Page 7 of The Laird’s Wicked Game (Highland Scandal #2)

“THIS IS DAFT.” The mutinous look on Ailean’s face made Kylie’s belly sink. “I don’t want to learn French.”

Holding his gaze firm, Kylie tried to fight the panic welling in her chest. Curse it. After their initial lesson, she’d thought she was making progress, but her charges had lulled her into a false sense of security. It was now Friday morning, and she was a hair’s breadth from losing control of them. “Yer father has instructed me to teach ye, Ailean.”

“I don’t care.”

Heart racing now, she switched her focus to Lyle. “Repeat after me: Je m’appelle Lyle .”

The wee lad burst into fits of giggles. “Jem pepple Lyle,” he sang out. “Jem pepple Lyle.”

This caused his elder brother to hoot as well.

“Lads!” she said, her tone sharp now. “Stop it!”

“Jem pepple! Jem pepple!” the bairns chanted together, ignoring her .

At that moment, the door to the lady’s solar flew open—with such force that it bounced against the stone wall.

The laird of Dounarwyse filled the doorway.

Kylie’s heart kicked like a mule against her ribs, even as hot shame washed over her. Had he been listening in on the other side of the door?

“Do my sons have the manners of goats?” he roared. “How dare ye answer Lady Grant thus!”

High spots of color had risen to his cheeks, and his eyes had gone a dark, murderous green. Both his sons visibly wilted in the face of his anger.

Kylie rose swiftly to her feet, her hands coming up to placate him. “All is well, Maclean, I—”

“I was on the way to my solar and heard a ruckus,” he cut her off before turning his wrath upon his sons once more. “Yer mother and I didn’t bring ye up to mock others!”

“Sorry, Da,” Ailean said weakly. Next to him, Lyle had gone pale and had started to tremble.

“I made it clear ye shall both study French,” the laird replied, his voice still harsh. “And I told ye to heed Lady Grant in all things.”

“I was just playing,” Lyle squeaked, his lip quivering now.

“No, ye were jesting at another’s expense … and as punishment, yer brother won’t be having a riding lesson this afternoon.”

Both boys jolted at this. “Ye promised!” Ailean burst out, his disappointment too great to be borne.

Despite that she wasn’t feeling charitable toward either lad at present, Kylie’s chest constricted. She knew how much Ailean had been looking forward to his first proper riding lesson with his father. Both lads had talked of nothing else over the past days.

“I promised nothing !” The laird moved farther into the lady’s solar, looming over the bairns now. They both sank down in their seats, wilting under the force of his wrath. Lyle made a choking sound then, tears spilling from his blue eyes and trickling down his cheeks. Meanwhile, his elder brother trembled, his face taut with disappointment and anger he was trying hard to leash. “And unless ye learn some manners, ye’ll be spending yer afternoons mucking out the stables instead of doing as ye please.”

Maclean glanced Kylie’s way then, his gaze spearing hers. “If they act up again, come straight to me,” he ordered roughly.

Swallowing, she nodded—even as humiliation scalded her. Hades take him, the man was heavy-handed. How did he expect his sons to concentrate on their French lesson now? Teaching the lads was hard enough as it was without his interference.

It appeared such matters didn’t concern the laird at all, for a moment later, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the lady’s solar, leaving a brittle silence behind him.

Alone with the lads, Kylie didn’t speak for a while. Lowering herself back down onto the bench seat, she watched her charges try to compose themselves.

Lyle was sniffing while his elder brother was scrubbing at his cheeks. Their faces were both red, and she imagined her cheeks also burned like embers. The laird’s reprimand had scalded them all. In the aftermath, it was tempting to crawl into a corner and hide .

Lord, how she wanted to. In truth, she was tempted to rush out of this solar, head straight up to her bedchamber, and start packing.

But she wouldn’t. Not yet, anyway.

Clearing her throat, Kylie stood up once more. “I think we’ll finish a little early this morning,” she announced. “Go and play for a bit before the noon meal while I tidy up here.”

Both lads regarded her warily, as if expecting a rebuke to be added to her words. But none arrived.

They departed from the lady’s solar as Kylie deftly packed away the boards and charcoal. She then dusted off her hands—noting that they were shaking slightly.

But she wasn’t just humiliated. She was vexed.

Her belly started to ache then. Was this how her new start was to be? She’d spent her marriage putting up with ill-treatment. Would she let this man do the same? She’d only been at Dounarwyse a little over a week, and already she was turning into a mouse.

Deal with this now, she told herself sternly, even as her heart quailed. Ye can’t let Maclean get away with that. If he shames ye like that again, life here will become impossible.

Nausea rolled over her at the thought of confronting him. She hated confrontation. But if she didn’t do this now, she never would.

Gathering her courage, she left the chamber and crossed the landing. However, standing before the door to Maclean’s solar, her nerve nearly failed.

What if he lost his temper again? What if he dismissed her ?

