Page 5 of Wed to the Highlander
As apologies went, it was atrocious, especially accompanied by his heart-melting grin. She twisted her arm, trying to wrench free before he could work his wiles—but he held fast.
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” she whispered, on the verge of tears, which was uncharacteristic for her.
A pulse beat passed. Then another.
“I did,” Duncan finally replied, all playfulness gone. “I’ve waited years for you, Maggie.”
Her eyes lifted to find him watching—serious now, all traces of mischief vanished.
“I told both your brothers of my intentions and that I’d wait,” he admitted. “Let you have your season, your pretty dresses, the fetes and balls, a presentation to the queen. But when I learned what was at stake—what we stood to lose at MacPherson—I couldn’t wait any longer.”
Her spine stiffened. It always came back to the inheritance. “You compromised me to save your precious clan and castle.”
His jaw ticked. “I’d do it again. But don’t mistake that for indifference. I care for you—deeply.”
She swallowed hard, heart pounding. “I find it strange you never said so before. You never looked at me as anything but a sister, until a fortune and the salvation of all you hold dear were on the line. I’m not as gullible as you think I am, Duncan.”
With terrible timing, she yanked free just as the train entered a turn. She lost her balance and tumbled unceremoniously into the lap of her nemesis and new husband.
He caught her easily, turning her into his arms. One hand threaded into her hair; the other cupped her chin.
“You’re not gullible, Maggie. Just too damn stubborn to see what’s in front of you.” Then he kissed her.
She resisted—still hurt, still furious—but his tongue swept the seam of her lips, coaxing. When she gasped for breath, he took full advantage, plunging inside, stealing what little air she had left. It was better than the stolen kiss in the study and worlds away from the chaste brush of lips before the bishop. Because she’d longed for this—longed for him—as long as she could remember, she yielded, succumbing to the taste of his mouth, his strong arms around her, and the heat of his body pressed to hers.
With passion she didn’t know existed, she kissed him back. Not because she trusted him. But because he stirred an ache in her like none of her other London suitors. Because when Duncan MacPherson’s lips touched hers, reason ceased to matter.
His lips gentled, the kiss softening into something almost reverent. When he finally drew away, his breath mingled with hers, gaze tracing her face as if memorizing it.
“You feel it too,” he murmured. “You always have.”
She wanted to deny it. To scoff and retreat behind the armor of indignation. But her lips were kiss-swollen, her pulse wild, and her voice—when it came—barely a whisper.
“It changes nothing.”
“It changes everything,” he insisted. “You’re mine, Maggie. Not because of a title or a ring. You’ve always been mine,mo chridhe.”
She shook her head, but the motion was weak, uncertain. “You married me for duty. For money. For expedience.”
“I wed you for love, lass,” he said, quiet but sure. “The rest came second.”
Her throat tightened. She turned away, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay. Her voice trembled with hurt. “If youwanted me to believe that, you should have said so before you ruined me.”
“Aye. That’s a mistake I’m regretting.”
The silence that followed was thick with all that still hung between them.
A knock on the door shattered it.
She scrambled off Duncan’s lap, calling, “Come in,” just as he muttered a Gaelic curse. He cursed the interruption. She welcomed it.
“Dinner is served, my lord, my lady,” the porter announced, wheeling in a linen-draped cart. The scent of roast beef and warm bread filled the car.
Her stomach was knotted too tightly to eat. She slid back into her seat and stared out the window, eyes unfocused, while Duncan’s low burr filled the car—calm, assured, maddeningly even—as he spoke with the porter.
She pressed her fingers to her lips as if she could erase the kiss. But it lingered—as did the man himself. Unshakable, unforgettable...unforgivable.
Still, she’d become what she vowed not to, a pawn in his grand plan to save MacPherson. And the train barreled ever northward, the distance between what had once been hearth and home, between family and friends—one of those dear friends Duncan himself—growing by the mile.
