Page 42 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
And if you download this book for free, you’ll get a ONCE ONLY opportunity to join my ARC group.
This means MORE GIFTS! Because you’ll be getting books of mine and other authors of the genre one week ahead of release and for FREE.
The only thing you need to do is use the link below and download the book!
I’ll reply in your inbox to let you know the details.
So, what do you think? Will you join me on this reading adventure? The clock is ticking…
Just click on the link!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
After they had climbed under the covers and Ewan snuffed the candles, Tyra lay stiff as an over-starched petticoat, thankful for the bolster that kept them apart. Inside, every smidgen of her being was vibrating and trembling, her blood running hot. Her senses were reeling, her mouth still reacting to the feeling of his lips and tongue. Her every breath inhaled his scent of leather, and smoke, reminding her of his taste of whisky and honey. The sound of his voice as he had addressed her, gentle and strong, was ringing in her ears.
She knew now that she’d never had aproperkiss. Those limp, perfunctory, kisses she’d received from Harris that she’d so foolishly believed were how kissing was meant to be, were the merest shadows of what she’d experienced with Ewan’s kiss.
There’d never been those wild fireworks exploding, the darts of molten pleasure through her veins. And there was never that desperate longing for the kissing to go on and on until she was burnt to a crisp and there was nothing left of her but a puff of smoke spiraling up the chimney.
It had taken all her effort to hide her desire from him. Even so, she was unsure if she’d kept herself fully hidden. She groaned inwardly. The wanton way her body had behaved, reaching for the kisses she’d been craving for, for so long without even knowing they existed, would readily betray her.
She blamed thecèilidh. No wonder some people considered dancing to be a great wickedness. When he’d held her and laughed with her, she’d been overwhelmed with myriad feelings that took away her usually measured reserve. Why, she’d been transformed into a reckless lass, as giddy as any one of the young village lasses, laughing, shouting, skipping and twirling amid the chaotic fun.
She cautioned herself fiercely. Knowing so well the pain of heartbreak, she was loath to allow her feelings for Ewan to grow. He’d made it clear theirs would never be a love match.
Yet, despite this, she had begun to hope there could be more between them than the simple expediency of a marriage to gain protection for her and a useful alliance for him.
Despite the lateness of the hour, it seemed she would lie awake beside him all night, listening to his little murmurs, his steady breathing, and feel his warmth beside her.
Yet, she must have slept, for she awoke, surprised to discover Ewan was already up and pulling on his boots. She allowed herself a moment’s indulgence gazing at his strong arms and legs as he leaned down.
He looked up and grinned. “I thought that once we’d broken our fast, an early start would give ye an advantage over the other lasses. Our trusty innkeeper has assured me he will wake the peddler and have him arrange his wares fer ye and me sister tae peruse before the other ladies arrive from hereabouts. Ye shall have first dibs on the finery.”
She smiled at his thoughtful gesture.
There was no sign of either Isla or Duncan when they reached the dining room. Their meal was spread on the table awaiting them.”
“Let us proceed with this repast.” Ewan said. “Me sister is mayhap primping in her room while Duncan…” He shook his head. “Mayhap he’s still sleeping.”
They had broken their fast and were about to go in search of the peddler and his wares when Isla came sweeping in.
“Go ahead. I shall break me fast and meet ye. I am so looking forward tae sampling the goods the peddler has brought.”
Malcolm appeared and directed them across the yard to a small hut behind the stables, where the peddler was displaying his goods.
As they strolled through the cobbled yard Ewan reached for Tyra’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. He smiled at her and she found herself wondering what it would be like tobe sharing this moment if theirs was a love match. Would their passion continue or would his interest in her fade without the magic of romance.
They arrived at a small building behind the stables. The peddler was there, his packhorse and carthorse tethered nearby.
He bowed and swept from his grizzled head a green velvet bonnet adorned with a large feather. “Davie De Ville at yer service,” he said with a flourish of his cap.
Despite his rotund form, and several missing teeth, he was a dashing figure in layered clothing, well braced against the weather. Tyra took note of the fine fabrics and the cut of his linen shirt and woolen over-tunic, his warm wool trousers, his chausses, and his leather boots. All of which served as ringing endorsements for the quality of his goods.
His cart was piled with bolts of fabrics, while more were stacked beside them on a table and bench.
Tyra gasped in delight as she scanned the colorful array.
Grinning, Ewan waved a hand. “Choose whatever ye wish fer, Lady Tyra.” He turned to the peddler. “Please show the lady the best of what ye have.”
