The Highlander's Temptation (8 page)

Picking up her
goblet Lorna brought the wine to her lips, wishing she hadn’t spent so much time bating her aunt. Now she’d have to pay the price of her aunt’s interference and the embarrassment it was sure to cause her. Not to mention Jamie. The man hadn’t come here with intentions of sweeping her off her feet. ’Twas not a social call, but one of business, and he no doubt didn’t want to walk away from it with a wife.

The only thing she could do from now on was ignore him. He had to have pride. He wouldn’t simply agree to her aunt’s plans if Lorna continued to brush him off.

Throughout the first half of the meal, when he attempted to speak to her, Lorna responded only in grunts, nods and shakes of her head. But by the halfway mark, and possibly her second goblet of wine, she found herself actually responding. Meeting his gaze. And all the sensations she’d felt before rushed through her in tumultuous waves. The man had a smile that could melt the ice atop the Grampian Mountains.

But every now and then, she caught sight of Aunt Fiona watching them, and then she’d clam up
and ignore him. Stab at the roasted venison on her plate or shove an overlarge bite of bread into her mouth. Manners be damned. If she couldn’t keep herself to ignoring him, perhaps he’d be disappointed with her eating habits.

Men liked women with a dainty appetite, and despite her petite figure, Lorna had anything
but
a dainty hunger for food. Not that it mattered, Jamie didn’t seem to notice in the least that she ate nearly as much as he did.

After what felt like excruciating hours, the servants cleared
away the platters and trenchers and pipers and fiddlers started to play the lively tunes that the Sutherlands enjoyed.

Nearly a quarter of the clan
was dancing in the center of the great hall after shoving one set of trestle tables on the left side up against the wall. Lorna’s foot started tapping and if it weren’t for the man sitting beside her, she’d have gotten up to dance already.

Jamie leaned close to her, his voice low as he said, “Ye like to dance?”

“Nay,” Lorna said adamantly.

“Your foot suggest
s otherwise.”

She
immediately stopped tapping her foot and flashed him a glance, but quickly looked away when she felt she could drown in his gaze. “Ye’re mistaken,” she whispered.

Jamie chuckled, the sound making her also want to laugh, but she kept her lips firmly together.

“Ye’ve been tapping your foot atop my toes in time with the music.”

Lorna gritted her teeth. “Fine. I like to dance.”

“Would ye care to dance with me?”

Her heart skipped a beat.
“Nay!” she said, probably too quickly.

“Nay?”
There was a hint of humor in his voice.

She glanced beyond him to her aunt, then down at the empty space where her trencher had been. “Nay.”

“Come now, I dinna bite.”

Lorna gasped. “I would hope not.”

“Then why do ye refuse? Ye like to dance and so do I.”

“It would…” She trailed off, not wanting to tell him the true reason.

Again he leaned close, his voice so low it sent a stroke of pleasure over her. “I promise one dance is not going to have your aunt insisting we rush to the altar.”

Lorna flicked her eyes toward his, shocked that he’d guessed her hesitancy. Jamie’s eyes were merry and danced with pleasure. He held his hand over his heart.

“I’ll nay let ye be compromised, my lady. I simply wish to dance with ye.”

What could be the harm?
Besides the entire clan planning a wedding that he obviously didn’t want—hadn’t he just said that? And she didn’t want it either for that matter!

“One dance,” she said.

“Just one.” He winked.

Oh, what a devil he was, winking at her like that. What did that mean? That he was saying one dance, but meant
more? Before she could think on it, Jamie pushed back his chair, then pulled hers out and offered her his hand.

Lorna ignored the many eyes on them, and
took Jamie’s hand, her fingers sinking into his larger, warm grasp. A smile curled his lips, matched by her own. She liked holding his hand. A little too much. Just one dance, and then she’d excuse herself for the evening, lest she do something she regretted, like tell the man how his palm against hers was sending hot frissons up her arm, or how her legs shook a little as they walked toward the other dancers.

