Page 24 of To Love a Scottish Lord (Highland Lords #4)

She tested him, perhaps, by asking a question. “Why do men treat women as if they should be cosseted, while outside of the parlor, life itself does not treat them so gently? I’ve seen grown men pale at the sight of their wives giving birth.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “but your thought has merit.”

He trailed a path along her jaw, gently traced her bottom lip.

“Why are women considered more sinners than sinned against? Why do poor women and children seem to suffer more than men in a similar plight?”

“Because it’s easier to blame the defenseless,” Hamish said. “And those who have no one to speak for them.”

She looked at him, startled at his quick answer.

“Will you talk to me of the places you’ve seen?” she asked. “Even if they’re not considered proper?”

“When have we been entirely proper with each other?” he asked, amusement obvious in his sudden smile.

“Will you teach me shatranj?”

“So that you can win? I doubt you will.”

There, that’s what she wanted, his honesty.

“Will you tell me what happened in India?”

His face suddenly froze. Just as quickly as a thought, his smiling expression was gone, to be replaced by absolutely no expression at all. Yet she had the impression that she’d surprised him with her question.

“Have I not?”

She shook her head. “I suspect that more occurred than you’ve told anyone.”

“Why would you think that?”

He half turned toward the window again, distancing himself from her. She took a step closer, wrapped her arms around his waist, and waited. Finally, he glanced down at her again.

“Because of the look in your eyes sometimes, Hamish,” she said softly. “They seem to be haunted, as if you’re keeping a secret that’s poisoning you.”

“Do I know your secrets, Mary?”

“No,” she admitted, “you don’t.”

“Then it’s hardly fair of you to ask for mine without divulging some of your own, don’t you think?”

“Will we be that intimate?” She tilted back her head to study him. “I thought we were to be lovers, not friends.”

He looked disconcerted at her bluntness. “Can’t we be both?”

“It might be wiser to remain the former, and not strive for the latter.”

“Why? Don’t you wish to be my friend?”

No. She wanted to be able to leave him behind when the time came and not feel a loss.

She raised her hands and put them on his shoulders. Instead of answering him, she asked another question of her own. “Are you going kiss me?”

“Is that a request?”

“If we’re to be lovers,” she said softly, “perhaps we should begin immediately.”

She linked her hands behind his neck, thinking that a man who had undergone such grievous injuries should not look so alluring. Nor should a healer be having such lascivious thoughts about her patient.

His friend? No, she wouldn’t be his friend. That was only one short step removed from other, deeper emotions. Hamish MacRae would not give his heart easily, if at all, and she should guard hers with care.

Reaching out, she began to unfasten his shirt. Pulling it from his waistband, she placed her hands beneath the fabric, flat on his chest.

“I should treat your wounds,” she said.

“You are.” His smile was infinitely charming, with a touch of wickedness to it.

She shook her head at him, amused.

“I want you to undo your hair like you did last night, but I don’t want you to take your hands from me. How can I accomplish both?”

She felt a surge of heat travel through her at his words. How could he do such a thing to her with only a softly voiced sentence?

Withdrawing her hands, she hurriedly fumbled with her braid.

“You are so indescribably lovely,” he said. “And I’m so ugly beside you.”

She clutched at her hair with both hands, wishing that she didn’t hear more in his words. She didn’t want to be so attached to him that her heart ached at the hint of his regret. These days were for sensuality only, not for emotion.

“I am not,” she said. “I am simply ordinary.”

His smile broadened to become a grin, a boyish expression she’d not seen before. “Then if you’re simply ordinary, what must I be in comparison?”

“Hamish. You are simply Hamish. Isn’t that enough?”

There was that look again. Something lingered in his eyes, some horror he’d not yet articulated. So disturbing was the thought that she wanted to reach out her arms and enfold him in her embrace. She couldn’t shield him from what he’d already endured, but she could help him forget.

“Hamish,” she said gently, placing both her hands on his exposed chest. “Whatever they did to you is over. You needn’t remember it again. Not ever.” Just as quickly as it was there, the look was gone.

He reached out one hand and finished undoing her braid, spearing his fingers through her hair until it fell in coils around her shoulders.

The two of them were framed in the window, but she didn’t seek the shadows. Instead, this sunlit moment seemed perfect to begin their forbidden relationship.

