Page 20 of Trapped with the Vicious Highlander (Falling for Highland Villains #5)

CHAPTER 20

Ava stared at the dress Flora had raised before her.

“What do ye think?” she asked, her eyes wide with anticipation, as if whatever Ava said would determine whether the dress needed to stay or go.

They were in Flora’s room, chatting excitedly about the chèilidh and what Flora had prepared for the people coming from far and wide to celebrate Margaret.

Margaret herself sat on Flora’s bed, throwing stones into the air and catching them.

Ava continued to examine the dress in quiet wonder. It was a deep blue silk gown with intricate embroidery on the bodice and a rather complex bottom. The intricately designed lace displayed the elegance and luxury spent on the dress.

Ava wasn’t a dressmaker, but she knew with absolute certainty that making this dress must have cost a substantial amount of time, money, and effort.

“That is the most beautiful dress I have ever seen. My God, it looks exquisite.”

“I sent word to the dressmaker the day ye arrived. If me niece is goin’ to attend a cèilidh in her honor, she must wear something exquisite. And as ye said, exquisite it is.”

Ava’s eyes widened. “This is for Margaret?”

As if the sound of her name had triggered something within her, Margaret caught a stone mid-air and moved closer to them, her wide eyes fixed on the dress as well. Ava raised it and let her admire it. She could see the excitement in the little girl’s eyes no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

“You are going to look quite beautiful in this dress, Margie.”

“Like the daughter of a laird,” Flora added proudly.

Margaret laughed.

“I had something made for ye as well,” Flora said suddenly, shifting her gaze to Ava.

“Flora, that was not necessary. I do not think?—”

“I willnae hear one more word. Ye’re takin’ care of Margaret. Ye’re just as much family as Brodrick. The dress is on its way as we speak.”

“Flora—”

“Dinnae worry. I have asked that they make it well and proper for someone with yer figure. I am certain ye’ll look breathtaking in it. Especially when ye’re ready to dance.”

Ava swallowed, her cheeks heating up. “Dance?”

“Ye ken, at a cèilidh, ‘tis quite proper for lasses like ye to have a dance or two with some of the lairds.”

As they all settled on the floor, Ava could feel the briefest wave of red swim up her face. It had been a long time since anyone asked her to dance. She was almost certain that she was rusty at it—at least at the ones she even knew.

“I…” Ava trailed off, feeling shame creep up her face. “I don’t know how to dance.”

It was hard for her not to notice the look of utter shock on Flora’s face. “What?”

“I have lived most of my life on the border. I know I try to mention as often as I can that my mother was, in fact, Scottish. But the truth of the matter is… I never learned.”

“So ye dinnae ken any Scottish dances?” Flora asked incredulously, almost like Ava had told her she had grown two heads.

Ava shrugged. “It’s not like I know a whole lot of English dances either. I’ll probably stumble or step hard on someone’s feet in there. The last thing you want is for me to embarrass myself.”

Flora shook her head. “So ye dinnae ken any Scottish dance or any English dance?”

“I’m afraid I’m as clueless as a rock. I know almost nothing when it comes to dances,” Ava sighed.

“Why?” Margaret’s voice rang out, piercing the awkwardness in the air.

Ava shared a glance with Flora, who was about to cover her mouth with her hands in pure excitement. This was probably the first time Flora heard Margaret speak. Ava shook her head almost immediately, a subtle warning in her eyes. The last thing they wanted was to scare the little girl by making her voice a bigger deal.

“Why, you ask?” Ava continued, a bitter smile on her face. “I mean, it’s not like I had men lined up in front of my door, eager to dance with me. Few wanted a woman like me as their partner.”

“A woman so beautiful?” Margaret commented.

Ava laughed, part of her glad at how pure Margaret was. A child who didn’t judge her based on her appearance.

“A woman so opinionated.”

“I hear ye there,” Flora offered. “The last thing those men need is a woman who will continue to say aye to them for the rest of their lives.”

Ava laughed. “I am certain Darach wouldn’t be that kind of man, though.”

Flora swallowed. Ava noticed it immediately. It confirmed her suspicions.