Jamie twirled her around, his body clashing against hers before he twirled her another way, and then they were both tapping their feet, and whirling around the others. But every time they came back together, Lorna felt the heat of her body increase.
Sparks of some foreign emotion. Her belly wasn’t the only thing fluttering either. An intense, confusing heat had started to build between her thighs. She wasn’t naïve enough not to understand it either. She was attracted to the warrior. Dangerously so.

At the end of the dance, he bowed toward her, and she curtsied in turn.

“My thanks,” she murmured. “If ye would excuse me.”

Lorna did not say goodnight to anyone. Nor did she care that she would miss out on the bonfires being lit across the moors, there’d be plenty more on the morrow.
Escape was necessary, else she be convinced to dance again. She trembled so fiercely at the reaction her body had to Jamie’s, and confusion warred so intensely within her, she needed to escape to her room, to breathe in the air that couldn’t seem to make it past her throat. She didn’t wait for Jamie’s response, but ducked out of the great hall and hurried toward the stairs. Her foot hit the fourth stair when he called out behind her.

“My lady, wait.”

Lorna paused on the stairs, her heart hammering against her ribs. Should she turn? Run the rest of the way up without looking back?

She turned, seeing him standing at the foot of the stair. So tall he was—his head reached to her shoulders, and here she was four steps up.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice doing that breathy thing again.

“I—” He glanced away, seeming at a loss for words.

Lorna waited patiently, unsure of how to respond, and quite frankly, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to find the words anyway.

“I wanted to thank ye for the dance, lass. And…” He stepped closer, eye level now. His voice lowered as he spoke. “I hope ye didna feel the need to run away because of me.”

Lorna swallowed. He
was
the reason she’d run.

She stared at his lips, all the feelings she’d had inside the great hall colliding. Jamie’s gaze flicked to her mouth, too. He wanted to kiss her just as much as she
wanted a kiss.

Lorna licked her lower lip nervously, watch
ing his eyes widen at the innocent move.

“I am tired, ’tis all,” she lied.

“Aye, me, too.”

“Good night,
then” she whispered, retreating backward up another step, to put some distance between them, before she completely fell into her desire to press her lips on his and see if they were warm or hot.

“Sweet dreams, my lady.”

Lorna turned and ran the rest of the way up the stairs, completely certain her dreams would be anything but sweet.

Chapter Seven

“Rise and shine, my dear.”

Shafts of blinding light stabbed at Lorna’s barely opened eyes. Who would torture her
this way?

She rubbed her eyes, swearing it must have only been an hour since she fell asleep
, or it might as well have been. A candelabra filled with nearly a dozen candles blazed bright on the table beside her bed.

“That’s it, lass. Open your eyes. Ye’ve a big day ahead of ye.” Aunt Fiona stood near the
foot of the bed, a much too large smile spread on her face. “And I suspect the barrel of wine ye had didna help much.”

Lorna shook her hea
d and rolled away from her aunt. “I didna drink a barrel.”

“Let us settle on half then.”
Her aunt had the audacity to chuckle.

“Isn’t Heather causing mischief somewhere? Should ye not be attending her instead of me?”
Lorna shoved her head under the pillow. How much wine had she drunk? What had made her do such a thing?

Jamie’s face flashed before her closed lids. Ugh. The dreadfully handsome guest of Dunrobin.

Aunt Fiona’s sing-song voice broke in. “Och, your sister is always creating mischief; I’ll likely not miss out on any of it. Now out of bed with ye.”

“Nay.”

“Since ye didna budge when I came in an hour ago, and I saw the many times ye refilled your cup, I had Cook brew ye a special tea. Should make your head feel better. Besides, Laird Montgomery is likely to leave today.” Her aunt’s footsteps sounded closer.

“Why should I care?”

“Because he’s the man ye’re to marry.” Fiona’s voice was calm, so deadly serious, Lorna couldn’t help but flip over in bed and sit bolt upright.

Aunt Fiona stood right beside her, a triumphant smile on her face.

“Are ye mad?” Lorna asked, her mouth falling open, eyes begrudgingly settling on her annoying relation.

“Mad? Nay. Ye need to marry,
lass, and Laird Montgomery is the most suitable match.” Her aunt shrugged like she was talking about which flour to use in the day’s bread.

