Page 24 of When the Laird Conquers

“And… what rule might that be?” she panted, torturing him.

He schooled his expression into a mask of cold calm. “Ye should forbid me to touch ye.”

Her cheeks flushed that tempting pink, a color that his tongue could have easily coaxed out of her too. But whether this rosy blush was conjured by embarrassment, fear, or something else entirely, he had no way to be sure, and wouldn’t push himself further toward danger by finding out.

“If ye daenae impose that rule upon me,” he added sternly, “then I’ll do it meself.”

He turned and walked to the door with a cursory “Good night,” leaving her to finish her cold dinner in peace.

Despite the vastness of the castle, and the countless empty rooms and extensive grounds where he could wander, there was only one place where he would find peace. One place where he might stand a chance of forcing Agnes out of his head, even if it took all night to work her out of his thoughts.

The forbidden tower.

9

Curtains whipped like the wings of an enormous bird, blasted inward by the icy storm that turned the sky black. Snow tumbled down in thick flakes, a veil of white that blotted out the landscape, and the empty hallways of Castle Buchlann howled with each wintry gust.

Dressed in white, Agnes stumbled along those eerie halls, pulled by the iron grip of her ‘betrothed.’ When he looked back over his shoulder at her, his grey eyes were black, his skin moonlight pale, his lips unnaturally red, his mouth forming words she could not hear above the screaming wind.

He was taking her to the eastern tower, the place he had forbidden her from. She didn’t know how she knew it, but that was the logic of a dream. She had no control over it, but she understood things she could not have possibly known.

“I’ll obey,” she heard herself plead, though it did not sound at all sincere. “I will behave, my Laird. I shall not break another one of your rules.”

There was a fawning note to her voice that confused her. If she had broken the rules and was due to receive some manner of cruel punishment, surely she should be howling at the top of her lungs for forgiveness? Surely, she should be petrified?

Gordon tugged her roughly to him, and her palms came up to balance herself, slamming into the hard granite of his muscled chest. Held there for a moment, she was half-shocked, half-thrilled, excited by the imagined feel of his body against hers.

“I promise, I will be obedient,” she murmured, peering up at him.

“Aye, I mean to make sure of it,” he growled, those black eyes glinting like river pebbles.

Her scream joined the wind as he grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her up, throwing her over his shoulder.

Yet, she couldn’t decide if her scream was one of terror or if it was something akin to a game, playing along with the melodrama of her nighttime imagination. Pretending to be scared to make it all the more exciting.

A wooden door lay ahead. Behind it, she had no doubt she would discover the mysteries of the eastern tower.

But what dark and twisted things would she find there that had earned him the name of the Mad Laird? She couldn’t even begin to imagine the possibilities far beyond anything her dreaming mind could conjure.

He carried her closer and closer to that door, and as his hand turned the handle and the hinges began to shriek, she woke up with a start.

Breathing hard, she lay there in the dark, staring up at the brocade canopy that blocked out even the tiniest sliver of moonlight. The linens were drenched with her sweat, and though she knew she was no longer in that unknown hallway, heading toward that forbidden tower, a shudder had chased her out into the real world.

It was a strange feeling, her body all shivery and tingly. But she couldn’t quite determine if it was residual fear or if it was the lingering pull of anticipation.

Perhaps it is neither. Perhaps I simply didn’t eat enough at dinner.

She had lost her appetite for a second time after Gordon had departed the dining hall, and she likely still had not entirely recovered from her exhausting journey to Scotland. Plus, not knowing Edwin’s next move had her in a state of constant unease, so there was that to consider as the cause of her odd dream and her odder shivers.

Certain that she wouldn’t easily fall back to sleep, Agnes kicked off the coverlets and dragged herself to the edge of the bed. There, she took the long hem of her nightdress and dabbed away the beads of sweat that warmed her brow.

With a groan, she rose to her feet and padded over the threshold into the adjoining nursery, to the crib that Iona and Marcus had put in the corner of the room. A silk canopy draped down over the cradle, and as Agnes teased it aside, she fully expected to find Lizzy fast asleep.

Instead, the darling little girl stared up at her with those big, beautiful eyes… while trying very hard to eat her own toe.

“Why didn’t you make a peep, my sweet little mouse?” Agnes chuckled and lifted the baby out of the crib, rocking her as she carried her to the window. “Oh, you are such a good baby, aren’t you? You didn’t want to wake your poor old aunt. Had I not had such a troubling dream, I might have rested right through until morning.”

With a grin, she dipped her head and blew a raspberry against Lizzy’s chubby little stomach.