Page 50 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
“Evelyn tells me I was delirious.”
Lydia swallowed hard. “You were. You spoke in fever dreams, but there was little I could discern of your words.”
The delicate blush on her cheeks suggested that she wasn’t being entirely truthful with him, but Donall had no desire to pursue the subject. The faint, scattered recollections that haunted him made it easy to guess what he’d dreamed about, and he had no desire to revisit the memories that must have plagued his dreams.
“It daesnae matter.” Donall reached out to caress Lydia’s cheek. “I didnae wish tae trouble ye about that. I simply wanted tae thank ye, fer carin’ fer me.”
Lydia smiled, and the expression made her pale, slightly sun-touched skin seem to glow with an inner radiance. “You are most welcome, my…”
“Donall. Call me Donall.” He stroked a thumb across her cheek.
“I… that would not be proper.” Lydia blinked at him, blue eyes wide and filled with confusion. “I am only a maid…”
“Ye arenae ‘only’ anything, lass, an’ well ye ken it. Besides, are ye nae Evelyn’s student now as well?” Donall cupped her chin with his hand, heat stirring his blood with a longing he was hard pressed to ignore.
“My la-”
“Donall.” He ran a thumb across her cheek and stepped closer. “Tae ye, Lydia, I am Donall.”
Her lips pursed, brow furrowing lightly with uncertainty. “Donall…”
The sound of his name on her lips sent sparks running through his blood, and the sight of her pursed lips beckoned him to action. Before he could consider whether it was a good idea or not, Donall bent and captured her lips with his own.
The taste of Lydia’s mouth was sweet, wine and fresh bread and the faint taste of honey. Her scent of heather and the herbs of Evelyn’s cottage enveloped him, drawing him to pull her closer. Her lips were soft as silk against his own, and her warmth reminded him of the comfort of a fire on a winter’s night.
Donall drew back, and sucked in a deep breath, his gaze focused on her wide eyes and the crimson blush staining her cheeks. Lydia looked as if she had no idea how to respond to his gesture, and Donall felt his stomach clench. Perhaps he had made an error. “Lydia…”
“Donall…”
I was too hasty. Tae her, I am her laird, nae anything else. An’ she might nae ken where me thoughts wandered when I was caught in fever dreams, nor what I realized when I heard her voice banishin’ my nightmares. She may nae feel the same way I dae.
Donall forced himself to smile, despite the slight ache that accompanied that idea. “Thank ye for tak’ng such good care o’ me, Lydia.”
Then, before he could do anything more, especially anything he might regret, Donall turned and walked away.
The library was quiet, and Lydia took refuge in the silence. Normally, she would have been searching out a book to read for the evening, but tonight, her hand merely skimmed the shelves aimlessly. Her mind was far too preoccupied with her encounter with Laird Ranald earlier in the day to focus on literature.
He’d asked her to call him Donall, just before he’d…
He kissed me. I cannot believe he kissed me.
Lydia lifted one hand to touch her lips pensively. Her mouth still tingled with the lingering sensation of Donall’s mouth claiming hers. If she concentrated, she imagined she could even taste the lingering mingling of mead, medicinal herbs, and rich broth that had filled her senses when his lips met hers.
Lydia closed her eyes, remembering the feel of his warmth wrapping around her. The feel of his hand on her chin, and his slightly roughened lips on hers as he kissed her - they were intoxicating.
She’d been too surprised to react before he ended the kiss and took his leave, and she’d almost regretted it. On the one hand, she knew she needed to be planning her departure, and that entangling herself further with Clan Ranald and its laird was a foolish thing to do. But there was also the part of her that recalled her own realizations of a few nights before.
She didn’t want to leave. And she didn’t want to part from Donall, or from the friends she’d made.
But even if Donall shares my feelings, the matter of the falsehoods between us…
“Ye look like a lass with a great deal on her mind.” The warm, friendly voice that intruded into her thoughts was a welcome distraction.
“Laird MacEwen.” Lydia smiled. “How are ye this evening?”
“Well enough, an’ happier fer kenning that Donall is on his feet again, even if he’s snappin’ at everyone like a wounded wolf.” Laird MacEwen gave a wry smile. “He’s never liked bein’ confined in the healer’s cottage, but this time, it seems he’s especially short-tempered. ‘Tis just as well that he’s been in his study taking care o’ reports fer most o’ the day.”
Lydia felt her heart skip a beat.