Lorna stared agape as
her aunt set down the cup of tea on the side table and then sailed over to the wardrobe and threw it open, digging through the gowns.

“Stop. I’m wearing the purple,”
Lorna muttered, tossing back the covers and shivering at the sudden waft of cool air. Oh, how she wanted to curl back up beneath the sheets.

“Ah, purple, aye, that will be best.”
Aunt Fiona nodded, and tapped her chin. If a good idea came about and it hadn’t been hers, Aunt Fiona always managed to find a way to make it so.

“Mmhmm.” Lorna rolled
her eyes, stood and stretched. Not only did her head ache, but the rest of her body felt as though she’d danced more than one round. ’Haps all the twisting and turning she’d done in bed. Whatever it was, she needed to heal as quickly as possible—as in by the time she’d finished dressing and left the room. If she didn’t have all her wits about her, Aunt Fiona was liable to have her married by the time noon rolled around.

“Come now, we must get ye ready. I fear the man will be leaving us shortly.”

That got Lorna’s attention and she whipped her head around—a sharp pain in her neck making her wince. “Why do ye say that?”

“Are ye interested in the answer?” Fiona aske
d, whirling around, brow raised and an excited curl to her lip.

“Nay.” Lorna waved her hand in the air, forced her
self to frown. “I dinna care when the man leaves.”

“Well, as a maiden, ye need to be out on t
he moors with the other maidens at dawn. ’Tis customary on Beltane.”

The first of May.
Lorna gritted her teeth, trying to think of any excuse to not go out and roll in the dewy morning grass with every other maid in the keep and village, but she could think of none. Besides, she enjoyed the ritual. It was the one time per year she was permitted to do the very thing she enjoyed—be one with nature, and no one could tell her otherwise.

A smile started to curl her lip and she tugged at the ribbons of her nightrail.
Already her aching muscles were beginning feel better, her headache nearly gone.

“I’m glad to see your enthusiasm renewed,” Fiona said.

Lorna tugged her nightrail off, pulled a new chemise on and grabbed the purple gown from her aunt. “Dinna get confused, my excitement is for Beltane and not the fictional romance ye have budding in your mind.”

“As ye say,
” Fiona fairly sung.

Lorna bit her tongue to keep from retorting. ’Twould appear that
nothing she said would matter to Fiona. She had her mind set on Lorna marrying and she’d clamped onto the first man Lorna hadn’t turned away from in disgust.

If she were to be honest, and Lorna was in the least interested in marrying
—and she was most adamantly not—she might have tried to entice Jamie. But as it was… What? What was barring her from marrying?

Nothing, truly, other than she wasn’t ready to leave her family behind. Fear was what it was. And it was potent.

“I’ll go roll in the grass, but ye must leave off about Laird Montgomery. I…” She couldn’t tell her aunt. The woman was not understanding in the least.

Aunt Fiona studied her for a moment, tapping her lip in concentration. “What is it ye fear, lass?”

“Fear?” Lorna scoffed. How had she picked up on that?

Fiona gripped her gently at the elbow and steered her toward the bed, pushing her to sit, and then descending beside her.

“’Tis all right if ye are scared, lass. I, too, was fearful when my mother and father chose for me to marry. And for ye, it must be doubly hard because ye’ve not had a mother and father all these years. With only your brothers, and none of them married, ye’ve not had the proper guidance of a female. I’ve tried, but I fear, I canna be here all the time. Marriage can be a happy union, ye need not fear that. I sense that Laird Montgomery is a noble man. I think he’d be a good husband.”

Lorna stared at Aunt Fiona, a woman who’
d balked on more than one occasion that she’d not been so happily married. Their father’s sister had been married off to a man as old as her grandfather—as his third wife.

But despite all that, Lorna’s mouth parted in shock. Was her aunt right? She had a feeling she was. Aye, she’d seen many married couples within the clan, but none that she’d lived with, and she didn’t remember how her parents were together. To her, marriage represented a stifling
of her dreams and freedoms. Unless it was for love, like the stories she told to Heather and those she’d heard as a child. But fairytales weren’t real.

