Page 30 of The Highlander's Auctioned Hellion
She smiled to herself at the memory of his tongue pushing into her mouth, tentatively at first, as if he had been asking permission.
His body was so big, so consuming, and Lydia was becoming unhealthily obsessed with his forearms.
Even the moment he had crossed his arms across his chest in the study had made her a little weak in the knees.
Shaking her head, she stood up, looking around the room and rubbing her arms. The bad weather had worsened, and with it had come a chill that permeated the windows, and a cold breeze wafted down the chimney toward her.
Lydia frowned. Were those voices in the corridor?
Turning to the door, she approached slowly, wondering whether the twins had got out of their beds and were coming to make mischief again. But as she got to the door, she heard a woman’s voice along with the deep rumbling of the Laird. Her nerves returned a thousandfold.
Surely if he wishes to bring other women to his bed, he wouldn’t do it right outside my room?
He had promised her that he had no interest in such things, only a few hours before.
She wrenched open the door, a fury unlike anything she had ever known consuming her, and blinked into the semi-darkness at the three faces staring back at her.
The Laird and his man-at-arms were standing outside her door, with a maid behind them carrying linens and a bowl of water in her hand.
Steam was rising from it, and Lydia frowned, wondering why the Laird would need hot water at this time of night.
Then she looked at him again, and her breath froze in her lungs.
“What happened?” she asked sharply.
He had blood all over his arm, his sleeve soaked in it.
“It looks worse than it is,” he growled, pushing past his man as if to avoid her and head straight to his room.
The maid obediently followed him. She was young, with blonde hair tied in a loose braid over her shoulder. Lydia didn’t like that she was so pretty either.
“Wait,” she commanded without knowing quite who she was speaking to, but the man-at-arms and the maid came to a halt instantly.
“Bring that in here, please,” she said to the maid, and she saw Alexander smile faintly as the Laird turned slowly to stare at her.
“I dinnae need yer help with it, go back to bed.”
Lydia narrowed her eyes at him. “I am not a five-year-old girl to be commanded. Bring it into my room, please, thank you.”
The maid did so, carrying the bowl of water to the fireside and setting it down against the hearth. She hovered, evidently uncertain whether she should remain to assist.
Lydia smiled at her. “Thank you, but you should go and get some sleep. I can manage from here.”
“Ye dinnae need to manage!” The Laird sounded exasperated as he came to the doorway, his enormous bulk taking up the entire width of it.
“I should be the one attending you,” Lydia insisted.
“And why is that? Are ye a doctor?”
“I am yourbride, and I will do it,” she said more forcefully than she had intended.
The Laird’s brow furrowed, and for a few seconds, he looked like a boy of five who had not gotten his way.
He grumbled and clenched his fists, and as he did so, a fresh wave of blood ran down his arm.
“You are making it worse!” she said, fear coursing through her.
It seemed impossible to Lydia that someone so large could have any vulnerability. She had believed him invincible.
