Page 48 of Bride of the Wicked Laird
“Me laird, I have nae been kissed, but now that ye’ve won me kiss, I want nothing more than tae find out what it is like tae be kissed by a man.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
He seemed to sway a moment, then he bent his head just as she raised herself on tiptoe so that their lips could come together.
The kissing started soft as a cobweb. His lips alighted on hers like a butterfly.
A sound like a moan issued from deep in his throat, and he teased her with his exploring tongue. He tasted sweet, of honeyed-mead, and she allowed herself to relish the flavor of him for a moment, before she tentatively touched his tongue with hers, turning the kiss from soft to something else. It was still gentle, but there was a fierceness now. She could feel the leashed passion they both shared. She was assailed by a sudden hunger that made her seek his lips almost in desperation.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his half-open shirt, tracing the smattering of coarse hairs across his chest. He moaned again and cupped her chin, looking deep into her eyes with his indigo-dark gaze. She parted her lips and he took her with his mouth,his tongue thrusting deeper as she clung to him, every part of her burning and seething as the fire inside her ignited.
So this is how it feels.Like the world has turned upside down.
Everything around them was suddenly shrouded in a dim light, as if all the light was being drawn toward her and Everard.
Mildred’s words rang like an alarm bell in her head for the briefest moment, but she pushed them away. If this was the road to ruin trod by so many lasses before her, her feet floated on the path, surrendering to the onrush of desire that was sweeping her away.
The words ‘ruin’ and ‘heartbreak’ formed in her head for a moment, until they too were lost to her as the laird wound his arms around her waist. She reached up with tentative fingers and tangled them in his long hair, leaning in, feeling his heart pounding in his chest in unison with hers.
There was danger, but she was already surrendering to it.
“Me laird.”
As if it came from some great distance away, the voice slowly fell on Davina’s ears. She jolted her lips away from Everard’s and turned her head toward the sound. The Gockman Ranald was hastening down the steps at the end of the grass about to come barreling toward them.
She stepped back, hoping for the impossible, that he hadn’t seen their embrace. She hated the thought of setting tongues wagging in the castle. Mildred’s words of warning came rushing back. She had done the very thing she had tried to warn her of. Like some brainless, besotted lass, she’d fallen into the laird’s arms with scarcely a thought of what the consequences of her action might be.
Everard groaned, releasing her hand which he’d clutched as she’d stepped away from him.
Dunbar came puffing up, seeming oblivious to the fact he was interrupting a passionate embrace between them.
Shoving her hair back and tossing her head so that the wayward curls fell over her shoulders, she turned to face him. Her body still thrummed with the pleasure and the heated desire the kissing had aroused. A stinging wave of something like regret or, even sadness, rippled through her, leaving a hollowness in its wake.
She wished the kissing could have gone on forever. It was as if she’d been consumed by a golden light that had whisked her away to another place from where she wished to never return.
But, by the saints, here she was, chest heaving, her cheeks burning, on the practice green at Kiessimul Castle, falling deeply in love with the man she could never have.
Beside her, Everard snapped “What is it?” He too was adjusting his messed-up hair.
And there was a mysterious bulge in his britches. She’d felt that part of him pressed against her. She remembered the healer explain what happened to lads.
Fighting down her unseemly thoughts, she raised a hand to her mouth and bent to collect her basket and cloak from the large rock where she’d left them.
Dunbar doffed his cap. “Greetings again, Mistress Davina.”
She nodded, bobbed a curtsy. “And greetings tae ye Gockman Dunbar.” The man’s gaze bounced from her to a frowning Everard who was tucking his shirt into his britches.
“Apologies fer… disturbing ye, me laird, I was hoping tae catch ye before ye returned tae the castle.”
“Is it Ulric, has he taken a turn fer the worse?”
Dunbar shrugged, his eyes on Davina. “I dinnae ken, I’ve nay been tae see him.” He swung his attention to Everard. “’Tis yer braither, the Lord Maxwell and his lady, Aileen.”
Everard clicked his tongue impatiently. “What of me braither and his wife?”
The Gockman gave his head a little shake as if pulling his thoughts into line. “They’re tying their boat up at the mooring, as we speak.”
“God’s hooks,” Everard cursed. “They didnae send word they planned tae visit.”
