Page 13 of To Love a Scottish Lord (Highland Lords #4)
Perhaps that’s why they called her Angel.
She didn’t offer potions and possets, only a curious kind of forgetfulness.
Last night had been the same. For a few minutes he’d forgotten who he was and what he’d done, even finding some measure of rest after leaving her.
Perhaps tonight he wouldn’t have nightmares, only dreams of a brown-haired woman with warm eyes and a winsome smile who urged him to sleep.
She fascinated him, and that was an even more na?ve musing. Last night, she’d startled him with her forthrightness and her candor. This morning, she’d amused him as well. Now, he was too taken with her appearance to wonder at her wit and intelligence.
He moved his piece, then sat back and surveyed her, his gaze once again focusing on her mouth.
She smiled, and he thought that he should warn her that even humor would not save her.
The only thing protecting her from his more libidinous impulses was his legacy from the Atavasi.
If he revealed himself to her, she’d no doubt run screaming from the tower, choosing the shadows and the night rather than remaining in his presence.
Otherwise, he would have amused himself by slowly removing that scarf from around her neck, letting the fabric gently abrade her throat. Then, he’d unfasten the bodice of her dress until it revealed what it now attempted to so cunningly conceal.
He would lift up her skirts gently, slowly, delicately. She’d raise her arms until he pulled her clothing over her head. There she would stand in shift, stays, and stockings, nearly unveiled for his eyes.
“I’ve beaten you,” she said, her voice abruptly dragging him from his thoughts. She stared at the board in wonder.
“Indeed you have.”
Her eyes met his. In that instant, he knew that she’d not been fooled after all. However, she didn’t call him on it, or otherwise refuse her win. A wise woman.
“Do you go to any lengths to treat your patients?”
She looked surprised at the question. “I don’t think so, no.”
“Since you’ve won,” he said, “I’m at your mercy.” The impulse to let her win had been a foolish one. Either way, she’d be gone from this place with more speed then she’d planned.
A pity, truly; they might have found some comfort in each other.
If she didn’t run in horror from him, perhaps he’d give in to his baser impulses after all.
Another reason to wish her gone, a last protective impulse that would shield her from the man he’d become, empty and shell-like, lacking heart and possessing only a shriveled soul.
“Would you like to begin tonight?”
“It’s rather late,” she said. “Perhaps in the morning? Unless you’re in pain?”
He shook his head, thinking that he’d be given a respite, then, a few hours of grace before she went back to Inverness with the tale of a hideous hermit crouching in his castle. How strange that he wanted her gone at the same time he wanted the actual moment of her departure to be delayed.
Was she possessed of the intellectual genius of a physician, the wisdom of an old crone, the nurturing spirit of a mother? He could do with all of them, or sim ply her understanding, a gentle hand on his arm, an unspoken acceptance.
What a fool he was.
“Is there anyone in Inverness you do not charm?”
She looked amused, her warm brown eyes dancing with humor.
“I do not charm a great many people,” she said. “My husband’s apprentice, for one. Charles is forever impatient with me, telling me that I shouldn’t give so much money to the clinic, or spend so much time among the poor. I think he believes that poverty is contagious.”
“Do you pay any attention to his words? Or do you simply ignore him?”
“You make it sound as if I’m headstrong and spoiled,” she said. “I simply want my life to mean something. Most people do, and they find a certain satisfaction in caring for their families. I have none. What else should I do with my time? I have no other skills.”
“There are women in my family who would tell you that they have no talent,” he said, “but they can create marvels in stone or weave beautiful cloth. My sister-in-law Riona can make the desert bloom, I think. What is it about a woman that makes her so modest?”
Her laughter bubbled free. She sat back and regarded him with humor. “Perhaps it is the MacRae men,” she said. “Any woman might appear self-effacing next to such an arrogant group.”
“I don’t think we’re arrogant,” he said discomfited by her words.
“A person’s flaw is sometimes like the back of his neck. Impossible for him to see.”
He sat back and regarded her. “So arrogance rarely recognizes itself?” He wasn’t entirely certain that he agreed with her, especially in view of the fact that he’d let her win the game and the wager.
Standing, he bowed slightly to her. “Then I’ll see you in the morning. Here?”
She nodded.
He left her then, grateful to her in a paradoxical way for irritating him. It meant that for tonight she was safe from him, and that his dreams, when they came, would not include her.