Page 27 of Laird of Twilight
Then she recalled tender kisses shared months earlier, and she could almost feel his hands upon her again, warm and strong and welcome. An urge to be in his arms, to feel the kisses, the passion, the cherishing that came with that, made her yearn suddenly, deeply.
Love,the thought came to her then:love feels like this.
He tilted his head to question her silence. “Miss MacArthur?”
“Where—where shall I sleep, Lord Struan?” she asked hastily.
“You may have your pick of the guest rooms. This way.” Holding a lantern, he led the way, looking back to offer a hand to her elbow as she limped behind. He limped too, without his cane, but his focus was solicitously for her.
A thrill went through her like small lightning. The man had a restrained sort of power, masculine and protective, tempered by courtesy and patience. She found it compelling. She walked unevenly beside him, his hand touching her elbow now and again. Her heart surged within her.
The wolfhound followed, nudging after them, setting Elspeth off balance so that she stumbled against Struan, a hand to his chest. He put his arm around her. The plaid slid from her shoulders, and he caught it. She stopped, and for a moment looked into his eyes, dark in the lamplight. Through his clothing, his heartbeat under her hand felt strong and hard.
“You’ve made a friend in Osgar.” His voice was gruff.
“His breed is called fairy hound. They take readily to anyone with fairy blood, so it is said. And he has definitely taken to you,” she told Struan as he reached down to pet the dog’s head and Osgar lolled in pleasure. “Do you have fairy heritage?”
“My grandmother claimed there was a fairy ancestor far back among the Struan MacCarrans. She was not of that blood herself, but was fascinated that it might have been in her husband, and therefore her children and grandchildren. She was the only one of us to believe it. Actually, I was about to ask the same of you. Do you have...fairy blood?”
“Oh,” she said, shrugging. “There are legends in our family too. It is not uncommon in the Highlands. My grandfather says my mother…had fairy blood. I did not know her myself.”
“And so you wanted to believe a fanciful tale. Certainly it is easy to believe that she could have given you that heritage. It is in your eyes, I think, in their beauty,” he murmured, as he drew the plaid about her shoulders. He brushed back her hair where it sifted over her brow. Every part of her was aware of his touch. Wonderful shivers coursed through her. His hand dropped away. “But it is all lovely bits of legend and fancy.”
“I heard about the Struan MacCarrans, long ago. I see you disdain it.”
“There is a legend. Family lore holds that long ago, a MacCarran ancestor saved a fairy woman from drowning, and they were married. Supposedly her blood runs through descendants of the main branch, which includes myself and my siblings. Apparently, some MacCarrans have strange abilities because of this mythical ancestor, but I have never seen evidence of it. Come along, you lot,” he called back, as all three dogs followed. Struan took Elspeth’s elbow to help her up the steps.
“Saved a fairy woman?” she asked, keenly interested.
“Charming Highland hogwash,” he said, and smiled.
Chapter 7
“Some guest rooms are on this level,” James said as they walked along the upper corridor. “And some the next floor up, but no need to climb more stairs.”
For either of them, he thought. He knew well the concessions needed for a weak limb. He was glad to offer her support, but his body was responding a bit too keenly to her nearness. A strong feeling best ignored.
He would show her to a guest room, and in the morning, take her home. Until then, he would shut himself away from her—no matter what she had said earlier about willing to be ruined. He would not ruin her reputation, or his own, with heady passion that could be easily controlled with a little willpower and cool reason.
“The rooms are all freshened for use. Mrs. MacKimmie saw to it, with guests expected next week.”
“But I am unexpected,” she said.
“And welcome to stay.” He opened a door and stood back. The lantern light spilled into the room as Elspeth stepped inside. “The hearth is cold in here. Let me.” James followed her, while the three dogs plopped down to arrange themselves in and around the doorway.
Limping, he wished he had gone back to the garden to find his cane, for he was clearly feeling an ache in his leg. He knelt by the fireplace, finding peat bricks already stacked, and lit a match from the burning lamp Elspeth MacArthur held out for him. He coaxed the peats to catch, tried again.
“I can do it, sir. There is a knack to it.”
“I have it. There. The room will warm soon.”
“Thank you.” She held her hands before the small flames. James stood up beside her. His gaze flickered along her body, lush curves beneath a damp gown, cloth still translucent in places. She glanced up. He grew still, seeing compassion in her eyes. Not pity. Understanding.
“You should rest your leg.”
“And you, more to the point, should rest that foot.” This girl, he thought—who was she? How did she know his past without being told, as she claimed? That had shaken him—shehad shaken him. Nor could he ever forget those lightning kisses in Edinburgh. Though it had been part of a public and acceptable flirtation that day, he had felt a deeper impact then, and remembered it now.
“I remember the first time we met,” she said, echoing his thoughts in that damnable way she had. She tipped her head. “We kissed.” Soft words, like a caress.