Maybe I should save him the trouble and resign. Indeed, things weren’t working out as she’d hoped. Ailean and Lyle didn’t respect her—and now she wouldn’t be surprised if they thought she was weak. Kylie’s pulse quickened. Perhaps she was. She’d certainly overestimated her ability to work as a tutor.

But then she reminded herself that she had no alternative plan for what she’d do if she left Dounarwyse, other than returning to Meggernie.

Mastering herself, she clenched her jaw. Ye aren’t going anywhere! Don’t be such a coward! Then, before she changed her mind, she raised her fist and knocked briskly.

A gruff voice answered, “Aye?”

“Maclean … it’s Lady Grant … can I come in?”

A pause followed. “Aye.”

Kylie pushed open the door and stepped inside. The laird was seated at the table to her right, a large ledger open before him. Bright sunlight streamed through the open window, bringing out the red in his thick hair and gilding his proud bone structure. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his lèine, and his strong forearms were dusted with auburn hair.

Storm, who’d been asleep by the window, roused himself. Long hairy tail wagging, the collie rushed across the solar, greeting Kylie with a cold, wet nose. Distracted, she ruffled his ears before turning her attention back to the laird.

Putting aside the quill he’d been using, Rae straightened up. “Are my sons still giving ye trouble, Lady Grant?”

“No,” she replied, her tone clipped. “I dismissed them from their lessons early.”

His brow furrowed. “Why did ye do that?”

“Because, after having ye roar at us, I’d had enough.” Her answer, delivered with force, carried across the solar .

He jolted at the fierceness of her reply, his lips parting slightly. “Excuse me?”

Kylie drew herself up, even as her pulse went wild. She couldn’t believe she was saying such things. She wasn’t impulsive like Mackenna. In all her years wedded to Errol, she’d leashed her temper. Even when she’d learned of his dalliances with local lasses, she’d bitten her tongue. But today, she wouldn’t. “If I need yer assistance with Ailean and Lyle, I shall ask for it,” she plowed on, her voice rising now. “But ye must never burst in on us like that again.”

Rae stared back at her. His frown then deepened. “They were misbehaving,” he said roughly. “I couldn’t let it continue.”

“And I was about to deal with the situation,” she shot back, even as heat surged up her spine. That was a lie. She’d lost control of the lesson, but she wasn’t about to admit such. “But ye undermined me.”

Rae shut his mouth, pressing his lips firmly together. He then pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “That wasn’t my intention.”

“Maybe not, but the result was the same.” Her heart was pounding now, a lifetime of frustration on the verge of gushing forth. The force of it made her tremble.

To her consternation, he moved then, skirting the edge of the table and approaching her. She wished he wouldn’t. It was easier to speak her mind when they were standing far apart. His proximity flustered her, even though he’d halted so that over three feet of space lay between them.

Storm, thinking there was a game afoot, gave an excited bark and started to bound in a circle around them, forcing his master to take a step closer still .

“Ye didn’t tell me the lads were playing up,” Maclean said, his voice surly now.

“That’s because I knew ye’d snarl at them.” Lord, she wished her voice didn’t sound so raw.

“Aye, and they clearly needed—”

“Respect isn’t demanded,” she cut him off, clenching her hands at her sides. “It’s earned . Yer sons need time to get used to me. Having ye barge in and tear into them doesn’t help things at all.”

His brows knitted together at this, even as Storm, frustrated that they weren’t playing his game, nudged the laird hard in the back of the knees. Cursing his dog, the laird lurched forward, closing the gap between him and Kylie.

Suddenly, he was looming over her, and she became aware of the heat of his body. The man was a furnace. He smelt delicious too—of cedar and leather. Unbidden, her nostrils flared before panic erupted.

Focus!

“I thought ye were made of sterner stuff, Lady Grant,” he rumbled, a challenge in his voice now. He grabbed Storm by the scruff then, stilling his antics. “The lads were running rings around ye, as they did Esme.”

Kylie flushed hot. Her pulse now thumped in her ears. How dare he? Drawing herself up and lifting her chin to eyeball him, she stepped in as well. They were now standing so close there was barely a handspan between them, but the fury in her blood pushed aside all embarrassment. She forgot to be afraid of confrontation now. For the first time in her life, she’d truly stand up to a man. “They were testing their limits,” she growled. “That’s not the same thing. ”

“Really? Is that what ye call it?” There was scorn in his voice now. “It was bad behavior … and it won’t be tolerated.”

Their gazes held then, and something inside Kylie gave way. Enough. She couldn’t take this anymore. Suddenly, every frustration, every humiliation she’d suffered at Errol’s hands rushed in. The wound had barely scabbed over, but Maclean had just ripped it off. She wouldn’t go on letting men make her feel small. She couldn’t. Even if it cost Kylie her job, she’d put an end to this. “Overbearing bastard,” she snarled, poking a finger into the hard wall of his chest. “Is that how ye get what ye want … ye plow over everyone … crush their spirits?”

