Page 56 of The Highlander's Auctioned Wife
“As ye wish,” Beathan replied, sadness in his voice. “Thank ye, Nephew.”
With her portfolio and charcoal in hand, Anna wandered the hallways of Castle Lyall, drawing a map so she wouldn’t get lost again. Having tried, and failed, to find the beautiful gallery again, she’d realized that her mind wasn’t as reliable as she thought.
“That’sfamiliar,” she mumbled, pausing beside a statue of a weeping angel, missing half a wing. “I’m sure it is.”
She drew a little cross beside the spot on the map and turned to a fresh page, quickly sketching the statue so she wouldn’t forget it. Even broken, it was astonishingly beautiful, sculpted by talented hands.
Just then, the echo of footsteps made her heart fly into her throat, jumping in fright. The hour was late, and she hadn’t come across anyone for some time, the sound of shared existence making her realize that it likely wasn’t wise to wander alone in a castle she didn’t know, not without Gordon or one of his family escorting her.
She considered ducking into a nearby recess, or hiding herself behind one of the long, timeworn tapestries that covered the walls, but her indecision stole away her opportunity.
A figure rounded the corner, his face reflecting her surprise as he saw her standing there.
“Ye shouldnae be here,” Gordon growled, evidently not as pleased to see her as she was to see him.
“I… was makin’ a map,” she rushed to reply, turning the portfolio around to show him the drawing.
As she did, the loose papers decided to make a bid for freedom, slipping out of the leather covering, drifting every which way, the pages whispering across the floor of the antechamber she’d found herself in.
Panic struck her, her eyes widening as she caught sight of a… rather personal sketch that had poured from her mind onto the paper after her moment with Gordon in the study. She’d needed an outlet, and her paper and charcoal had obliged, but shecertainlydidn’t want him seeing it.
She lunged for that particular drawing, lamenting the crumple of the paper as she snatched it up. Her imagined study of his bare figure, kneeling before the desk, his head between her thighs, would undoubtedly be ruined.
Fumbling for a few others, she glanced back to find Gordon methodically collecting the fallen drawings, admiring each as he picked them up. She clutched the private sketch tighter to her chest, relieved she’d swiped it before he’d had the chance.
But why? Perhaps, it would inspire him… or inspire ye to discover what’s truly beneath that shirt.
She shook the thought off, scrabbling around for the last few drawings, stuffing them back into her portfolio.
“I’ll keep this one.” Gordon’s voice snatched her attention back to him.
The drawing in his hand was an old one, of a dream she’d forgotten about: her, bare shoulders emerging from a river, her decency concealed by the water. The sketch had no color, but she knew it was meant to be a scorching summer afternoon, the river cool and crisp, easing the heat of her skin. Indeed, the drawing was three years old, more or less, created on the night that Elinor was taken from Castle MacTorrach.
It was only then that she noticed a shadowy figure in the drawing, a shadow among the trees that bordered the river. To the unknowing eye, it resembled another tree trunk, but she knew differently.
“Aye, keep it,” she murmured, her voice shaking slightly. “I daenae want it.”
Gordon frowned, as if that wasn’t the response he’d expected. “I should take ye back to yer chambers. Ye shouldnae be down here.”
“I can find me way back,” she insisted, moving forward, taking the papers that he passed to her. Keeping the river drawing that she couldn’t bear to look at. “I have a map now.”
Gordon came to stand behind her, his closeness stealing her breath, her heart racing as he leaned over her. There was a broken piece of charcoal in his hand, and as his chest rested against the back of her shoulders, his other hand lightly touching the curve of her waist, he wrote something on her map.
When he moved his hand away, the two words cooled the rising desire in her:The Crypt.
“There’s nothin’ in this part of the castle for ye,” he said quietly. “Come, I’m takin’ ye back to yer chambers.”
“I can find me own way,” she tried to protest.
“Walk or I’ll carry ye,” he warned.
And if she hadn’t had an armful of precious drawings, she might have let him.
They didn’t say much as he helped her to retrace her steps through the castle, though he pointed out crossroads where she might become confused, having her add them to her map. Clearly, he was determined that she should never find herself near the crypt again.
As they came to her chamber door at last, and she opened it wide, revealing the impatient figure of her maid, Jane, Gordon bowed his head in understanding. He would receive no invitation to enter that night, though Anna wasn’t sure if she would have invited him in anyway, had her maidnotbeen there.
It's too risky to be alone with him. Far too risky.