“Kiss me, Hamish.” It was both a declaration and an order.

But he said nothing, nor did he react. His stillness was almost a dare.

She’d been the darling of her older parents, having been their only surviving child.

Being so well loved had given her a foundation of confidence, something she needed now as she extended her hands upward to cup either side of his face.

Slowly, she pulled his head down and stood on tiptoe to press her lips against his.

As he’d taught her last night, she allowed her tongue to dart out and trace the seam of his lips, the fullness of his lower lip.

His arm went around her, holding her close. But even that touch was not enough. Her skin warmed in remembered passion, and dampness pooled in secret folds as her body readied itself for him. How odd that she should anticipate and welcome him with no more than a kiss.

The dress was one she’d worn the day before. Over it, she’d donned her treatment apron. Without being asked, she removed it, and then slowly began to unfasten the laces of her bodice.

He watched her, his eyes downcast, as if hiding his response from her. His silence made her shy, made her question why she was there and why she’d agreed to stay. It felt as if he tested her by standing there doing nothing but regarding her.

“You’ll not urge me, will you?” she asked, understanding suddenly.

He lifted his eyes, and the strength of his gaze was startling. How could he convey so much in a simple look? “Does it need to be seduction, Mary? I’ve found that shared passion is more powerful.”

Not seduction, perhaps, but it would most certainly be surrender.

She let her skirt fall to the floor. Removing the bodice and stays, she stood before him as she had the night before, clad only in her shift and stockings.

Last night, there had been concealing shadows, and flickering candles that shielded and enhanced.

Now there was the glare of the sun streaming in through the window.

No artifice was allowed, no maidenly shyness, no reserve.

Slowly, she gripped the hem of her shift and pulled it over her head until she was clad only in her stockings and garters. She bent and untied her shoes, stepping out of them and standing before him almost naked.

His hand reached out and cupped her breast, his thumb playing with the tip of it. A small smile hovered over his lips as he watched it become tightly erect.

She closed her eyes, captured in the moment, feeling abandoned and wicked and adrift in a dozen emotions she couldn’t describe.

“And you dared to call yourself ordinary,” he murmured. “Nothing about you is ordinary, Mary. Not your smile or your body.” His hand left her breast to spear through her hair.

He pulled her close. His kiss was openly carnal, and demanding. She stood on tiptoe again and wrapped her hands and arms around his neck. Impatient, she pulled the material of his shirt open until her breasts pressed against the wiry hair on his chest.

He turned her until his back was to the window, shielding her from the sun’s glare.

Her eyes blinked open. There, beyond the land bridge even now being partially submerged by the incoming tide, was Brendan. Beside him stood Micah and Hester, all of them looking toward Castle Gloom, to where she and Hamish stood framed in the window.

“Did you want them to see us like this?” The choked whisper didn’t sound like her voice.

He glanced over his shoulder. “No, but I’m not sorry for it. Are you?”

“No,” she said, an indication of her wantonness, that she could so easily forget herself.

He’d shielded her from their gaze, but they should have stepped away from the window.

Instead, he bent to kiss her again, and she allowed it, or welcomed it, as well as the passion that swept through her at his touch.

She shivered as his hand swept down her body, his talented fingers searching out the heat of her.

“You’re ready for me,” he said, sounding too smug and pleased with himself.

“Yes,” she admitted, conciliation in a single word. All he had to do was smile at her, and her body warmed. Or kiss her, and she was eager for him.

He led her to the bed, but this time she would not easily acquiesce to his plans for her.

Slowly, she began to undress him, uncovering every inch of his skin with great deliberation. When his shirt was removed, she bent and kissed his chest. His boots were next, and she was grateful they slipped easily from his feet.

Her hands reached down to his trousers and unbuttoned three of the buttons, feeling the mound of hard male flesh that strained against the material. It burst free and she cradled his erection between her hands. It was as hot as she felt inside. Heat seeking heat.

He’d not looked quite so large last night.

A few tiny shocks traveled through her at the sight of this magnificent erection, and the memory of last night. Slowly, she trailed a path from the head to the base. A noise emerged from Hamish that was half groan, half laugh, and warned her that he might well stop this game before it began.