Page 8 of The Lady's Guide to a Highlander’s Heart
She’d grown several inches since he’d last laid eyes on her, both in height and in womanly dimensions, but she felt a sudden stab of fear as he looked down into her face, studying her intently.
His brow creased a moment, as if trying to place her features.
Thank goodness Maggie had insisted on her wearing the headscarf.
Maggie had assured her that she looked quite different to the scrawny young thing who’d come to live on her brother’s croft two Hogmanies ago, and here was the proof—for the laird seemed not to recognize her.
Realizing, suddenly, that he was still holding her hands, she snatched them away.
“We’d best be getting on, ma Lord. The cows won’t milk themselves. There’s another twenty waiting after these two.”
“So there are.” His mouth quirked upward. “I’ve a good deal tae manage here at Balmore, but I keep the count of ma cattle, at least.”
Flora felt her cheeks burn. Of course the man knew his own livestock.
She dipped her curtsey, righted her stool and sat upon it once more. Then, positioning the bucket, sent up a prayer that the blasted cow would be more forthcoming and not cause her further embarrassment.
No sooner had she leant forward than she felt two warm arms wrap around her and a hard chest press to her back.
“The trick is in keeping yer patience while showing the beastie who’s in charge.” To her consternation, Ragnall was directing her to the udder. “Wrap yer fingers firmly around the top tae trap the milk, then squeeze it down with a rhythmic motion.”
Flora sat frozen as Ragnall moved his hands over hers. “Next, open yer palm and draw down again, letting the teat refill.”
As he guided her, a thin stream of milk descended, hitting the bucket with pleasing surety. The sight filled her with sudden pleasure. However, she was all too aware of Ragnall pressed up against her—and she a total stranger, as far as he knew. It seemed she’d surmised rightly. The laird was an outrageous flirt. No doubt, if she gave him the least encouragement, he’d have her down on the hay.
The thought sent another wave of heat through her. The last thing she wanted was to imagine those hands, however strong and commanding, laying claim to what lay under her skirts—and she was no ninny. If the laird wanted to give her a tumble, she’d have no choice but to comply, and Maggie would be powerless to intervene.
Those hands might be skilled with the livestock but they were also the hands that had sent her father’s dirk into his heart. That, she would never forget!
She cursed having left the dagger with her bundle in the hayloft over the stalls, where she and Maggie slept. If she’d kept it on her, she might have pushed it between his ribs and have been done with it.
Instead, she made do with driving her elbow there and twisted on the stool, hoping to push him off the back. Let him sprawl in the hay and see how he liked it! But, he seemed to anticipate even that simple action and she came up against the unmoving solidity of his torso and his cheek alarmingly close.
Suddenly there was but a hair’s breadth between their lips.
His voice caught as he laughed again but, this time, there was a sensuous quality, as if he were but playing a game with her, and she was the little rabbit caught in his snare.
“Ye may not be the best at milking cows, fair Florrie, but ye must have other talents.” His fingers found a stray curl worked loose beneath her ear and she felt their touch upon her neck.
Swallowing, she attempted to lean back but his other hand held strong against her waist, preventing her escape. “I’m only here tae help with the milk. I've nae other talents tae speak of.”
“I’m sure that’s nae true.”
For a moment, Flora’s heart seemed to stop.
“Everyone knows dairy maids make the best kissers, after all.” The laird moistened his lips. “Will ye nae show me?”
“Certainly not!” Putting her palms to his chest, she attempted to push him off again but Ragnall Dalreagh’s feet were too firmly planted on either side to give her any leverage.
“Ye’re nae afraid tae find out ye cannae kiss?” As he said it, the tip of his nose, just as warm as the rest of him, bumped hers.
Truly, the man was audacious. She gave another push. “O' course I can kiss, just as well as anyone, but ye won’t be finding out.”
The low, rumbling laugh came again and, for the briefest moment, she felt Ragnall’s soft lower lip and his chin, rough with stubble.
In shock, she made to protest, realizing only too late that he was likely to view her parted lips as an invitation.
However, the next moment, he was on his feet. “I can see ye be shy, and there’s naught wrong with that, but I will find out yer other talents, Mistress Florrie.” Standing above her, he gave a slight wink. “When ye’ve done practising yer technique on those soft teats, bring some o’ the milk tae add tae ma bathing water.”
