Page 23 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
Daenae be a daft fool.
The kiss still lingered in her core, like a flame that wouldn’t go out. Her thighs started to cramp from clenching them for so long, but the ache only reminded her of the heat that bloomed between them. There was something about that kiss that made her second guess everything she had known about lust.
Amara winced thinking back to a time when she and her maid had turned their noses up at the painted lassies of the public house in town. They had prayed for the sinners who gave into the carnal vices. And here she was, one of them.
“Sorry, maither,” she whispered, her brown eyes landing on the dark wooden beams crossing the ceiling. “I’ll be good, I swear it.”
She shut her eyes once more, held her breath, and then let the water creep slowly over her face. For a brief moment, it dulled the ache and silenced the questions.
When she rose again, the crisp air kissed her skin with a chill, and she reached for the warmed towel that Nina had draped over the screen.
Leighton might be onto something… it is drafty.
Her stomach started to growl as she twisted the cloth around her hair tucking the loose ends behind her ears before walking naked and dripping across the room.
The gown that Nina had come in and laid out for her earlier was waiting for her like a promise. It was a midnight blue velvet arrangement with silver threading at the sleeves and neckline. It shimmered subtly I the lamplight, her fingertips brushing the fabric. The kind of dress that made Amara feel like a lady again, and not a pawn in someone else’s feud… or worse, a prisoner.
She dressed slowly, pulling the soft fabrics over her curves and smoothing it over her waist. The lining was soft, and she moaned uncontrollably at the feeling.
Next, she brushed out her damp curls until they framed her face and fell in wild spirals down her back. Then she moved across the room to stand in front of the long looking glass, and paused.
Staring back at her with familiar, caramel-colored eyes, was the spitting image of her mother. Twisting and unruly blonde curls falling far below her back, proud shoulders rolled back almost painfully taut, and recognizable rosy cheeks. She hadn’t recognized the stark likeness before, not truly anyway. But now it stared her full in the face.
And a sharp pain welled in her lungs.
Was this why faither hated me so? Was I a painful reminder of her? A ghost?
Her throat tightened and eyes pricked as she tore her gaze from the glass.
The hallway outside her chamber was dim, lit only by a few flickering sconces and the low gleam of evening settling through the narrow arrow slits in the stone. She made her way down the corridor toward the stairwell that she was to take to get down to the dining hall. Nina’s directions were quite clear, and she followed them carefully through the maze so as to not get lost and even later than she already was.
Her mind raced around thoughts of seeing Rhys again as her slippers whispered softly against the floor. She thought of what he might look like all clean and wearing a crisp dinner tunic. She thought about his soft smile around his daughter, and hoped she might caught a glimpse of one of his more devasting smiles, as Nina had indicated earlier.
He kissed me back. He held me up. He wanted it just as much as I did. It wasnae just me. It wasnae all in me head.
Her thoughts teetered on cruelty and bitterness before she pushed them away. She wished to see him again, this time in a far more presentable appearance. Eager to see the look in his eyes when she walked in the room, her pace hastened.
By the time she finally reached the dining hall, the noise was already thick with laughter, metal goblets clanking, and dogs barking playfully underfoot. Voices rose and fell like waves on the shore as benches and chairs scraped on the old stone.
Her heart fluttered in her chest as the paused on the landing under the towering entryway, feeling ever so small.
Steady now. Ye look well enough, even if ye are their enemy. Hold yer head high no matter what.
Drawing a deep breath, she pushed open the great oak door and stepped through.
She scanned the crowd.
Men in O’Donnell colors. A few curious glances met hers. And then more. And then all.
None of them belonged to Rhys.
Her heart sank, quickly and sharply. He wasn’t there. Not even sitting up at the high table. Not a single familiar gaze caught her eyes. No William. No Myles.
She was alone.
Amara tried to school her expression, stepping into the room with her chin lifted as a hush followed her like her shadow. The great hall, so loud only moments before, seemed to tilt on its axis. The laughter quieted as did the scraping of cutlery. And still, she kept walking.
Down the rows of clansmen she went, their faces lined and weathered, their stares bold or averted. Some eyes slid away in shame as she made a point to meet them. Others lingered. Too long. Too bold. And she did the same. A silent dare.
