Regency Proposal: The Laird's Forbidden Lady / Haunted by the Earl's Touch

‘Lay yourself down,’ he said. His voice was grim and when she peeped at his face, she saw his mouth was set in a stern line.

What was the matter with him? She settled herself down on one side of the makeshift bed, looking up at him.

His hands went to his belt, then glanced at her. He picked up his shirt and drew it over his head. ‘Close your eyes.’

‘A bit late for modesty, isn’t it?’ she asked, stifling the urge to giggle.

He turned away, uttering a sound between a curse and a laugh of his own.

A huff of his breath blew out the candle and a moment or two later came the sound of him unfastening his belt. Her unruly mind travelled right back to the scene in the cave, him standing there dressing. Now he was undressing. She didn’t need a candle to see.

Cursing silently, she tried not to envisage what was taking place.

A moment later, she felt his warmth along her side and the weight of the thick wool of his kilt settle onto her body. It retained some of his warmth.

She’d slept on softer mattresses, been covered by finer linens, but given her state of exhaustion she could not say that any had felt better than this bed of heather.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘You are welcome.’

She shivered.

Ian’s arm came around her shoulders and he pulled her towards him, tucking her against him so her head rested on his chest. Instantly, she felt warmed by his heat, by the feel of his hand on her waist. But more than that, she felt safe. Protected.

It felt wonderful.

She snuggled closer. ‘Body heat,’ she said, laughing softly, feeling wicked and a little giddy suddenly from lack of breath. ‘Goodnight,’ she breathed and tipped her face up to kiss his cheek. At least she was sure that was what she had intended, but she found his mouth instead.

He kissed her back, long and deep until her senses swam. He rolled her on her back, plundering her mouth with his tongue, gently cupping her breast, tenderly pressing her legs open with his firm thigh.

She moaned as her feminine centre responded to the pressure. Her hips arched upwards as she accepted Ian’s deepening kiss.

Suddenly, he jerked away as if stung and uttered a curse. He rolled away from her and she could hear the sound of his ragged breathing in the dark.

‘Ian,’ she said tentatively.

‘Go to sleep, little Sassenach. I’ll no be touching you and you’ll no be touching me. Are we agreed?’ It seemed that what to her had been a moment of bliss to him had been … well, something inconvenient.

He lay perfectly still beside her, slowing his breathing, pretending to be asleep, no doubt. Unbelievable. She was lying next to a nearly naked man, out in the wilds of Scotland, a man she found hugely attractive and who had just kissed her senseless, and he was acting as if he was her brother.

Perhaps the idea of making love to a cripple was more than he could stand. It was hard to blame him if that was the case. She had to admit the scars were pretty ugly and the limp was far from alluring. She was lucky Dunstan had been willing to overlook her flaws. Her stomach sank. Dunstan had done it for the money. He was also a nice man. Kind. Sweet.

A thought, crystal clear and dreadful, came out of nowhere. For the first time since they’d left the keep, her mind seemed sharp.

She shoved at his shoulder.

‘What now, lass?’ he mumbled as if he was really asleep.

‘My father will guess I have gone to Alice. I always do.’

‘So?’ Ah, now he sounded more awake.

‘What if he gets to her first?’

‘What if he does?’

‘Then the alibi won’t work.’

Chapter Ten (#ulink_c6a8df41-2812-5662-98b9-6af67313e43f)

The next morning, they turned south. As she strode along beside him, she noticed that her leg barely ached at all. The doctors were right—walking was good for her, though they had not envisaged her tramping through the heather for days. Even so, she needed all her concentration not to trip over the clumps of heather and rocky outcroppings.

While they walked, Ian continually scanned the hills, ahead and behind, especially before they crested each hill. Each time he signalled for her to duck down, her heart rose in her throat. He was clearly intending not to be surprised as they had been the day before.

The next hill they crossed brought them to a valley so small it was more like a crevasse. A cottage snuggled against its craggy cliff. A tiny croft with a peat-covered roof neatly held down with a spiderweb of ropes weighted with boulders. Two people conversed outside the front door, an old crone and a ragged child with a basket over her arm. Rust-coloured chickens were picking about in the dirt at their feet.

‘Let’s hope Grannie has a stew pot over the fire,’ Ian said. ‘And whisky on her table.’

Selina’s stomach growled at the thought of hot food. She quickened her pace.

Ian stayed her with a touch to her arm. ‘Wait here. I’ll make sure things are what they seem.’

Whereas she would have charged in and devil take the hindmost. It was a good thing one of them had some sense. Sighing with relief at the chance to rest, she sank down on a rock and watched him stride down the hill.

Such a braw laddie he looked in the sunlight. Her heart lifted at the sight of his broad shoulders and the way his kilt revealed his strong calves and manly knees. He looked at home and very much in command.

The chickens scattered with clucks and squawks at his arrival. The old lady shielded her eyes from the sun. The girl stared up at him with awe.

The old woman beamed, obviously recognising him. She might have been welcoming the Prince Regent, so effusive was she as she gestured for him to enter, bridling like a girl in her eagerness.

The child curtsied.

The charming smile on Ian’s face would make any female bridle. He looked so handsome when he smiled. He glanced in her direction, indicating he had a companion. Once more the woman put a hand up to shield her face. In an instant, her demeanour changed. She waved her arm first in one direction, then in another. An argument seemed to ensue. Selina could hear the old woman’s raised voice, but not the words. She ended her diatribe, waving an admonishing finger in his face.

The child fled.

How very odd. Highlanders were known for their courtesy, especially to travellers, even if it was only a dram of whisky and an oatcake to see them on their way.

To her surprise, the woman disappeared inside the croft and slammed the door. The sound reverberated off the rocks and crags and faded in ever-quieter echoes.

Ian stomped back towards her. As he drew closer, she could see the glower of anger on his face and behind it worry.

She pushed herself to her feet. ‘What happened?’

His mouth flattened to a thin line. ‘The soldiers were here.’

Her heart picked up speed. ‘Looking for us?’