Page 16 of A Rogue in Moonlight
“Sotinneas-an-gradh-dubhis a plague in this glen,” she said, laughing.
“Aye, if a bonny lass breaks the laird’s heart, it is the black lovesickness for him!” Ranald crowed jovially.
“You all are enjoying this too much,” Dougal said, and flipped the plaid down to let cool fresh air bathe his head and hers.
“Does the laird suffer this awful plague often?” she asked, eyes sparkling.
“Not too often,” Ranald drawled. “So when he gets, it is bad indeed.”
She laughed again. Dougal heard delight and a hint of reluctance, as if she did not want to be so much at ease with them. He smiled in the dark.
“Is it clear now, Uncle?” he called.
“The road looks empty ahead, but best keep under that plaidie for now.”
Dougal ducked under the plaid again, pulling it high over the girl’s head.
“Hector? Is that your name, not Dougal?” she teased.
“Hector MacGregor is my great-uncle, who is hearty but claims to be over a hundred years old.”
“How does he manage good health at his age?”
He chuckled. “He says fairy magic keeps him young.”
“Fairy magic?” She tipped her head in interest.
“They say the MacGregors of Kinloch know a few fairy secrets.”
“Do you?” she asked intently.
He shrugged. “More than some, less than others.”
“Fairy lore is so intriguing,” she murmured.
She was intriguing, he thought. The feel of her in his arms, his body stretched over hers, the plaid cocooning them in strange intimacy, the tension of touch and politeness, of fear and amusement. His thoughts were not on fairies. Every jolt and lurch of the rolling cart brought him into contact with her, and he felt increasingly on fire.
He was no boy to be aroused without control, nor one to take advantage of a woman for the mere pleasure of it. But by God, he found it difficult to endure her warm, firm body under his, her sweet breath upon his cheek, her heartbeat thrumming under his fingers. He wanted to pull her closer, taste her, caress her, please her.
Stop it,he told himself. He forced himself to focus, her interest at the moment as odd as anything else that was happening. “What do you want to know about fairies?”
“Oh, legends and…sightings. Have you ever seen a fairy?”
Dougal raised his brows, surprised. “Seen them? I have heard that some kinsmen have seen them. My father—” He stopped.
“Your father has seen them?”
“He is no longer with us,” he answered abruptly. “Strange questions. I would expect you to be complaining about smugglers, or even asking about the glen and the school, not about fairies.”
“I would, but I am fascinated by fairy legends.”
In the murky shadows beneath the plaid, her eyes glimmered like stars, her breath was soft as a breeze. “I am looking at a fairy creature just now,” he murmured, “and she is the lovely queen of them all.”
“That is silliness. I am serious.”
So was he. Just when he should have pulled away, he felt her breath caress his cheek, his ear. A devastating plummet of desire went through him. The cart lurched then, pressing her body instantly to his, her cheek soft on his, her lips perilously close. Before he could draw back, he kissed her.
Her lips softened, her mouth surrendered for a moment. Just for a moment. Then she pulled away. “Oh,” she breathed, “oh—”
