Page 24 of The Heart of a Highlander
His finger stroked deliciously back and forth over the skin of her hand. His appeal devastated her senses. The music faded. The people disappeared. All she saw was the man before her. His smoldering eyes. The sinful smirk upon his full lips. The way his hair curled slightly at the ends that grazed his shoulders.
“For a dance,” he replied, his voice sliding over her like warm water. He drew closer to her, his hand sliding up her arm, a whisper of flesh upon flesh. “Whatever did ye think I meant, ye wicked lass?”
By Christ, he was losing his prized control. It had begun the moment he’d seen Ada. It had slipped a little more somewhere between watching the MacKinney crush Ada to him and then tracking her as the devil maneuvered her to the perimeter of the great hall. It had dipped further when the MacKinney’s men had encircled her and cut her off from his view. His vision had momentarily clouded as fury choked him, and he’d excused himself from the conversation he had instigated with Brothwell in the hopes of learning the other traitors’ names. He’d abandoned his plan, the mission he’d been sent on, and he’d pounded down the dais steps with his heart beating rapidly as he’d begun to weave himself in and out of the thick throng of clanspeople and competitors gathered in the great hall. The lot of them had continued to merrily dance and drink as he darted and snaked his way into a position where he could see not only the MacKinney’s hands and face but see Ada’s face, as well, so he could judge whether or not she was in need of him.
In need of him.
The four words mocked him and made him want to shake the beautiful lass. He’d read her lips as she’d talked to the MacKinney. She’d said she wanted to be queen. Lipreading was a very handy trick his father had taught him years ago and William had perfected over time. He had to be at just the right angle; sometimes he could read every word, sometimes just a few. Tonight, he’d read enough to know that Ada, by her own declaration, wished to be queen. And by the looks of MacKinney’s face after she’d made the statement, he was only too happy to oblige her, which meant the MacKinney must plan to try to put himself on the throne.
The stakes had just become higher in this deception. He had to ensure Ada chose him over the MacKinney, and the only weapon he had at his disposal was seduction. There could be no mercy. He would employ every tactic of enticing a woman he’d ever known. He would ignite her lust and enslave her heart. Unbridled anticipation shot through him, and with it came concern that she could so stir him to desire. Everything he wanted was at risk, and the woman had unknowingly declared herself his enemy. There could be no missteps, no quarter given, no guilt allowed.
“Come,” he said, the predator to the prey. “Let us dance.”
Unmistakable worry flashed in her stormy eyes, but then she notched her chin up and smiled at him. It was an outwardly pure smile, a sweet one. The damned thing made his chest squeeze, but he was not a pup to be toyed with. He cleared his thoughts of all but one: she thought to be queen and would soon have the power to make it so. His instincts about her had been so very wrong.
They faced each other as the music began. Her long eyelashes fluttered upward, rosy color touching her cheeks. He wanted to run his fingers over the slope of her cheekbone. More madness. He needed to concentrate. She tilted her head, and then her chest rose with her full breath. “Why are ye trying to seduce me?”
“Because ye are making me crazed,” he said, deciding to stay as close to the truth as possible. Her eyes widened, the music began, and they were pulled away from each other by the steps of the dance.
When they came together again several beats later, she spoke before he could. “What do ye like about the Steward?” she asked, pitching her voice under the music.
He circled her once as the steps demanded, and when facing her once more, instead of answering, he forced himself to say, “He’s clever.” He didn’t like one damned thing about King David’s deceitful nephew, but he could not say that, knowing now that Ada wanted to sit on the throne herself.
The dance took them apart again, this time for longer, and William watched her as she was twirled from man to man, her hair swinging, the color in her cheeks rising. Christ, she was lovely. It was a good thing she was treacherous. It would make it easier to keep distance between them once they were wed.
When they met in the middle once more, he spoke before she could. “How is it ye came to support the Steward when I ken yer father supported King David?”
Her eyebrows arched, and a crease appeared between her brow. “How is ityecame to the Steward’s side?” she asked instead of answering.
“I simply followed my father’s and brother’s paths,” he replied as the musical notes faded and loud chatter replaced them. People began to move about around them, looking for new partners, talking among themselves, or taking swigs of wine and mead from goblets to refresh themselves before the next dance.
William and Ada stood there, near the great hall door where the end of the dance had left them, neither moving. “So ye are telling me,” she said, near a whisper, eyes searching, “that ye came to support the Steward based merely on the fact that yer brother and yer father did?”
Her incredulous tone surprised him, not only because she sounded irritated at him but he had long wished most people would not so easily think he was a traitor simply because they thought his family was. It struck him as funny and slightly bittersweet that Ada was the one to disbelieve it.
“Is that so hard to accept?” he asked.
She pressed her lips together for a moment. “Nay, but it is disappointing.”
“How so?” He took her by the elbow and guided her away from the path of the door toward the wall.
“Well, I would wish for a husband who had his own mind.”
It was his turn to cock his eyebrows. “As ye do? Do ye support the Steward simply because yer father did nae? Was it a rebellion of sorts?”
“Nay!” She bit her lip. “I mean, I—” She pressed her fingertips to her temples. “It was nae a rebellion.”
“Ada!”
William cursed at the sight of Brothwell waving Ada to him where he stood with the MacKinney.
“I must attend my stepbrother,” she said, starting to move away. He caught her fingertips, aware he had made little progress in his seduction. She stopped and glanced back at him, frowning. “What are ye doing?”
He looked to where Brothwell was, and seeing the man waylaid by some of his clan members, William decided to use the gift to his advantage. He brought her fingertips to his lips, intending to press a kiss there and then release her, to entice her with what could be, but when his lips grazed her silken skin, he forgot himself. A jolt of awareness gripped him. He heard the sharp intake of her breath, watched her chest rise once more, and her tongue dart out to wet those full lips that would be his undoing if he did not taste them soon. Instead of relinquishing his hold, he slid his hand to her wrist, encircling the fragile bones, and increased his grip, his thumb pressing to where her pulse frantically beat.
She wanted him just as he wanted her. Triumph engulfed him, searing him from head to toe. The feeling, however, had less to do with the fact that his plan was working and more to do with the anticipation of touching her, possessing her, hearing what sounds she made in the throes of passion. A satisfied smile tugged at his lips, which he tried to stop, but it was as impossible as halting the need to breathe. She snatched her hand away and scowled at him. “Dunnae look so pompous.”
Her injured feelings felt like a hand at his throat, squeezing. Devil take it. He was not supposed to allow guilt.No quarter. He repeated the phrase in his mind until the guilt subsided. “That’s pleasure,mo ghraidh.”