“What are ye talkin’ about?”

“I saw the way he looked at you at the stables,” Ava admitted. “Do not worry, my lips are completely sealed. I truly understand how it feels. New love.”

“Ava, I?—”

“I mean, he does seem responsible, does he not? He’s your brother’s right-hand man, after all. Which means he must have shown his loyalty somehow. From the little I know of him, he truly does seem like a good man,” Ava continued.

Flora’s eyes traveled to the dress in her hands. Ava could see it clearly now, the red shade on the woman’s cheeks.

“He does seem like a gentleman, does he nae?” Flora murmured.

Ava nodded. “Do not worry about having to tell anyone, do you hear me? When there’s something to tell, the right people would hear it.”

Flora nodded. “Well, we need to teach ye some proper dances. I’d do it meself, but I am needed in the kitchens for the rest of the day.”

A brief moment of silence passed between them as Ava’s eyes lingered on Flora. She seemed deep in thought. Her brow was furrowed, and she had the most contemplative expression on her face.

Suddenly, her face lit up as if she just had the brightest idea. “Maybe me braither could teach ye?”

Ava opened her mouth to object, ready to come up with reasons as to why that was not exactly the best idea.

But she was interrupted by a gruff and unmistakable voice at the door. “Teach her what?”

The three of them turned to the door and found Brodrick lingering in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, his arms folded tight across his chest. Something about the way the fragmented rays of the setting sun shone on his face caused Ava’s heart to skip a beat.

“Dance,” Margaret replied, much to Flora’s surprise—which Ava made sure she managed to hide one more time.

Brodrick frowned. “Dance?”

“The lady doesnae ken a lick of Scottish dances,” Flora explained. “Someone has to teach her, and it cannae be me.”

“Why do I have to teach her?” Brodrick asked, dropping his hands to his sides.

Flora shook her head in despair. “Would ye rather I call one of yer men to do it?”

Brodrick shuffled his feet, and Ava could see it on his face. The idea did not exactly sit well with him.

“I suppose,” he relented, his tone hesitant.

“Good,” Flora muttered.

“Guests,” Brodrick said, gesturing in the direction of the Great Hall.

Flora shook her head and turned to Ava. “This is what ten years of war does to a man.” She got off the , dusting the specks of dust off her dress. “It makes him grumpy and say words like guests instead of tellin’ me to attend to the guests in the Great Hall.”

Ava and Margaret laughed.

“Why dinnae ye have yer first lesson now?” Flora suggested.

Ava opened her mouth to give some kind of excuse, but Brodrick beat her to it, again.

“Nay, I need to?—”

“It can wait, Brodrick. I am incredibly certain of that,” Flora insisted, then beckoned to Margaret. “Come, child. Let us welcome the guests . Because I am most definitely certain that yer faither willnae,” she called, mimicking Brodrick’s voice.

Margaret laughed and took Flora’s hand, and soon they both made their way out of the room. Brodrick walked in further, and Flora reached for the door handle.

“Please, the cèilidh is tomorrow. She needs to ken a handful of dances before then.”

Before Ava could object, and before Brodrick could say anything, Flora shut the door tight behind her, locking them both in.

* * *

Brodrick turned to Ava, who was already rising from the floor. “We might as well do what she wants.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Like you can’t break down the door if you want.”

Brodrick shrugged. “Maybe I dinnae want to do that.”

Ava nodded. “Fair enough.”

Brodrick held out his hand and waited for her to take it.

“This is called the Strathspey ,” he started, twirling her around before she finally settled against his chest. His hand remained on her waist, and his eyes locked onto hers. They danced around the room, with Brodrick taking the lead and ensuring her steps were correct. She twirled, laughed, and was dipped back as the dance came to an end.

They remained locked together, their bodies swaying to a silent tune for a while longer—longer than necessary. Long enough to elicit a reaction from Brodrick. His hand left her waist and snaked up to her face.

Ava could see it in his eyes, could see it from the way they darkened. She knew where this was going.

“Brodrick—”

“’Tis just the two of us,” Brodrick murmured, his breath fanning her lips.

