Page 16 of The Lady's Guide to a Highlander’s Heart
However, before he could tug aside his kilt, there came a sharp rap at the door. Ragnall hesitated, looking down at Flora, laid half-naked beneath him. The knock came harder the second time. “Laird? Ye have someone wantin’ an audience wi’ ye afore the feast begins.”
“Damn the bollocks off him, can the man nae wait a while?”
Flora pulled up the hem of her shift a little, so that her leg might rub against Ragnall’s great hairy thigh. His attention was immediately drawn back and he pushed the shift up further still, baring the dampened auburn curls to his hungry gaze.
“Tell them I’ve ma own feastin’ tae attend tae right here afore I go down, and I’ve an appetite as won’t be sated quickly.” Though he was obviously annoyed, he gave Flora a wink.
“But ’tis Calder o’ Castle Dunrannoch, and he insists he mun speak wi’ ye.”
Hearing Calder’s name, Flora’s breath seized in her chest.
He was at Balmore?
But, of course, he was. All who held rank would be coming to pledge fealty and join in the festivities leading up to Hogmany itself.
She could only speculate as to what was so urgent that he wished to consult the chieftain of the clan, summoning him from his chamber.
He hadn’t discovered she was here, surely? No. It was impossible. Even Ragnall didn’t know who she was—and none at Balmore saw Maggie for anything other than a simple maid. There was nothing to betray them.
“Shall I tell the bampot tae go chew his walloper, or will ye humour him?”
“He can gae boil his head.” Ragnall hollered back. Running his hands over Flora’s hips, he drew the shift up, over her head and away altogether, so that she lay truly naked beneath him.
“He’s sayin’ he’ll come up, unless ye appear the noo.” The voice beyond the door sounded decidedly unsure of itself.
“Hell and damnation!” Ragnall bent to rest his head on Flora’s stomach. “Ye see how it is, Florrie? Nae peace!”
“’Tis alright.” Flora made herself answer steadily. The last thing she needed was for Calder to burst in. Though Ragnall hadn’t recognized her, she’d practically grown up with her step-brother. He’d be less easily fooled.
“Go ye down. I’ll wait here, warming the bed.” She gave him a tentative smile.
Ragnall sighed and nodded. “Bank up the fire, lass, and I’ll have them send some fare, and a new gown. There’ll be nae more milking o’ the coos while I’ve need o' ye.”
Making himself decent, he raked his hand through his hair. “’Tis nae the most comfortable thing, to walk from ye when I’ve a broadsword fully drawn beneath ma kilt, but I’ll nae be away long.” Placing a final kiss upon her lips, he left at last.
Flora fell back upon the pillows.
God help her!
Another few moments and she’d have been thoroughly taken!
A strange heat was flowing through her, emanating from deep in her belly. Her breasts, grazed from Ragnall’s stubbled beard, felt bereft for the want of attention now he was gone.
God help her indeed.
She could feel the warmth and weight of him above her, and she had need of him to return—to finish what he’d started. Only then would she kill him.
Scooting off the bed, she wrapped the quilt around her and made her way to Ragnall’s writing desk. The upper drawer was locked but the second one down opened to reveal several sheets of parchment, a quill and a bottle of ink.
Hastily, she laid all out on the desk, dipping the quill. There was no time to take the care Father Gregory had drilled into her, but the note was only for herself: a distillation of her promise, to remind herself of what she must do.
By the fading afternoon light, she formed the words.
I, Flora Dalreagh, avow to avenge my father’s untimely death—by blade or poison, strangulation or drowning. By whatever means presents itself.
I shall be watchful for the time and, no matter how soft my heart grows, I shall not relent in fulfilling my duty.
There!