And the last thing she would ever believe was that Jamie Montgomery was her hero—even if he’d saved her life once.

From the window of his guest chamber, Jamie watched the moors where women flounced with the abandon of dawn. The sun rose pink and gold, touching their cheeks and glimmering on the dew soaked grass.

But there was one maiden who caught his eye in particular—Lady Lorna. Her dress was as purple as the thistles that dotted the fields, and her skin as golden pink as the sunrise. Her hair shone in the light
, reminding him of spun gold, and he wanted badly to run his fingers through it, curl a tendril around his thumb.

Jamie frowned down at the one woman who’d made him
forget his next moves on the council and the war against the English. Tonight he’d find out from her brother if the council could count on the Sutherlands as allies, and then he’d be on his way.

He had no business watching a lass romp around the fields. No business in taking pleasure in the way her dew soaked dress clung to her breasts
and hips and thighs. Joy filled her face as she held out her arms, face upturned to the sky, eyes closed. A picture of ecstasy, and he wanted to see that look again and again—preferably with her beneath him. Or over him. Didn’t matter. Anyway he could have her, he’d be happy.

Entirely
unrealistic. The lass wasn’t likely to lure him into a hayloft or abandoned croft. Jamie had no intention of risking the council’s business by seducing her and having her brother try to murder him. The only way he’d ever sink between her thighs was if they were married. And Jamie had no mind to get married now. Not until the English had been dealt with. A task that could very well last a lifetime if he didn’t succeed in his mission to gain allies. The sooner the better.

He couldn’t get involved with
Lorna, or any woman for that matter. To do so would mean risking everything.

So why was he leaving his chamber? Why was he walking down the stairs and joining the other men in going to dance with the lassies on the hill?

In the Lowlands, many clans had stopped practicing the ancient ritualistic holidays for fear of retaliation by the English. He’d not realized how much he missed it.

The morning was crisp and
a light breeze blew, cooling the skin, which was quickly warmed by the rising sun until it was cooled again by another bit of wind. Toby and Donald each swung their own lasses around—’haps one and the same with whomever they’d found to warm their beds the night before.

Magnus and Ronan, too, were running out to the hill, grabbing lassies and twirling th
em around with the rest of the lads. Everyone was laughing and pipers joined in, playing lively tunes.

Older clanswomen came out, including the fearsome matronly aunt of the Sutherlands, with
crowns woven of marigolds.

“Here,” Fiona said, thrusting a woven
circlet into his hands. She nodded toward Lorna.

Jamie thrust it back. “I canna.”

Fiona laughed. “’Tis all good fun. Give it to her and dance. ’Twill be delightful.”

But Jamie shook his head again. It wasn’t simply good fun.
Giving her the headpiece was a statement. A statement of interest. Romantic interest. Perhaps even a promise. Not a promise or statement he was in any way capable of making. And yet, his fingers curled around the flowers and his feet took steps toward the lass whose braid had started to unravel and golden tendrils curled against her cheeks.

“Good morning, lass,” he murmured, placing the marigold wreath upon her head, the backs of his fingers brushing her
warm cheek.

“Good morning,” she said breathlessly.

Her eyes lit on his, cheeks flushed. Jamie felt her waist beneath his fingertips before he realized he’d even gripped her.

“Care to dance once more?” he asked.

Lorna chewed her lip. Smile faltering and worry coming into her eyes. Was it possible she had the same trepidations about marriage as he did?

Jamie gave her a friendly smile.
“’Tis just a dance. Nothing more.”

She gave a short nod, relief showing in her eyes. Ah, so he’d been right.

“A single dance as it was last night.” He winked and held out a hand.

“Then, I accept.”
Lorna’s fingers tentatively reached for his, the slightest tremble quickly gone. She smiled up at him, vibrant, fresh and beautiful.

Jamie twirled her around the grass, finding himself laughing, lifting her into the air to whirl her around.
There was more to her petite body then he’d first realized. Beneath her gown, each time he lifted her, he felt her muscles working. She was lithe, taut, and yet still full of feminine appeal.