Page 50 of The Groom Wore Plaid
He knew how to quiet her. He lifted her foot and placed a gentle kiss on her ankle, his gaze never leaving hers. He saw her lips softly part in shock, her tongue slide out to moisten them. He continued to press gentle kisses up her calf, until he could no longer see her face because of the rise of her skirts. She quivered under his touch, but didn’t stop him, and he grew more and more bold. His vow to touch her as much aspossible was working. He put both hands on her knees and began to separate them—
And then a knock sounded on the door.
He stiffened and lifted his head to meet Maggie’s gaze again. She strove to look relieved and triumphant, but he thought he detected a hint of disappointment.
She lowered her skirts and called, “Come in!”
The plump maid Kathleen entered, talking even as she juggled a basin filled with jagged ice. “I’m so sorry for the delay, mistress, but I didn’t know where the ice pit was, and I had to send a boy to—” She broke off and almost dumped the basin as she spied him kneeling before Maggie. “Laird Duff—I mean, Lord Aberfoyle—I didn’t know . . . I didn’t think . . .”
“No apology necessary,” he said, rising to his feet. “I ascertained that no bones are broken.”
Puzzlement flitted across her expression, and he realized she might not have understood all the words he’d used. But she understood the important part, and gave a shy smile to Maggie.
“There, mistress, ye see? Let me help make ye feel better.”
“I’ll leave Mistress Maggie in your capable hands,” Owen said.
He paused, remembering what Maggie had said about Kathleen’s brother, Gregor. As if Maggie could read his mind, she beseeched him with wide eyes to keep silent, and he gave her a brief nod before departing.
He had much to organize before the assembly tomorrow, and he was glad to have that to focus on, ere his thoughts dwell too long on Maggie’s soft skin.
THEnext morning, Maggie came down the stairs holding herself to just the faintest limp. She’d remained in her bedroom for supper the night before, glad of the excuse to avoid Owen’s arrogant gaze. Oh, he knew what he was doing every time he touched her. It had only been her ankle, for heaven’s sake, and he’d caressed it as if it were her—her—
She barely stopped herself from putting a hand to her chest, as if she could still feel his bold touch there.
Memories of his advances at least kept her from dwelling on her frustration at how little Euphemia had been able to help her where her dream was concerned. And to think that Euphemia had stopped trying to change the outcome of her visions—oh, she refused to let that dishearten her. Maggie didn’tknowthe outcome of her dream, that was the problem. Euphemia seemed to think Maggie should just make her decision without knowing the rest, but how could she?
So Maggie had lounged around during the evening, sending for servant after servant, claiming the trays of food either hurt her delicate stomach, or were too much for her sensitive nerves. Every moment of such playacting was agony for her, especially when Mrs. Robertson came herself with the last tray, and watched Maggie taste the chicken as if daring her toreject it. Maggie hadn’t, but then she’d already proven her point to Owen, who surely heard how she’d unsettled his staff.
She saw Owen standing on the dais at his uncle’s side, both of them leaning over a great account book spread before them. She didn’t want to feel this . . . this flood of emotion that warmed her insides whenever she looked upon him. She felt lost and helpless that he could affect her so much. What if she couldn’t hold her ground against him? What if the shameful feelings of lust weakened her, made her capitulate to the wedding, and then he died?
Nay. She wasn’t going to let that happen. She was going to see that contract and discover if there was another way out that would satisfy both their clans. The fact that he withheld it from her gave her hope.
Owen looked up, and when he saw her, he frowned and left the dais to take her arm. “How is your ankle? Should you be up and about?”
“I am fine.”
“Have your stomach issues resolved this morning?” he asked, his deep voice full of innocence. “I don’t like to think of you distressed in any way.”
She forced a smile, and secretly grumbled that he once again was twisting about everything she did to annoy him. Someday he would grow tired of that. “I feel much better today, and had a good breakfast.” She eyed his garments, and noticed the tautness of the fabric. “Is that another shirt I sewed?”
“It is.” Though he wasn’t smiling, his brown eyes seemed to glow with hidden amusement.
“Oh, dear. I do believe it looks quite tight on ye.”
He shrugged. “I’m happy to wear something you made just for me.”
She gave an exaggerated wince. “I wasn’t certain how wide to make it, especially in the hip area.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “I did have to tug it down quite firmly. It won’t ride up.”
“I didn’t think ye needed much room there,” she said, wide-eyed, while secretly knowing how men were about their male attributes. She had a brother, after all. “Or perhaps your girth is expanding. A paunch is something many men acquire over time.” She eyed his stomach reprovingly. “Not something I’d wish for in a husband.”
He leaned down and spoke in her ear, and his breath made her shiver.
“Then you’ll have to keep me well exercised in bed.”
Like a fool, she blushed. When his uncle Harold called his name, Owen smiled and left her.
