Page 79 of A Rogue in Moonlight
“Aye?” She turned, and in that instant, she moved, he moved, opened his arms. She went into his embrace silently, smoothly, looked up.
He touched his lips to hers, and she complied, gave back. Sweet as honey, hot as the burn of whisky, a new kiss, another, blending together in a chain of kisses, tentative, then deeper. She opened her lips beneath his, curved her body snug to his. He cradled her head in his hand, fingers sliding through her silken hair, tumbling loose its curling softness.
“Fiona,” he said, “this is madness—”
“It is magic,” she murmured, touching her lips to his again.
“It is the whisky,” he answered, drawing back, “and I will not—”
“It is not all the whisky,” she whispered, sliding closer, the brocade robe slipping open, her body in a plain lawn shirt—his own—pressed intimately against him, warmth through fabric.
“More than you know, lass,” he said firmly. Though he knew he should let go, he pulled her closer, kissed her deeply. His hand skimmed down to her waist, to her hip. Sighing, he straightened, then released her.
“Into your room, now,” he said quietly.
“If you think I am fou, I am not. Not any longer.” She touched his shoulder. “Would you stay with me?”
“If you were sober, you would not ask that. Go on, now. Later for it, when we both are clear, and in agreement. Then we shall see, and we shall discuss what obligation the laird owes the lady.”
“Obligation?”
“Hush. Enough for now. It is rest you need, and no more talk.” He brushed his knuckle over her cheek, and kissed her again, could not help it, lips dragging hungrily over hers, his body pounding in its need for satisfaction. Mustering his will, he pushed her gently away. “Go,my girl.”
Opening the door, she stepped backward over the threshold, watching him. “What if I see fairies again tonight, when I am all alone?”
“That may happen, for the whisky is still upon you. I thought you wanted to see them.”
“Not alone, in the dark.”
“Then go to sleep quick as you can,” he suggested.
“Tell me more about the fairies of Kinloch.”
“A fairy story before sleeping?” He quirked a brow, amused.
“It is important that I know. I wish I could explain. Later.” She put a hand to her head. “I am dizzy. So tired.”
“Go on, now, and good night.”
“But I do not—oh!” She looked past him. “Oh!”
“What is it?”
“The wee colored lights, just there, on the stair behind you.”
He turned and saw them, the ones who flitted in that form. Sometimes they appeared at dawn or dusk, other times when something of significance was about to happen. Why were they here again, so often lately? He shook his head to clear his vision. They did not vanish. He turned back. “They mean no harm.”
“You do see them! I thought you did, earlier tonight. Are they the fairy ilk?”
“So my father used to say. I have seen the lights many times. There, now, I have told you another secret of mine.”
“You have many secrets.” She stood very still, watching him.
“As do you. When the wee lights appear, they only mean to protect us.”
“From what, here in this place?”
“You, from the laird. Or perhaps the laird, from you,” he mused.
