Page 88 of The Dragon Laird’s Obsession

Gordon moved closer. His eyes never left hers. They held a question, a warning, and something far more vulnerable beneath both.

Her pulse fluttered wildly beneath her skin. Ailis swallowed and stayed still. She could feel the warmth of his breath now, and her lips began parting.

Then thunder rolled across the Highlands. The deep rumble shook the building, breaking the fragile spell between them.

Gordon jerked backward. “Gods help me,” he muttered.

Ailis blinked back to reality as his rough words shattered the heat of the moment.

He dragged a hand through his hair, his jaw tight, his breathing uneven.

For one breath, she thought he might lean in again. Instead, he looked at her. The intensity in his eyes made her pulse leap, but he turned abruptly and strode away from her into the rain.

By the time Gordon and Ailis returned to the keep, night had settled over the Highlands.

Rainwater streamed from his hair, soaking through his tunic. His boots struck the stone with heavy, wet steps as he entered the great hall. Ailis was dry because he made sure she wore his cloak while he wandered off into the rain to cool off. Another minute with her in that pavilion, and he would have lost his mind.

I cannae have that.

As they dismounted his horse and walked toward the keep’s entrance, he saw his brother, Sorcha, and Marion all waiting, faces drawn with worry.

Sorcha rushed forward and hugged Ailis the moment she got to her. She stood beside Sorcha, wrapped in his wool while Marion hovered nearby with a worried crease between her brows.

“Where have ye been?” Sorcha demanded, her eyes darting over Ailis. “We were all worried for ye two as ye dinnae return with the others from the hunt.”

“We feared ye had been caught in the storm,” Marion added.

“And why are ye soaked through? Was there nay shelter?” Callan asked, looking to Gordon.

Gordon heard the questions. He could answer none of them without revealing far more than he wished.

His thoughts were still filled with Ailis. Her face, her lips… and that treacherous moment before the thunder broke them apart.

His jaw tightened as he scrambled his mind for the right answer. “We got caught in the rain and had to wait it out.”

“But ye are soaked,” Marion said now, moving to touch his face. “I shall have the servants draw a bath for ye two. Ye daenae want to catch a cold and…”

“It willnae be necessary for me,” Gordon said before he walked away from them.

He reached his study and shut the door hard behind him.

A moment later, Malcolm entered his study.

“The men in the dungeon have spoken,” Malcolm announced.

Gordon turned sharply, ignoring the cold slithering under his skin as he walked to his shelf and reached for his whisky. He needed the heat from the liquid to burn through him now more than ever.

“And?” he questioned Malcolm after taking a long drink from it.

“They didnae confess who sent them, but I found this in their possessions.”

Malcolm showed him a torn piece of clothing with the familiar colors of dull gray and dark green.

Cold settled through Gordon. “These are the Kerr colors.”

“Aye.”

Gordon’s hand tightened around the edge of his desk. “Then he is here because he is plannin’ somethin’,” Gordon continued. “Why else would he risk acceptin’ me invitation? The raid was merely a distraction.”