The Highlander's Haunted Kiss

“Fine. But until then, you need not fear me.” He managed a short bow. “I am the lord of Invergale. How came you to install yourself in my chamber?”

Her perfect pink mouth worked soundlessly as she seemed to grapple with an answer.

“It is a simple question.” He leaned an elbow on the ledge of a window, the view familiar to him in every season even though right now the lands below were dark. “You have sought out Invergale on purpose. You are young and not well chaperoned. You have made yourself comfortable in the master’s bed. Are you in need of a… er… extra coin for your services?”

“Excuse me?” She stepped down from the bed to stand on the floor, tugging a linen with her to clutch in front of her, as if she was not well covered enough.

She was younger than he’d realized, her face unlined, her expression uncertain now that he could see her more clearly in the light of a hearth fire.

“It is not unheard of for a maiden who has fallen on difficult times to offer her favors to the lord in exchange for his protection. You are obviously in trouble to seek shelter here.” Certainly, he liked this notion more than his earlier fear that she spied for his enemy. “Perhaps you merely tremble because you are inexperienced?”

She shook her head. “No!”

“Even better.” A new heat flared within him. “An experienced woman is all the more welcome-”

“I am not here to offer…” She pressed her lips together hard, her shoulders shaking as she seemed to wrestle with her words. Her cheeks flushed crimson. Finally, her mouth opened. “Myself.” She drew a deep breath. “I am the new mistress of Invergale.”

The heat that had been flowing pleasantly through his veins suddenly chilled. She could not have declared herself his enemy more clearly.

“If you will excuse me.” She straightened to her full height, which was barely past his shoulder. “I will dress and meet you in the hall if you would like to discuss this further. I hope we will not need to involve the local sheriff, but I can have my steward rouse him from his bed if you do not believe me.”

“Invergale is mine.” He hadn’t meant to roar the words like some territorial beast, but they surged from his throat with the ferocity of a dying man’s last wish. “No one has the authority to rule here save me.”

Frowning, she lifted her pitifully small blade a bit, as if to remind him she still wielded it.

“And look at how the place thrives under your careful stewardship.” She gestured to the roof of the tower where a hint of starlight was visible through a bit of crumbled stone. “Perhaps you have overseen the property for so long that you have come to think of it as yours, but I assure you that you have no legal claim.”

He straightened from the window ledge and advanced on her, good intentions be damned. “Do I look like any man’s chamberlain to you?”

He stopped a hand’s span from her, close enough to remind her she dealt with a trained warrior and not some weak-eyed clerk whose biggest responsibility was holding the keys to the storage rooms. Iain’s sheer size should have made his station in life clear.

“You look like a man far too accustomed to having his way, but I assure you, you are wrong in this.” The impudent female hugged the bed linens tighter to her chest, but she stood her ground with silent stubbornness despite her more obvious fear.

“Do you see the sword at my back?” he asked, waiting while her gaze flicked up to the jeweled hilt over his shoulder. “My ancestors wielded it at Flodden and Bannockburn.”

“It appears far better cared for than the tower falling down around our ears.”

The biting words were softly uttered, giving them a damning quality only a woman could manage. He shook his head, aware that his anger was fading, replaced by a simmering awareness he should not feel.

“Your boldness should not surprise me after the way you barged past locked doors to rest your head in my keep.”

The hearth fire sizzled and popped while the lady’s cheeks colored prettily. He could not help but enjoy the way offending her made her less fearful.

“It is my keep, sir. We can call upon the magistrate on the morrow to convince you, but you must leave at once.” She reached up with nervous fingers to tuck a silky brown hair behind one ear. The movement shifted the linens she held, stirring the scent of heather in the air.