He backed her up against the wall closest to them and pinned her hands above her head. Then, before she could say another word or even breathe, he leaned in and kissed her. The kind of kiss one wouldn’t regard as soft or gentle.

It was possessive. Territorial. As if he wanted to memorize every corner of her mouth. His other hand traced her bottom lip, then her chest, and then her curves. A breathy moan escaped Ava’s lips.

“Ye can always tell me to stop,” Brodrick whispered, pausing before sealing his mouth over hers again.

His fingers lingered on her curves like they were taking their time, learning every single one. Then, he lifted her skirt, relishing the low, breathy moans spilling out of her mouth. He pressed against her, and she could feel him, hard and firm against her leg.

“Brodrick, we shouldn’t—” The words died on her tongue as his fingers slid across her upper thigh, his touch setting all her nerves on fire.

It was like his fingers had ignited something within her. Something dark, something gritty and raw and animalistic.

“Say the word, Ava,” he whispered, pressing even harder against her, his other hand still pinning hers against the wall. “Say it, and I’ll stop.”

But she didn’t. She tried to say it. To tell him they couldn’t keep doing this. To tell him this was all a mistake. To tell him it wasn’t going to last. But the words melted in her throat as his fingers tugged at her undergarments. His hand was gentle and soft against her, and no matter how hard she tried to push him away, she found herself arching into him, asking, begging, pleading for more.

Brodrick let his fingers linger on her for a minute, gently grazing her folds, feeling her throb and grow wet.

Then, he slid a finger inside her.

Another jagged moan escaped her lips. One he swallowed almost immediately by resuming their frantic kiss. His tongue seemed to mirror the rhythm of his fingers, and he slid a second finger inside her.

Ava ground her hips against him, one of her hands slipping free and clutching at his bicep, holding on for dear life. She moaned into his mouth, feeling his manhood press against her legs as his fingers worked harder and faster inside her.

The faster his fingers moved, the more she felt the need to groan and press harder against him. He let her. Then, he went in for the final lap. His fingers settled into a steady but incredibly fast rhythm. One that was certain to make her climax at any moment.

She did.

Her walls clenched around his fingers, her moans getting swallowed by his kiss.

They remained like that for a few minutes, with Brodrick letting Ava catch her breath and release every shiver, every tremble.

He helped her put her undergarments back on and then lowered her dress.

“We really cannot keep doing this, Brodrick. I’m going back to the orphanage in just a few days. This would only hurt even more.”

Brodrick said nothing. Instead, he helped her fix the back of her dress. But Ava could feel the thoughts lingering in the back of his head.

“Do ye have to go?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ava responded.

She knew where the question came from, and she wished the situation was different. But it wasn’t. They were both from completely different worlds, and they had been joined together for a brief moment by a common interest. That interest was growing less common by the day, and it only meant they were bound to return to their separate worlds.

“The orphanage means a lot to me, Brodrick,” she added. “It is incredibly important.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t think you do,” Ava said. “Ever since I decided to become a spinster, I have vowed to take care of people in need—people who need my help. I was created to care for those poor children. Margaret was one of them, but there are hundreds more out there. Thousands of girls and women with no place to go, waiting for someone to save them, for someone to take them in without taking advantage of them. That someone might be me, Brodrick.”

Brodrick listened attentively to her, and after she had finished speaking, he merely nodded. There was an unreadable expression on his face as he looked at her. “Very well. Then I shall make certain ye’re happy.”

Ava frowned in puzzlement. What did he mean by that? She opened her mouth, about to ask him, when the door clicked and creaked open.

Flora stood on the other side, her hand lingering on the handle. A slight frown creased her brow as her eyes darted between Ava and Brodrick. Ava could tell she had words, but for some reason, she said nothing.

Her frown disappeared, and she looked at Brodrick. “Laird MacMungo is here.”

Brodrick sighed. “I’ll be out to see him soon.”

Ava’s gaze turned to Brodrick, then to Flora, a curious expression on her face. Flora gave her a nod and closed the door once again, sealing them off from the noise and murmurings outside the room.

Ava looked up at Brodrick. “Who is Laird MacMungo?” she asked.