Page 19 of The Lady's Guide to a Highlander’s Heart
“A toast.” Calder looked at the laird over the rim. “Tae long life and true friendship.”
Unsuspectingly, Ragnall picked up the ale and brought it to his lips.
If Calder were to poison the man she believed killed her father, what did that matter? Surely, he’d be doing her a favour, doing the deed she’d been so far unable to do herself? But something was amiss, and it felt wrong to stand by.
On the instant, she lunged forward, knocking the cup from the laird’s hand and sending the ale full over his tunic. Cursing, he leapt up and, as he turned to berate her clumsiness, met Flora’s eye.
Chapter 9
“There’snae need tae drag me!” Flora attempted to free her arm as Ragnall steered her up the stairs.
“If ye were obedient, I’d have nae need tae take ye back tae the chamber at all. Ye would be waiting there for me instead o' sneaking out tae where ye shouldnae be.”
“Aye! Waitin’ for as long as pleased ye!” Flora couldn’t help but show her ire. “And kept there until ye be done wi’ me!”
Ragnall spun her about, pressing her to the wall and looming above her. “That wasnae for ye tae hear. Other men will lust after ye, as ye must ken. I chose ma words tae warn off Calder, using language he’d understand. As I said afore, I’ve nae wish tae hold ye tae anything against yer will.”
As a servant in the castle, she had no real power to defy the wishes of the laird. That he insisted otherwise continued to confound her. The only woman who might be assured of holding her body sacred was one promised to the church, serving as Christ's bride. That privilege was not Flora's, though she'd oft wondered if she might throw herself on the convent's mercy.
The truth of it was, from the moment of their handfasting, she’d belonged to Ragnall, even if he’d never consummated the union.
Grasping her wrist, Ragnall led her upward, then along the dark passageway, back to his own chamber, closing the door firmly behind them before uttering more.
At last, he let go. “Explain yerself. Ye were eavesdropping, and I dinnae believe ye tipped the cup by accident.”
Scowling, Flora took herself closer to the fire and pulled off her headscarf.
Why had she intervened? Calder’s intent was malevolent, she was sure—but what had inspired her to save Ragnall from whatever mischief her step-brother planned?
That, she couldn’t say, but there would be little point airing her suspicions of Calder to the laird. He would only think her a trouble-maker and that would do no good in furthering her aim.
Setting her chin, she resolved to play the character he seemed so ready to believe her to be. “I was bored, waiting for ye.” Reaching behind, she untied her apron, then sat down to ease off her slippers. “And it vexed me tae see ye found the company of yer clansmen more enticing than returning tae ma side.”
Ragnall’s lips twitched. “Then we’ll waste nae more time. Ye may be a disobedient wench, but I’m yer master—in this chamber more than anywhere else—and I'll see ye take off that serving gown, tae wear the finery as was sent.”
The way he spoke wakened her old feeling of ire but, deep in her belly, the strange ache took hold again. He wished to be her master, but she'd have him serve her nonetheless. Let him press upon her again, and touch her. Let him stroke and smooth and caress.
When all was done, she would reach for the dirk beneath the pillow. Tugging the tunic over her head, she cast it to the floor. Standing in only her shift, she ran her fingers through her braid to loosen it, letting the long skein of auburn tumble wanton over her shoulder. “Ye aren’t ma master in everything. I have the free will God gave me.”
“Is that so?” There was an unmistakable glint in his eye, and her stomach fluttered in response. Ragnall snatched up the scarlet gown, clearly intent on forcing it upon her.
Sudden boldness roaring through her veins, Flora dropped the shift from her shoulders. Standing bare, she planted her hands upon her hips.
Ragnall stopped in his tracks, just as she’d guessed he would. His gaze fell to her breasts, to the curve of her hip and then the crux of her legs, his eyes turning several shades darker.
Flora hardly had time to think before he’d thrown aside the gown and was lifting her. In four strides, he’d tossed her upon the bed.
“I’m going to show ye who yer master is.” Kneeling above her, his words were full of command but he spoke with a soft huskiness, running his hands the length of her inner thigh. Flora was obliged to bite back her moan, fighting an urge to lift her hips as he stroked his thumbs either side of her sex. Absurdly, she clasped her hands across her bosom, suddenly feeling very much at a disadvantage.
He gave a knowing smile and, with great gentleness, parted her. Looking at the softest place inside, his voice was little above a murmur. “I’ll give ye more pleasure than ye can imagine, little dairymaid, and I won’t stop until ye buck under me. Ye’ll tremble and quiver, and plead for me tae give ye more—and I want tae hear every sound.”
Flora said nothing, but the slick place between her legs clenched in response, as if it understood better than she what was about to happen.
Bending, Ragnall worked his hands beneath her bottom then lowered to kiss her curls. Flora writhed but Ragnall only held her more firmly, keeping her where he wished with two strong hands.
She felt the stubble of his chin and the warmth of his breath as his tongue found the seam of her sex and glided upwards.
What was he doing?
