herself longing to obey if it meant feeling his mouth on her. Her —someone who obeyed no one willingly, other than herself. Maybe that was why he was laying it down as a condition, knowing her nature better than she’d thought.

“I surrender to nay one,” she whispered, her breath catching, her body instinctively pushing up against his.

Gordon tightened his grip on her wrists, just shy of the point of pain, and pressed her harder to the trunk of the tree. But she barely felt the bark against her back, every thought homing in on the whisper of his breath against her neck, and the yearning that almost made her tilt her head to bring his lips to her skin.

“Ye’ll surrender to me,” he told her, his breath tracing a tingling line up to her ear, making her shiver in the most fascinating, thrilling way. “There’s nay reward without sacrifice.”

“I would be… yer equal,” she insisted breathlessly, swallowing down the quiet moan that attempted to slip from her throat. “I willnae be… hidden away or… overlooked, as I am in… this castle. I willnae accept more… of the same.”

“I dinnae say it would be the same.” His rough, callused palms skimmed up her arms, over the peaks of her shoulders, and came to settle at her neck, his hand cradling.

“Ye havenae said it will be different, either,” she pointed out, arching her neck slightly, determined to look him in the eye.

He raised his head and peered down at her, searching her face the way she had done to him not so long ago. She didn’t know what he was looking for, but perhaps he was seeking the answers to his questions in her eyes, deciding if she was suitable.

In that moment, Anna thought she saw the hunger that Jackson had mentioned. It shone in Gordon’s gray eye, revealed in the tension of his face and the slight furrowing of his brow, fully exposed by the slow graze of his teeth across his lower lip and the flit of his gaze to her mouth. That was hunger, though not for any breakfast that a cook could conjure up.

“I’ve told ye what I want,” he said in a rumbling voice. “The choice is yers.”

Before she could say anything in reply, uttering a single question more, his mouth caught hers in a hard press that stole away all breath and thought and doubt. His lips were soft, but the graze of them was white-hot, igniting a tingling burn that crackled down into her chest, and lower still to her stomach, setting loose a flock of butterflies.

He kissed her again, more insistently, as if frustrated by her stillness. His hand slid up into her hair, tilting her head to meet his kiss, taking the control he’d said he would. And though she’d sworn she wouldn’t, she surrendered.

A strange feeling caught Gordon in the chest as he felt Anna return his kiss: a thawing sensation, akin to relief. For a moment, he’d lost control of his discipline, certain that he’d overstepped in a manner that was beneath his character. In truth, he’d been waiting for the slap or the gasp of disgust, so to feel her lips on his, tentatively kissing him back, was a pleasure he couldn’t describe.

She hasnae done this before, he realized, sensing her nerves in the uncertain ebb and flow of her mouth. Indeed, for a lass so confident in everything else, her lack of assertiveness in the kiss stood out.

He eased the press of his own kiss, taking things slower, catching her mouth with his, showing her what to do. It took all the restraint he possessed, his hunger transformed into a ravenous beast, eager to devour her innocence. But he wouldn’t scare her, not when he was about to gain what he had come to Castle MacTorrach for.

She willnae be the easiest wife a man could have, but when have I ever turned from a challenge?

The thought deepened his hunger for her, intensifying his desire for control, and to have her surrender to him. He didn’t want to break her, nothing of the sort, but he could well imagine the singular pleasure of having her obey in the bedchamber. Indeed, though he hadn’t known what sort of woman he was riding to obtain when he’d set out from Castle Lyall, meeting her had confirmed something for him: he neither wanted nor needed a weak Lady to stand at his side.

And Anna was not weak at all.

Her defiance might be a problem…

He let the notion fade as he pressed Anna against the tree, encouraged by the increased confidence of her kiss. She was a quick study, matching the pace of him, matching the intensity... And when he slipped his tongue into her mouth, she didn’t pull away or recoil, letting her own tongue glide against his, a smile curving her lips that he felt against his own.

A moment later, her hands grew bolder, smoothing up the front of his shirt, grasping him by the collar as she pulled him closer. He felt the moment she fully surrendered as, breathless, she melted into him, kissing him harder, tugging at him as if she couldn’t get him close enough.

He resisted the urge to break the kiss, to deny her what she wanted so she’d know who was in control, but until he had her at his own castle, as his bride, it seemed unwise to leave her unsatisfied.

Doesnae mean I cannae show her what she’d be missin’ if she rejects me…

Kissing her more fiercely, loosening his hold on his restraint once more, his hand drifted down from her neck, smoothing over the swell of her breast. He hadn’t known that her wearing his léine could be so intoxicating, and so useful, undoing the need for him to peel away a thousand layers of clothing before he got to her shift.

A groan rumbled in the back of his throat as he felt her pert nipple, pushing through the thin fabric of the borrowed léine. His mouth ached to close over that peak, but he’d have to tear his own shirt to claim that pleasure, and he didn’t want her returning to the castle in a ripped garment if her dress didn’t dry in time.

Cursing the frustration in his veins, he cupped her breast instead, his thumb dragging across that pert peak, his hand massaging that supple flesh as he kissed her harder. The gasp that slipped from her mouth almost undid him, his desire an inferno that would engulf them both if he wasn’t careful.

He grasped the soft flesh of her breast as he pressed her into the tree trunk, his other hand skimming over the curve of her waist, gripping her hip, sliding down her thigh… stopping just short of gathering the hem of the léine up, so he could feel her smooth skin against the rough of his palm. If he did that, he wouldn’t be able to resist going further, and he still had his honor and integrity to think about.

Nae until ye’re truly mine.

But with the rest of the lairds arriving that day, he was running out of time to make certain that he got what he came for… and got what he realized he wanted. He had vowed she would be his, and he wasn’t one to renege on a vow.

“Ye’re choosin’ me,” he said, pulling away before he really pushed the limits of his restraint.

Anna blinked up at him, pink-cheeked and shiny-eyed. “Was that a question?”

“Nay, it’s what is happenin’.”

Her blush deepened, her fingertips gently touching her lips as though trying to make sure the kiss had been real. “With respect, me faither is the one to make the final decision.”

“It’s yer life, and yer decision,” he replied with a shrug.

“I ken I said that, but… he’ll still want to give his ‘opinion’ which is essentially his decision,” she said, her throat bobbing, her gaze settling on Gordon’s mouth while a shy smile curved her own.

Gordon narrowed his eye, sniffing in disapproval. “If ye think I’ll let anyone else touch ye, ye’re mistaken.”

Her gaze lowered, her teeth grazing her lip, tormenting him. “And if I wanted someone to?”

Something shivered inside him, heightening his senses as if he were about to ride into battle. His hands curled into fists, braced to fight if it meant they could explore her silhouette again, ready to do whatever it took to bring her home with him, where he wouldn’t have to stop at touching her through fabric.

“ Do ye want anyone else?” he asked bluntly.

That oaf, Laird Glendenning, maybe? He was prettier, certainly.

Anna raised her sultry gaze and shook her head slowly, her breath still shallow. She didn’t speak; she didn’t need to. She’d made her choice when she’d kissed him back, whether she knew it or not, and Gordon wasn’t about to delay and give her time to doubt herself and change her mind.

“Then, it’s settled.” He nodded back toward the loch. “Put yer clothes back on. Yer faither is goin’ to have some news to swallow down with his breakfast.”