Page 67 of Highlander's Wild Lass
“Really?” Anthony wondered, looking into her eyes. “Where do ye think yer brothers are then?”
Celestia giggled—she knew it was the amount of mead she had tonight that caused her to giggle, for she never would have allowed herself such a childish moment. “I spotted—as did they—a pair of young cousins of yers.”
Celestia pulled away to see Anthony’s eyes widen.
“Ye dinne mean Lizzie and Roselyn?”
Celestia shrugged and drank deeply from her cup. “I havenae met all yer cousins yet, so I cannae be too sure. But they were bonnie and about the same age as Chester and Hugo.”
Anthony pulled a hand down his face. “Those will be my Uncle Charlie’s daughters.”
“Oh.”
“Well,” he said with a shrug. “As long as Charlie or their maither doesnae catch them, all will be well.”
“I’ve raised them nae to take advantage of young lasses,” Celestia told him. “They ken nae to do anythin’ too...” She fought to find the word, it was there on her tongue, but the mead had made it heavy.
“Wicked?”
Celestia nodded deeply. “Exactly.”
“Ye ken what I would like to do?” he said to her, leaning down to her ear so that only she would hear him.
Gooseflesh erupted where his hot breath touched. “What?” she murmured, gripping her glass tighter than before.
“Be wicked too.”
Celestia swallowed, freezing in her spot but a certain burning was coursing through her—though she was not sure if it was from drink or desire. She felt words catch in her mouth, unsure how to respond.
She answered with just a nod. He took her hand, bid her father goodnight, and they tore through the corridors to his chambers. They stood before the door, breathless from the stairs and the hurried pace they had climbed them.
Anthony’s chest rose and fell as he looked from the closed door in front of them to Celestia. She placed a hand on her chest, feeling the slight sheen of sweat on her skin.
“Do ye—do ye need help openin’ the door?” she asked hesitantly, completely unsure why he had just suddenly stopped their pursuit to his chambers.
In one quick motion, Anthony swept her off her feet and carried her over the threshold to his bedroom. “Do I need help openin’ the door—yer funny, lass. I figured since I dinnae carry ye over the threshold of the front doors, I could do this.”
Celestia shot a puzzled look. “Is this another superstition?”
“Aye, lass, it’s to protect us from evil spirits and bring good luck,” Anthony said as he set her down.
Celestia smoothed out her gown, laughing. “I suppose we need all the good luck we can get.”
Anthony closed the door and went to pour them two cups of wine. Mrs. Duncan must have come up earlier in the night and filled the table full of food and drink.
He handed one to her. “What do ye mean?”
“My maid is rather superstitious. She told me we will rue the day because we were married in May.”
Anthony nodded his head, looking serious. “Yer maid isnae wrong in her belief although...I daenae truly believe it.
She shot him a skeptical look and took a long drink from her cup.
“I daenae!” he protested, taking a seat, and untying his white cotton stock tie. “But Queen Mary married in May, and we all ken how things ended for her.”
“Well, seein’ as I am nae a queen...and Elizabeth doesnae want my head, I daenae see the need to worry about this,” she said, stepping closer to him, wanting to refill her cup. The pace they had traveled through the corridor had shaken some of the drunkenness from her, and she was aware of what must take place now.
She placed the bottle back onto the table and took up her cup again, taking long, gulping drinks of her wine. Anthony gently took hold of her empty hand and pulled her onto his lap.
