Page 28 of An Allusive Love
Her bottom ground against his crotch as she squirmed to turn around. He closed his eyes and held his breath.
“Where am—what did—Oh!” She stilled, her fingers covering her lips. “Ye’re bleeding.”
“Aye. Now I ken if ye’re ever kidnapped, it’s the bandit I’ll be sorry for.” His tongue traced the swell of his lower lip, then he moved his jaw back and forth.
Kirsty wiped a tear from his watering eye. “Do ye still think I’m a good healer?” she asked. Her gaze glittered black under the yellow moon, lips upturned impishly.
“I’d rather ye show me.” His voice sounded gruff as he fought to control the throb low in his belly. “Take away my pain, Kirsty.”
Passion replaced the fading smile. Her finger tenderly traced the side of his face. She sat up to kiss his temple, then his good eye, and made her way down his jaw to his mouth. He closed his eyes and stifled the groan scratching at his throat.
Velvet lips brushed the corner of his mouth, his chin, then stopped at the bruise. Her tongue skimmed over the battered lip before she kissed the other corner of his mouth. He lost the battle and moaned, knew she had to feel his stiffness against her side.
She leaned back, their breaths mingling in the air between them. When he opened his eyes, Kirsty winked at him.
“I believe my job is done here.” One more quick kiss and her hand slid down his chest and across his lap. She slid from the horse, collected Speckles, and trotted across the yard.
“Aye, right,” he croaked and rubbed his chin to keep his hand from cradling his crotch, then winced. With a chuckle, he turned the gelding and headed home. A deep contented guffaw soon turned into a gut-splitting belly laugh. “Where have ye been all my life, Kirsty MacDunn?” he shouted to the man on the moon.
Chapter Ten
Tit For Tat
Early July 1819
“What do yemean, ye’re no’ ready to marry?” Brigid stood up from the chess set, both hands on her hips, her feet planted in a wide challenging stance. “Ye can barely keep yer hands off her. How long can ye last? Or do ye plan on taking advantage of my friend?”
Brodie ground his teeth at the last statement. If she were a man or not his sister… “Take advantage? I love Kirsty. Let us enjoy the summer.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “For the love of saints, I’m the youngest son. There’s no hurry to push me into the parson’s trap.”
“Ye’re teasing her like she’s a trout in the stream.”
“I’ve courted her for barely over a month.” His jaw twitched. The little chit had nerve. “Iwillask her sooner or later, in my own time. I’ll no’ be browbeaten by my wee sister.”
“Ye’ve been together since ye were bairns,” his sister argued, her blue eyes flashing.
“Ye both need to stop.” Glynnis interrupted the siblings from her chair near the hearth. She set down her needlework with a sigh. “Brodie, ye wait too long and ye’ll lose her. It doesna take a brilliant mind to figure that out. And we’ll no’ be sympathetic when ye come crying to us.”
Brigid sneered. “See?”
“And ye should be minding yer own romantic endeavors.” Glynnis narrowed her eyes at her daughter. “Ye run around the glen like my youngest son, scaring away any potential suitors with yer boyish ways.”
“But I—”
“She has no idea how to befeminine,” Brodie jumped in. Good. They’d turn the table on the little minx. “Name one household skill ye have an aptitude for.” He crossed his arms over his chest, daring her to deny it.
“I can…” Brigid’s foot tapped on one the rag rugs scattered across the floor. Her face brightened. “I can order supplies.”
“When I give ye the list,” pointed out Glynnis.
“I’ll strike a bargain.” An idea began to form in Brodie’s head. “Prove to us ye have a womanly side by spending a week in the kitchen.”
“Saints and sinners. What would I do there?” Brigid’s eyes were wide, the apparent horror eliciting a chuckle from her mother.
“Cook.” Glynnis nodded. “Yes, a week in the kitchen to learn how to cook. Perhaps Lissie will help so Enid doesna die of apoplexy the first day.”
“Help with what?” asked the female in question as she entered the room.
Lissie found solace in the kitchen. After Ian had left last week, Lissie made a dozen loaves of bread and enough biscuits to feed the village. Working the dough seemed to ease her mind, but Brodie had heard more pounding than kneading.
