Page 25 of Bride of the Beastly Laird

He matched her ragged breathing with his own quick and heavy panting. He groaned again. “I’ve shown ye some of what a lad might dae tae a lass who fancied him enough tae let his hands roam. D’ye fancy me enough tae say yes?”

She snorted. “Yer hands are already roaming free, Arran Mackinnon, what more d’ye need tae ken I’d say yes tae fancying ye.”

“A kiss. I need tae feel yer lips against me mouth. I want tae hear a wee sigh of delight and a moan of pleasure from ye.”

“Then kiss me. See if ye can make me moan and cry fer ye.”

“A challenge, is it?” He gave a slight, almost inaudible groan and lowered his head. His hair fell over her as he sought her mouth and she raised her head, her heart racing.

Unerringly, in the pitch-darkness, his lips found hers and, as her mouth opened a little, his tongue slid across her lower lip, teasing and inviting her, so that she opened her lips fully to his kiss.

She was lost. As their lips and mouths joined, his tongue meeting with hers, her body caught fire, seeming to have a mind of its own. Writhing boldly against him with a restless hunger for his touch, the place between her legs swelled, slickening withwetness, aching, wanting him, becoming more sensitive with each delicious movement.

His hands stroked down her back, holding her as his hips moved, thrusting gently, taking on a strange new rhythm. She found herself joining his rhythmic thrusts centering her most sensitive place against his hardness.

So heavenly were the sensations ravishing her body that even Bairre and all his minions could have battered down the door and she would not have cared a jot. Clutching Arran’s shoulders, she moaned in his mouth.

“Ah, lass,” he hauled in a deep, shuddering, breath. “We must stop this now, before we pass a line we can never return from.”

“I dinnae wish tae stop.”

“I dinnae wish tae stop kissing ye. ‘Tis the sweetest thing I’ve ever kent. But I’m sorely afeared if a body should find us here like this, we’d be at the mercy of Laird Bairre Mackinnon.”

“A man with nay mercy,” she said grimly.

“Exactly me point.” Arran gave a wry chuckle.

They stepped as far apart as they could manage in the cramped space while she smoothed her hair back and straightened her gown. Beside her, Arran was doing his best in the darkness to make himself tidy.

“I’m ready,” she muttered. Without a looking-glass it was impossible to see if her hair was in place again but she’d done her best.

Arran scrabbled at the door. “What the devil?” He exclaimed. “There’s nae handle on this side of the door. Bairre has sealed us in here”

A tiny wail issued from her lips. “When we’re both absent from the feast Bairre is sure tae send out someone tae search fer us.”

“Aye. That he is.”

“Listen, I can hear voices.” Her heart lifted. Perhaps there was some way out of this tiny space after all. “It sounds like the servants. Mayhap if we speak out, they will hear us and undae this door.”

As the voices drew nearer, he thumped his fists on the door, making as loud a noise as was possible. Dahlia prayed silently that the owners of the voices would hear and take notice.

She heard one say, “Stop. There’s a noise in the cupboard.”

The footsteps halted outside the door and both she and Arran raised their voices. “Help us. We’ve been locked inside.”

There was a long silence during which Dahlia held her breath. Next, she heard the bold being tentatively drawn across. The door opened a crack.

A round, cheerful face peered in. “Goodness, melord. How did ye find yerself inside our broom cupboard?” The woman caught sight of Dahlia sheltering behind him and a knowing smile crossed her features.

Dahlia did not recognize the woman as one who had been assembled to greet her arrival earlier. She could only hope that mayhap the woman would not know who she was. She kept her face down, staying concealed behind Arran in the gloom of the cupboard.

“Thank ye, lasses,” he acknowledged. But, instead of striding out of the small recess into the passageway, he paused. It was clear he was waiting for the servants to continue about their business before he and Dahlia fully emerged from their captivity.

The two stout figures moved off, heading on their way along the passage, a muffled giggle trailing behind them.

Arran watched them depart and turned to Dahlia. “They’ve gone. Ye must make haste now before someone enters this corridor.”

Heart in mouth, she ventured out, glancing from left to right. She twisted a ribbon that had come loose from a braid and tucked it behind her ear. “Is my hair neat?”

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