Page 52 of Deception of a Highlander

Among his fellow clansmen, Mariel had changed from the hated outsider to the welcomed, honored guest—and from pressing him for his affection to falling prey to Colin’s charm.

Grudgingly, he had to confess he had been impressed at her success with winning over his clan. It was a task not easily done. One presumed impossible for an Englishwoman.

Several people had stopped to speak with her throughout the evening with genuine smiles on their faces. Even Innes. Old, impenetrable Innes had actually bid her good evening as she’d passed.

Colin’s hand moved beneath the table, and a telltale blush colored Mariel’s fair cheeks. Any sense of humor dissipated from Kieran’s.

Where the hell was Alec with Bess?

Mariel leaned forward, so her breasts brushed Colin’s arm. Her lips were too close to Colin’s ear. Kieran did not know what she said but judging from the look on his old friend’s face, he could damn well guess.

His heavy chair slid against the fresh rushes on the floor and sent the aroma of hay and herbs wafting up to greet him. He stalked forward, muscles taut with anger.

Colin glanced up at him with eyes red-rimmed and bleary. He was as drunk as Kieran had ever seen him.

“Kieran! Will ye have a drink with us?” Colin slurred.

Mariel’s smile was brittle, and he could not help but notice she did not join Colin in extending the invite. The familiar scent of rose caught him off guard, bringing with it a surge of feelings and unwelcome memories: the sweetness of her mouth beneath his tongue, the heat of her body against his, and the whimpering moan of her release. Kieran’s hand clenched at his side.

She had promised herself to him, and yet here she sat with his best friend and now rival. Colin slid his hand around Mariel’s waist and regarded Kieran. A silent indicator of his claim on Mariel.

Colin was drunk, indeed.

Kieran’s fist slammed on the table with such force that Colin’s empty mug leapt up and clattered to the floor. “Get yer hand off her,” Kieran growled.

Colin’s eyes went wide, and he shifted his hand away as instructed. Mariel opened her mouth, doubtless with some sharp-tongued retort. She never got a chance to speak.

“Ye will come with me to my study,” Kieran demanded.

Her arms crossed defiantly over her chest

“Now!” he barked and turned to leave. She would follow. Of that, he had no doubt.

* * *

Mariel shifted her weight from one foot to the other and waited in tortured silence. For the tenth time, she scanned the room to avoid the stormy rage glinting in Kieran’s black eyes. Several ledgers rested on the surface of a large desk that took up half of the room. Soft light glowed in metal sconces around the room, the subtle odor of oil thick and warm but not unpleasant. Shelves of books lined the back wall and tempered the severity of the otherwise stark chamber.

She returned her gaze to the man in front of her and found he stared at her, his face unreadable as usual. The room was quiet, still. It frayed her nerves. She locked her hands on her hips and glared at him. “What is the meaning of this, Kieran?”

“What were ye doing with Colin?” His voice was unnaturally calm. If he meant it to cause her further unease, he’d succeeded.

“We were talking.”

Kieran narrowed his eyes. “Why Colin?”

She arched her eyebrow. “You aren’t speaking to me. He is.”

“What did ye speak about?”

Mariel’s unease grew. Did he suspect her? “What are you getting at, Kieran?”

“Dinna ye understand what ye do to me, Mariel?” His eyes flashed like chips of cold onyx in the soft golden light.

“No, actually, I don’t.” It was not a lie. Never before had she required so much effort to keep a man’s attention.

Kieran closed the distance between them with a single step so that the heat of his torso scorched her. The intensity of his gaze burned a path down her body. “Ye wear a dress like this, and ye dinna know what ye do to me?” He caught her against him, and his hand glided down to the curve of her bottom. When he spoke again, his voice was deeper, more sensual. “Ye kiss me with blatant desire, and ye dinna think I crave more?” His fierce expression softened, and he leaned forward, nuzzling her neck. His lips moved against her ear. “Ye come apart in my arms, and ye dinna think the image willna haunt me?” His breath was warm against her sensitive skin, tempting.

Frustration knotted with the thrill of pleasure, and she backed away from the lure of his touch. “You refuse me time and again.” She tried to swallow her anger and failed. “You haven’t spoken to me in weeks, and yet you expect me to realize you still want me?”