The laird’s auburn brows crashed together once more. “Excuse me?” His voice had chilled.

“Ye heard me. What’s the point of hiring someone to tutor yer sons, if ye eavesdrop outside doors and judge all of us harshly? Ye may as well tutor them yerself!”

A flush rose upon his cheekbones, and his fern-green eyes darkened. She’d vexed him, but she didn’t care. A strange power thrilled through her veins.

“I was trying to help ye,” he replied, his words coming out jerkily now. “But I didn’t expect to receive such ingratitude.”

“Why would I thank ye for shaming me?” She poked him in the chest again, just to make her point, although this time, he surprised her by catching her hand and holding it fast.

Kylie’s breathing hitched. His fingers were warm and strong, and his touch caused a frisson of awareness to ripple up her wrist to her elbow. She blinked then. What was she doing, standing so close to the laird, raging at him, and stabbing her finger into his sternum? Had she utterly lost her wits?

Mortification rushed over Kylie, her flare of courage waning .

“Ye should unleash that adder’s tongue on my sons,” he bit out, his gaze smoldering now. “Ye’d have them cowering under the table in no time.”

She made a choking sound, her heart slamming against her breastbone as her temper flared once more. She couldn’t let him get away with that. She had to cling to her courage.

Her lips parted, but she never got the chance to answer him—for Maclean let go of his dog and stepped into her. Then, he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.

The kiss was hard, fierce, and it stole her breath away.

In an instant, the anger that had flared between them—as volatile as a flame to bone-dry tinder—changed into something else entirely. Something that had smoldered between them ever since they’d met months earlier at Moy Castle.

A heartbeat passed, and then Kylie clutched at his lèine, fisting the material and pulling him hard against her as she kissed him back, wildly.

Their lips parted, their tongues tangling, mouths devouring, and teeth grazing. Heaven help her, he tasted good, and the rasp of his shaven chin against her cheek made hunger quiver like a drawn bowstring inside her.

She’d never been kissed like this, and nor had she ever responded to anyone in this way either.

His embrace was heady, like autumn cider, only even more delicious. And when he sucked her lower lip into his mouth, before giving it a gentle nip, the flesh between her thighs started to ache.

A low groan escaped her, tearing up from the bottom of her throat .

The noise shattered the moment. Chest rising and falling sharply, Maclean drew back, his hands dropping away from where they’d been gripping her shoulders. Likewise, Kylie let go of his lèine. They stepped away from each other then, the ragged sound of their breathing filling the solar.

Kylie’s legs started to tremble, mortification stealing over her.

Their gazes met and held, and the startled look in the laird’s eyes told her that he was just as shocked by what had happened as she was. One moment, they’d been arguing, the next kissing.

She raised a shaking hand to her bee-stung lips. Christ’s blood, what have ye done?

Maclean swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he said huskily. “I don’t know what came over me.”

She stared back at him, rendered mute by embarrassment. Her cheeks burned like twin suns as she began to back toward the door.

His green eyes guttered. “Kylie … please, don’t go.”

She shook her head. He’d never addressed her so familiarly before. The intimacy of it made her already racing pulse hammer against her breastbone. She was suddenly desperate to get away. If she remained, she might do something utterly daft, like throw herself into his arms. His kisses still burned upon her mouth, and she ached for more.

Turning then, she darted for the door, threw it open, rushed out of the solar, and fled up the stairs toward the sanctuary of her bedchamber.

Rae watched Kylie hurry from the solar, the door thudding shut behind her .

For a few moments, he merely stood there, staring at where she’d disappeared. And then, rousing himself, he growled the filthiest curse he knew.

Since when did he behave like a rank knave?

The woman had been angry and upset, for pity’s sake, and all he could think about was sticking his tongue down her throat. And the Lord smite him, he’d done it. He’d kissed her lewdly, boldly.

Storm gave a low whine then, and he cut the collie a sidelong look. His dog was behaving himself now and had sat down a few feet away. Storm viewed him reproachfully, as if he’d ruined his fun.

Cursing once more, Rae dragged a hand down his face and crossed to the open window, welcoming the breeze on his heated face. He’d overstepped. Grossly.

If he’d ever handled Donalda like that, she’d have been incensed. Indeed, after the first few years of their marriage, he’d ceased embracing his wife, for she didn’t seem to enjoy it. She suffered their coupling as a duty and didn’t welcome the intimacy of kissing.

But Kylie hadn’t raged at him.

She’d fled the room, but she’d responded to his kiss with a hunger that had turned him dizzy with lust. And he’d heard the groan of pleasure that had escaped her—the moan that had brought him to his senses.

Clenching his hands at his sides, Rae squeezed his eyes shut. She isn’t ‘Kylie’ to ye, he reminded himself grimly. She’s ‘Lady Grant’, a decent widow whom ye have just disrespected .

No, as delicious as that kiss had been, he couldn’t let himself repeat it.