Page 38 of Deception of a Highlander

“Ach, he’s far too humble to agree to the like,” Colin said, saving him from having to admit he had been staring at her and not listening.

“A true gentleman if ever I did see one,” Mariel acknowledged with a flirtatious smile. Her hand rested on his forearm for the briefest of moments, but it was long enough for the heat of her touch to linger with a slow burn.

She turned her head to say something to Colin, and her long neck arched gracefully. A silky black tendril of hair trailed down the white expanse of her throat and clung to the sleeve of her dress. He ached to brush the errant lock back into place as he’d done before. To let his fingertips caress the softness of her skin and to slide his hand around the back of her neck and tilt that beautiful face up toward him, so he had access to her full, promising lips. She would be sweet to the taste and passionate in her response.

He knew that much from experience.

Colin’s voice traveled toward him. “Mariel, ye look exhausted. Would ye like me to show ye to yer room?”

Kieran shot up abruptly before realizing what he was doing and sent the heavy wooden chair grinding into the rushes below. “That willna be necessary, Colin.” He shot a challenging look toward his friend, a silent warning to stand down. “I’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” Mariel said with a weary smile. “I confess, I am rather tired, and the thought of a warm bed is tempting indeed.”

It was the closest thing to a complaint he had heard from her since they’d began the trip over three weeks ago. She’d endured the freezing cold, the soaking rains, and even an unexpected attack without the slightest issue. Now she sat before him with dark smudges under her eyes, admitting only to the enticement of bed. If only it were his bed.

Kieran exited the great hall, not looking back to ensure she followed. He did not need to. After over an hour of sitting beside her, he was all too aware of her searing presence.

The wind howled outside and filled the comfortable silence between them as they wound through the narrow halls. They passed the plain wooden door of his room before stopping at hers. If anyone came down the hall where she slept, he would hear them.

He leaned over her and pulled the handle on the door, so it swung open with a great groan of protest as unused hinges ground against one another.

Golden light from the fireplace spilled out into the hall and pulsed around them with an aura of warmth. She looked up at him, her gaze no longer confident or flashing with the merriment she had displayed only minutes before in the great hall. Exhaustion dimmed the light in her eyes and exposed the hint of vulnerability he had glimpsed on the balcony when they’d first met.

“Thank you, Kieran.” Her voice was soft even in the tomblike silence of the stone hall.

“I’m more a gentleman than Colin would have been had he shown ye to yer room.” It was meant as a jest, but the very thought of Colin touching her made him want to punch something.

“I…” She hesitated as if searching for what to say. “I know your people are not happy with my presence here. I also know you anticipated this when you allowed me to come, and still, you brought me. You took a chance when welcoming me into your home.” Her brows knit together in an earnest expression. “Thank you.”

Her shy smile and obvious trepidation were disarming. He had seen her carefree attitude throughout the day and wondered how she could be so oblivious to the cold welcome. Now he understood that she was not oblivious, yet nor did she succumb to her own ambiguity. For all her quiet strength, she was wounded by their hatred.

And she trusted him enough to let him see that.

“It isna that they dinna like ye. They dinna trust yer people. The English have caused…much pain among my clan. Dinna worry though, they will grow to like ye.” He doubted he spoke the truth, but the way her brow smoothed with relief made him glad for the lie.

Unable to resist the temptation, he ran his fingers over the velvety softness of her cheek. She turned her face toward the palm of his hand, encouraging his touch. Her skin was petal soft and alluring.

He brushed her lower lip with the pad of his thumb, and her lashes fluttered closed. A warm sigh bathed his finger.

The moist heat of her mouth tempted him to sweep the digit against the tip of her tongue, to feel the pressure of her mouth close around him. Desire tightened low in his belly, the same way her lips might wrap around his cock, which now jutted uncomfortably beneath his plaid. The bed in her room was large enough to accommodate them both.

His breathing had grown deep as he stood like a fool staring at her, hungry for what he would not allow himself to take. He needed to go, lest he give in to a temptation that he would not allow himself to sample. Not again.

Kieran let his hand drop to the side and rubbed his fingers against his thumb to obliterate the decadent sensation. Her presence at Caisteal Camus unnerved him, and it had little to do with the clan’s reaction to her arrival. There was too much at stake. His hand tightened into a fist. And then there was her confession of Jack…

“Good night, Mariel,” he said in a voice terse even to his ears.

Confusion and hurt flickered across her face, but she did not protest. Wordlessly, she entered the bedroom and let the door close behind her, plunging him into total darkness.

* * *

Mariel finished lacing the simple bodice of her homespun gown the next day, careful to leave it loose to account for the slow-healing wound. Wearing her corset the previous evening had aggravated the gash considerably, and now the white-hot stab was a constant reminder of its existence.

The look on Kieran’s face when he saw her made the pain worthwhile. His obsidian gaze had fallen on her throughout the night, burning with interest. Heat warmed Mariel’s cheeks at the memory. She was not so indifferent herself.

He had been handsome and proud at the head of the table—the obvious leader to his people. His hair had hung loose to his shoulders, and his sharp jaw was clean-shaven. He’d donned the garb of a Highlander and wore a fresh white leine with his plaid belted around his tapered waist. The combination had been overwhelmingly masculine and left her pulse racing at his nearness.

Shouts from outside trickled into her room, muffled by the shutters on the lower portion of her window. Though tightly locked, a chill seeped through the slats and spread cold against her waist when she peered through the warped glass to the scene below. People circled something she could not see. Their jeers were carried away by the wind. Mariel strained to make out what they had gathered around. A flash caught her eye. A glint of sunlight as it glanced off the blade of a sword, followed by the distinct ring of metal on metal.