Page 52 of Bride of the Mad Laird
He laughed, a warm, deep sound that turned her limbs to liquid.
Then, without even needing the urging of the devil who had surely crept into the room and was seated on her shoulder, she leaned up and pressed her lips to Tòrr ’s generous mouth.
He hesitated for a heartbeat, and for the briefest of instants Lyra feared she may have been far too bold for her own good. But before she could take another breath, he moaned softly into her mouth and opened to her. He plied his tongue so softly to her lips that, with a sigh, she gave him entry and melted entirely into the dizzying heights of their kiss.
She lay back in his arms and he leaned to her, cupping her head in his hand as she wound her arms around his neck and tangled her fingers in his hair.
The kissing was everything she’d imagined. But so much more as well. Holding him and being held brought her the compelling need for connection she’d yearned for. She’d dreamed sometimes about reliving the closeness she’d felt when they rode on Paden’s back, jolted and sometimes sleepy, two bodies almost joined.
There was comfort in it but, all the same, a fierceness that caught her by surprise.
But it was also the feel of his arms around her, breathing his breath, inhaling his earthy scents of whisky and leather and fresh grass, and the sensuous delight of feeling his warm skin under her fingertips
It made her thankful she had had no idea what bliss being kissed by the Laird Mackinnon would be. For, had she known about the sensations of delight that were flooding her now – the playful and serious, the sweet and spicy, the hard and soft, the gentle and wild, the melting and hardening, she would never have been able to wait.
And when at last they broke apart needing air, she found herself gasping like a newly caught fish, yet wanting another kiss and then another.
And it seemed that the laird was of the same mind, for he bent his head and kissed her again, hard and long, as soon as he’d caught his breath.
He buried his head in the hollow place where her throat turned into her shoulder and traced kisses on her skin and up her throat to nibble on her ear, causing ripples of molten heat to course through her.
It was only a sharp rap at the door of the solar that brought this sweet bliss to a halt.
Groaning, Tòrr lifted his head. “Wait a moment,” he called gruffly.
Lyra, hauled in a deep breath and leapt to her feet smoothing her hair, while Tòrr straightened his kilt, failing to conceal the gigantic bulge below his belt.
He shrugged, offering Lyra a rueful grin, seized her hand and pressed it to his lips. Then he strode to the door and flung it open. Edmund was waiting there.
He glanced at Tòrr, and then took in Lyra’s figure standing before the fire.
“I trust I’m nae interrupting something private between ye two.”
Tòrr cleared his throat. “As private as two can be while seated in the solar.”
“Ah. Nae at all then.” He grinned knowingly. “Me regrets me laird, but it seems there is a birlinn nosing into the cove. The first of the Council members has arrived.”
Tòrr gave a reluctant nod. “Begging yer pardon me lady. But I must be off. That will be me cousin Willie, who sails from Ulva. Always the first tae arrive and make the most of our whisky.”
He turned to Edmund. “Please make sure Claray has the kitchen on notice. He’ll nay doubt be ravenously hungry as well as desperate with thirst.”
They walked off chuckling, leaving Lyra feeling like she’d just been visiting a perfectly soft, fluffy, cloud and had now landed back on earth with a thud.
Claray came fussing in. “The Council will begin their meeting after supper and a feast is being prepared. ‘Tis fortunate ye have the blue velvet gown tae wear fer yer presence is required at the high table in the refectory.”
Before Lyra could open her mouth to complain, Claray raised a hand.
“’Tis the laird’s wish that ye should be clad in the finest gown. And I darenae argue wi’ the laird.”
Lyra blew up her cheeks with indignation, but Claray shook her head.
“And the same must be said fer ye Lady Lyra.Nae oneargues when our laird gives an order.” She fluffed up the cushions on the chair Lyra had been sharing with Tòrr and turned to go. “Please excuse me, I have much tae see tae. Elspaith will dae yer bidding and provide all ye require fer the evening.”
She left Lyra half in a daze at the sudden turn of events.
I must summon me wits again. Taenight I will dine with men who hold me fate in their hands.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
