Page 33 of To Wed a Laird
Cormac shook his head. “No,” he replied. “My mother, like yours, died in childbirth, as so many women do, but I was too young to remember her. My father was killed in battle when I was twenty, and I have been master of the estate since then.”
“That must have been a heavy responsibility at such a young age,” Rose remarked sadly.
“I have a good steward,” he replied. “He was my father’s man, and he has stayed by my side all these years. He has taught me practically everything I know, and I doubt I could have managedwithout him.” He took another sip of his whisky and fell silent, as if something else were on his mind.
“When were you married?” Rose asked tentatively.
Cormac gulped down the rest of his whisky in one swallow, then looked down at his hands, which were resting on the table. Rose could see that it was a painful subject for him, and was about to apologise and change the subject, then he replied.
“Shortly after I became Laird,” he replied. “Against my will, but my father had left instructions that if I did not marry, I would not inherit. It was not a love match at first, but it quickly became one. Elspeth was born almost exactly nine months later after we married. I loved Catherine so much that when she died, I almost did too—of a broken heart.
Somehow I survived, but I always felt that I should have died instead of her. In fact, I know I should have. Catherine would have known how to bring Elspeth up properly. I am only a man, and we are not good at these things.”
He gave a humourless laugh and ordered another glass of whisky. Rose looked at him in alarm, wondering what quantity of whisky it would take to make him completely intoxicated.
“Cormac,” she said gently, “perhaps you should make this your last glass. You don’t want Elspeth to see you drunk.”
“She has seen me drunk before,” he told her, then he looked into her dark eyes and saw her anxiety. “But you are right, Rose. I will not have any more.”
“You know, you are too hard on yourself,” she said, feeling infinitely sorry for this big, strong man who was desperately trying to mend a shattered heart. She reached across the table and laid her hand on his, once more marvelling at how small hers was compared to his enormous one.
“You never gave up on her, Cormac, and she never stopped loving you. And it is perfectly all right to ask for help.”
Cormac looked down at the little hand lying on top of his, then he raised it to his lips and kissed it. “Thank you for your understanding, Rose. I am so glad you came to us.”
“So am I,” she replied, with a gentle smile.
“More haggis?” Cormac asked suddenly, his eyes twinkling.
Rose burst out laughing. “I think perhaps I will leave it till tomorrow,” she replied. “Or I might burst.”
“Then what would Elspeth do?” he asked.
They left the tavern and moved out into the calm evening air, then walked towards the horses. Rose was reluctant to go, but it was not safe to ride home in the dark. The sun was low on the horizon now, and stripes of deep pink and pale gold were gradually moving in to replace the blue of daytime. It was a truly beautiful sight, all the more so because it was so rare in Scotland, and it fitted Rose’s mood perfectly.
The horses were tethered in the deep shade of an ash tree by the side of the tavern, and Rose approached them reluctantly. It had been such a wonderful day that she had no wish to end it. She had never seen Cormac smile so widely and happily before; he looked as if some inner light was shining out of him suddenly, and it warmed her heart to see it.
When they reached the horses, Rose turned to Cormac, expecting to be helped up, but she found him standing gazing down at her. His look was one she had never seen before, intense, concentrated, focused on her to the exclusion of everything else around them.
“Cormac?” she asked, her voice uncertain.
“Have I ever told you what beautiful eyes you have, Rose?” he asked gently.
“No… but thank you,” she replied, smiling, albeit a bit shy.
“They were the first thing I noticed about you,” he went on, then laughed softly. “I think they cast a spell on me.”
Rose’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt herself blushing. She could think of nothing to say in reply. She was standing so close to Cormac that she could feel the heat of his body and smell his now-familiar scent, which always had the same effect on her; her arousal was stronger than it had ever been before.
“A spell?” she asked, laughing. “Are you calling me a witch?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “But a good witch.”
He tilted her chin up so that he could look into her eyes even more deeply, and for a few moments something passed between them.
It was a warm, silent, beautiful tension, which ended when Cormac leaned down to touch his lips to hers, at first so gently that the touch was feather-soft. After a moment, however, it became a deep, passionate caress as he pressed his tongue-tip against the seam of her lips and Rose opened to him.
He swept into her mouth, his tongue tangling with hers, and she gave a gentle whimper of pleasure, loving the sensations he was arousing, not just on her lips, but all over her body. Unconsciously, she stepped closer so that they were pressed against each other, and Rose felt a surge of pride and triumph as she felt how much he wanted her.
