Page 52 of A Wife for the Highland Villain
Daisy blinked. “Just a few days ago, me Lady.”
Lily’s eyes hardened. “Did he now?”
Daisy faltered, her hands frozen mid-task. “Did I say something wrong, me Lady?”
“On the contrary,” Lily said, her voice quiet but edged with steel. “Ye said something right. Fetch me one of those dresses. I need a word with the Laird.”
Daisy hesitated. “At this hour? He may be asleep.”
Lily rose to her feet, the green folds of her gown brushing the floor. She turned to Daisy with a smile that did not touch her eyes. “Good thing he is me husband, is it nae? Our marriage allows me to wake him.”
The chamber fell silent as Daisy obeyed. She lifted one of the gowns from the chest and held it out. Lily slipped into it, squared her shoulders, and faced the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her with a mix of calm and fury.
She drew in a breath, jutted her chin, and stepped out of her chamber. She walked down the passage, her steps quick and her hands clenched into her skirt. The torches along the walls lit her path, and at last, she reached his chamber and forced herself to knock gently.
His voice came from the other side. “Enter.”
She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The air caught in her throat.
Alasdair stood near the fire, wearing nothing but a pair of transparent white trousers that hung low on his hips. She briefly studied the strong lines of his stomach and the way they cut down into his trousers, leaving almost little to the imagination.
She tried to speak, to find the words, but for some reason, they wouldn’t come. Her eyes remained almost unashamedly fixed on him. Lower still, his member seemed to strain against his trousers.
“Lily.” His voice pulled her out of her reverie.
Warmth bloomed in her cheeks, but she straightened her back almost immediately, pushing all thoughts away. “Why did ye nae tell me about the cèilidh?”
His eyes narrowed a little. “As I said at the council meeting, I was going to?—”
“Tonight?” she cut in. “Aye, tonight. But ye failed to tell me that the whole clan already kent about it, while I alone was left in the dark.”
He leaned one shoulder against the mantelpiece, unbothered. “I didnae tell ye earlier because I kent ye may nae want to stay for it. Ye’re still on the fence about the whole lady of the clan thing, are ye nae?”
“And ye didnae think that was a decision I could have made on me own?”
He moved a step closer, the light shifting across his chest. “So it isnae the cèilidh that angers ye?”
“Nay. It is the fact that ye refused to tell me,” she fired back. “Ye kept it from me.”
He tilted his head, his eyes glinting. “Well, ye want to come, do ye nae? Plus, there are still dozens of men who need treatment. I am certain ye will still be here by then anyway.”
“If ye truly believed that, ye would have told me sooner.”
He stepped closer, his bare feet soundless on the floor. She lifted her chin, but her pulse quickened as he neared. The heat of him reached her even before he stopped.
“Perhaps,” he said slowly, “ye are only angry because the cèilidh means ye’ll have to fully come to terms with yer duty.”
“I daenae ken how many times I have to say this. I am only here for a month to heal the wounded men. Nothing more, nothing less. What else do I need to say for ye to believe that?”
He smiled faintly. “I ken ye have said that a lot of times. ‘Tis just that, for some reason, I still daenae believe ye.”
Another step. He was close now, far too close. The fire threw golden light down his chest and into the lines that disappeared beneath his trousers.
“Ye cannae tell me that the clan… the castle… the people… Ye cannae say they arenae beginnin’ to grow on ye already.”
Her gaze flicked down despite herself, and the sight of the bulge in his trousers made her breath hitch once again. She tore her eyes back up, but he had caught her.
“Ah,” he murmured, lowering his voice, “did ye really come here to fight me about the cèilidh, or did ye come for something else?”
