Page 46 of Desiring the Highland Laird
An army.
A knock on the door startled her, making her jump. She turned toward the door, her hand at the base of her throat where her pulse was rapidly beating.
“Come in,” she called.
The door opened. She expected to see Roslyn coming to help her dress for the day. But no. It was Callum. He paused in the doorway, his big body filling up most of the empty space as he stood there staring at her from the threshold. He wore his breeches, boots, tunic, and the plaid draping over one shoulder.
She stiffened at the sight of him, then clutched the blanket around her shoulders. “What do you want?”
She hadn’t meant to sound so abrasive, but she hadn’t forgiven him for taking her off to Clan Sinclair.
“Good morrow, lass,” he said, his deep timbred voice rumbling in his chest. “Did ye sleep well?”
He ignored her jab and remained in the doorway. She peered at him with some curiosity, wondering why he was here.
“Well enough.” After she paused a moment, she asked, “Did you?”
“No. I dinnae sleep a wink.”
That got her attention. “No?”
“Can I come in?”
“Oh,” she breathed as she moved to sit on the bed. “I suppose.”
He came into the room, closing the door behind him, but remained where he was. His gaze drifted from her to the tapestries on the wall. Surprise flickered across his handsome features as he looked at them.
“The…pictures…” he started.
“They’ve changed,” she said, following his gaze. “As though they’re moving.”
He walked into the room and stood in front of the one she decided was Moira, peering at it intently with his hands claspedbehind his back. She stepped next to him, still clutching the blanket around her shoulders. She wished she had thought of grabbing her robe instead of standing there in a blanket, but there was nothing to be done about it now.
“This wasna here before.” He pointed to the one with Moira and the images emerging of an army in the corner.
“No, it wasn’t,” she agreed.
He turned his head and met her gaze, confusion etched in them. “I dinnae understand.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “My guess is they’re enchanted.”
“Enchanted?” he repeated.
“Yes, you know. Magicked. This woman here…” She pointed to the first tapestry. “That’s Moira, the shopkeeper. I’m sure of it.”
Surprise flickered through his blue depths. He glanced back at the image. “The one who gave ye the stone.”
“Yes,” she said. “She had silvery hair like that.” She pointed to the wall hanging.
As she did, he caught her hand in his, holding it and turning toward her. Her first instinct was to pull away, but something made her stop. She liked his large hand wrapped around hers, holding her. Gently.
But then he turned her hand, pushing her fingers open to expose her palm and the lines burned into her flesh. She tried to tug her hand away, but he held onto her with a firm grip.
“The stone?” he asked, his gaze flickering back to hers.
“Yes,” was all she managed.
He traced the lines with the tip of his finger. It sent delicious swirls of desire through her. Then he closed both hands on hers, clutching her hand between his.
