Page 37 of Marry the Highland Villain
Should I tell him the truth?
It was tempting to try to prevaricate, but Brigid was reluctant to do so. To start a relationship with a lie, when she herself had spoken of trust, seemed wrong. However, she wasn’t sure how Conall would feel about her thoughts regarding him, or their marriage, and she wasn’t certain she should reveal her mother’s rule either. After all, her mother had insisted it was a rule for her alone.
In the end, she settled on a partial truth.
“I didnae expect to be the first of my sisters to wed. I’m the youngest of them, ye ken.” She looked away. “In truth, I didnae think I’d wed at all.”
Strong fingers caught her chin and turned her back to face her husband-to-be. “Why nae?”
Because my father’s reputation has stained every attempt I’ve ever made to even have friends, let alone suitors. Because I cannae even walk into the town I’ve lived nearest to all my life without bein’ jeered at and treated little better than a beggar or a beast. Because I’ve nay dowry, nay clan, and only three sisters, with a small estate guarded by agin’ pirates to call home. Because nay one outside of my father, mother, and sisters has ever wanted me, and I had nay reason to expect that to change.
But those were words that she couldn’t bring herself to say, so she simply shook her head.
“I just didnae expect to wed, Conall. And especially nae such a powerful and dangerous man?—”
She broke off, but it was too late.
Conall’s grip tightened, his eyes turning dark with some unspoken emotion. “Dangerous? Is that what ye think of me, Brigid Blackwood? Are ye frightened of yer husband-to-be?”
Brigid could find no response to that, staring wide-eyed like a kitten caught in a hunting dog’s gaze.
A small, almost predatory smirk tugged at the scarred lip in front of her. “Well? Are ye?”
“I…”
Brigid had no idea what she intended to say, but all words disappeared from her thoughts in the next instant as Conall dipped his head and kissed her firmly on the mouth.
CHAPTER 13
Conall hadn’t intendedto kiss Brigid. His only intention had been to attempt to allay her fears. But her eyes were so big, so bright, almost doe-like in her pale face, and her rosebud lips parted just so… he was bending forward before he could think to stop himself, drawn by the shimmer of intelligence and innocence in her eyes, and by the deep-seated desire that burned within him.
Brigid’s mouth was as soft as the rose petals whose hue matched her lips, and she tasted every bit as sweet—like one of Emily’s soothing chamomile teas—and he thought he could even taste the subtle, lingering flavor of the milk she loved so much.
She stiffened, startled by his actions, then melted into him, her mouth opening tentatively to the touch of his tongue and the press of his lips against hers.
Shewasuncertain of him, he knew that. Fearful of his temper, as so many were, and with good reason. She’d seen him kill two ofhis clansmen tonight, not to mention the man he’d killed before her on the day she arrived.
She was not used to so much violence, so much bloodshed. And yet she didn’t push him away, despite her understandable reservations. Instead, she was hesitantly welcoming, uncertain but willing to accept his touch and the glide of his tongue across the seam of her lips.
Her acceptance, her soft suppleness, ignited a fire deep in his belly—an ache in his groin that went straight to his shaft. Conall groaned, knowing he needed to stop, but loath to do so.
They broke apart for air, with Brigid leaning back against the wall, her lips reddened from his kiss and her eyes bright with confusion… but not fear. Not disgust, or horror, or the desire to run away that Conall had feared he’d see from her.
He stepped closer, pushing her against the wall until he could feel the heat of her, teasing brushes of the soft fabric of her robe and the simple linen shift underneath it. Her breath ghosted across his skin, sending pleasant tingles across his chest and through his limbs.
“Are ye afraid of me, Brigid?” He bent his head, his lips brushing her ear, and she shivered against him. It was like being brushed by feathers, and Conall felt his manhood stiffen further. “Do ye want me to back away? Do ye want me to stop?”
“I… Nae really…” Her voice was soft, breathy, and uncertain, but there was still no trace of fear.
But of course, she was a maiden still. She might guess at the heat and passion sparking between them, but her actions spoke of an innocence that told him she had no experience in the pleasures that could be had between a man and a woman.
He should back away. He was preparing to do so when Brigid reached out and touched his chest, her caress as soft as silk, and as hot as fire as she traced the lines of water droplets that had fallen from his hair.
Conall growled low in his throat. “What are ye doin’, Brigid?”
“Ye kissed me. I wanted to touch ye.”
He waited for more, but she said nothing else.
