Page 13 of The Beast of the Highlands
All of her other senses heightened with the darkness of her closed eyes. She heard the scrape of the door opening, and the press of Flynn’s ridged abdomen against her back as he gingerly pushed her forward, presumably through the now-open doorway. His honed thighs knocked slightly against her legs, as they had done upon the horse in the early hours of the morning.
Shuffling ahead at his insistence, she suddenly felt unsteady and fumbled frantically for the doorway. However, instead of solid wood or the stone of the wall, she felt the heat of his skin beneath her hands, as her fingers closed around what felt like the corded length of his forearm.
“I’ve got ye,” he assured, letting his arm encircle her waist so she could continue to hold on.
Even if I should find a dungeon beyond, at least there will be a nice memory prior to the devastation.
It was a foolish thought, for she was not in the midst of one of her fantastical books, nor was she here to conjure up fanciful illusions of an illicit romance. Still, she clung onto his arm and reveled in the security of his strength, no matter what would face her when she opened her eyes again.
“Ye can open yer eyes,” he whispered, and she heard the sound of the door closing.
Nervously, her lids slowly opened… and her hand flew to her mouth in glorious surprise. It felt as though she had stepped out of reality and into a daydream. One of her own creation, for if there was a paradise on Earth, this was the one she would have created for herself.
“Oh my…” she gasped as her eyes fell upon a subterranean library that could very well have been crafted by nature itself.
Within the raw stone walls, complementary alcoves had been cut away, and each one was stuffed to bursting with books of every kind; poetry, prose, historical tomes, scientific volumes, and everything in between. There were larger alcoves where flattering lanterns perched, shedding ample reading light upon comfortable-looking armchairs.
Flynn took his arm away from her waist and drew level with her, eyeing her as if waiting for something more than “Oh my…”
“What is this place?” She turned to him, her chest swelling with giddiness. “I have never seen anything so… beautiful in all my life!”
After all, the library at her family’s manor had been scavenged for money a long time ago. The only books she had left were the ones she had hidden away for safekeeping.
Flynn’s expression relaxed. “Ye asked if I was a learned man. I hope this answers yer question.” He waved a hand around the expansive space. “This is my personal library, and ye’re one of the fortunate few who’ve seen it.”
“This is… I… My goodness, Laird MacLennan, you have succeeded where countless have failed.” She grinned at him. “You have rendered me speechless. You ought to have your name placed in a book of rare accomplishments. Indeed, I would not be surprised if you have the very book here.”
He laughed heartily. “If I daenae, I’ll have to write it myself.”
“It might be woefully brief,” she replied, unable to take the beaming smile off her face. “Forgive me, but I did not expect to see a vision such as this.”
His eyes flitted down to her lips for a hesitant moment. “Nor did I.” He swallowed, and she watched the bob of his corded throat. “What I mean to say is, I never intended to build a library like this. After my ma and da died, I threw myself into its creation. It isnae easy to carve away at the rock beneath a castle, which is where the masonry books became useful.”
Is that what you meant to say?
There was no mistaking the admiring shine in his eyes when he had gazed upon her lips, nor the slight thickness in his voice when he had said those first three words.
“They would be proud of you if they could see it, I am sure,” she said, hearing a similar thickness in her own voice.
He held out his hand to her. “I heard ye talkin’ about the “Lais of Marie de France” with my brother.” His gaze dropped. “I dinnae mean to eavesdrop, but I wanted to be there in case he lost his temper. He’s done it afore, with potential tutors.”
“I would not have been afraid,” Autumn assured.
He chuckled. “I believe ye, but… if I may, I’d like to read to ye. Bisclavret, ye said ye liked?”
“Very much.” Gingerly, she took his hand. His fingers closed around hers, and they were just as warm as she had imagined.
He led her to one of the armchair alcoves, and sat her down, before moving to one of the nearby shelves and taking down a well-loved version of Marie de France’s famed poems. Clutching it to his chest, he sat down opposite her and began to read. And, as the French rolled perfectly off his tongue, her mind translating as he spoke, she did not know if she had ever heard these poems performed more sensually in all her life.
Or is it the concentration upon his face?
She licked her dry lips, feeling a peculiar stirring in the pit of her abdomen as he continued to read in his deep, throaty French. It was as though he were casting a spell, not reading a poem, and she could feel herself falling under it with every utterance and every subtle glance he made in her direction.
Oh my…was all she could think, for a handsome, educated, charming man who could speak French, make her laugh, and read poetry was a very dangerous man indeed.
8
In a blur of days that blended into weeks, Flynn had almost forgotten what life at the castle was like without Autumn’s presence. Without him realizing, she had become an integral part of his day, to the point where he found himself becoming anxious if he had not seen her.
