Page 42 of Bride of the Mad Laird
“And then what will ye dae, when I have driven ye mad?”
He looked on her, his grey eyes soot-dark. “I wish tae take ye, lass, and make ye me own. I want yer kisses, and I want all of ye. I want tae lie naked wi’ ye.”
He looked down at her, his eyes wild. Then he cupped her chin and brushed her lips with his, as light as a butterfly’s kiss. Then he jolted back. “Yet ye can ne’er be mine. Ye belong tae another place.”
He released her. “Go now, before I lose meself in ye, and ye’ll ken I am the mad beast ye fear.”
He turned away, leaving her hollow and wanting. Without another word, she slammed out of the chamber, tears burning behind her eyes in a turmoil of passionate remorse, cursing herself for failing to curb her own longing.
She rushed down the passageway to her own bedchamber, flung open the door and flew to the bed where she threw herself down, biting her lip to stop the threatening tears.
What a foolish child I am. I’ve nae sense of how a lass should behave wi’ a lad.
If only she’d asked Eilidh what she should do about those strange feelings that rushed through her. Instead, she had followed her heart without a thought about the consequences.
Now she’d shamed the Laird. She should have run from the room when she saw he was naked, instead she’d been brazen and wanton without the slightest knowledge of what she was doing.
She groaned. Her head throbbed painfully as she went over every detail of her conversation with Tòrr.
There were still many things she did not understand. He’d said the words “take ye,” and a tiny thrill rippled through her as she considered what that might mean. Did he intend to take her in the way of a man and woman, the way Eilidh had told her was not at all disgusting?
Suddenly, that made sense. And what had she done? Only behaved as if that was what she was angling for. To be taken.
She shivered. He’d also boldly expressed his desire to lienakedwith her.
And, in the depths of her heart, she wanted that too.
Her cheeks burned at the very memory of their confrontation. She needed to talk with him, to explain, to apologize. She had no intention of driving him mad with wanting.
Or dae I?
A hidden part of her had reveled in the darkness in his eyes when he looked at her and the husky growl in his voice. She’d had no idea that driving a man mad with longing for her could be so pleasurable.
Of course, the problem was, the longing was not all one way. She went back to the feel of his strong arms around her and the way he’d shivered when her fingers roamed across his broad chest. Even thinking of their few moments of closeness caused streaks of sensation to scorch her all the way to the mysterious place between her thighs she had only just become aware of.
Their encounter, although it had ended in a most unsatisfactory manner was, nevertheless, capable of making her pulse quicken and her hands turn clammy at the memory.
She moaned into her pillow, asking herself over and over why she had behaved so foolishly. There was no doubt, Laird Tòrr would look on her with disdain after she’d shown him what a feckless and wayward lass she really was. A knife was twisting in her heart.
The angry tears came. First, she raged at herself, then the tears turned into self-pitying sobs. She was alone in the world, unloved, the only people who had ever cared a jot for her were her friend Davina and Mother Una at the Priory. Now they were both lost to her.
She sat up suddenly. This would not do. It was time for her to take charge of her own misery.
She must go to Laird Tòrr and apologize for her unseemly actions.
With her mind made up she soaked a linen cloth in cold water from the ewer on the table and pressed it to her face.
She lay with the wet cloth on her face until she was satisfied the aftermath of her tears had been blotted away. Then she brushed out the tangles in her hair until it hung in a silken curtain down her back. She straightened her kirtle, slipped her feet in the embroidered slippers beside the bed, and, with head held high she walked with determined steps to the door.
She stopped. Inside she was quaking, fearful of the laird’s anger, imagining him sending her away, refusing his protection any further.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she squared her shoulders, undid the latch and opened the door.
To her relief there was no one in the passageway as she tiptoed, heart in her mouth, towards Tòrr’s adjacent bedchamber.
As she approached, she heard the rumble of men’s voices and noted that the door was slightly ajar.
She froze, about to turn back when she thought she heard the sound of her name from one of the voices. She crept toward the open door, intent on eavesdropping. If her name was being bandied about, she wished to hear exactly what was being said.
