Page 17 of Desiring the Highland Laird
“That feels nice,” she muttered.
His hand halted.
“Oh, please don’t stop.”
He swept his hand over her cheek, letting strands of her silken hair sluice through his fingers and fall through like a fiery waterfall.
She moved from him then, lifting herself up to look at him. Their eyes met. His heart drummed a dangerous cadence before settling back down to a normal pace. Aye, he was certain he had seen her face before in a dream not so long ago.
Her eyes were a deep brown. There was a gold fleck near the pupil of her right eye. That was something he hadn’t noticed before. Question was deep in her gaze, as well as a longing and vitality he hadn’t seen in a lass before. Her hand with long, slender fingers pressed against his chest, her palm cool against the heat of his skin.
“I’m sorry I fainted,” she finally said.
“’Tis the second time I’ve had ye in my arms.” He grinned, despite himself. He tried hard to keep his emotions in check. But there was something about her he couldn’t resist.
She flushed, her cheeks turning a pale pink before she looked away. She slipped out of his arms, scooting away from him. When she moved, he had an empty feeling.
She held up her palm with the red mark from the stone. She traced the outline with the forefinger on her other hand.
“We found ye in the field. ’Twas the stone that did that,” he said.
“I know,” she said on a breath. She closed her hand into a fist. “I seem to have lost it.”
“Nay.” He reached into his sporran and held it out to her.
She stared at it a long moment, her gaze fixed on it with a mixture of anticipation and dread.
“Did that bring me here?” she asked.
“My da thinks it did, aye. But he believes in the myth.”
“The myth? About the stone?” Her brows—a deeper shade than her hair—drew together in question.
He took a deep breath, expelled it. How would he be able to explain the truth of it? While his da believed the tale of the Shattering, Callum wasn’t so sure. Telling the lassie the tale might make him sound like a madman. Still, the story would have to be told. Would she believe there was one all-powerful stone that controlled both their destinies and all of Time?
Before he answered, he heard the deep growl of her stomach. She flushed, pressing her hand against it and turned her back to him. She slipped to the edge of the bed and made to bolt from it.
“Sorry about that,” she muttered.
“Mayhap I find ye some decent clothes and feed ye.”
She looked at him over her shoulder. “Decent clothes?”
“Ye cannae be wandering the keep in that.” He waved a finger at her black garment.
“Oh,” she said on a breath and glanced down.
She smoothed her hands down the length of her body, which did nothing good to him. His blood heated and he was glad she wasn’t pressed against him, or she would understand clearly how much she affected him.
“I suppose not.”
She raked her hands through her tangled locks. A sense of calm came over her. She seemed to have grasped being here with him with a clear head and resignation. He tucked the stone back into his sporran for safekeeping.
“Well, if I can’t be wandering around in this,” she gestured to her clothing, “then what do you suggest?”
He pushed himself out of the bed and stood. “I’ll find ye something suitable to wear.”
His late sister would have something suitable, he was sure. He said nothing more as he headed to the door and left the chamber. He paused a moment, wondering if she would be all right alone. He refused to let his brother in his chamber to sit with her. Not that he didn’t trust Malcolm—but he didn’t trust Malcolm. He had a good heart, to be sure, but he and Callum always had a fierce competition about everything. Even the bonnie lasses.
