Page 31 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
“To keep us marauding Scots out?” Murdo chuckled.
“Or to keep us in,” she replied. “Would you like to see it?”
“Perhaps another time, if yer stepfather expects us back.”
“You could come tomorrow.”
“Isn’t that a little soon?”
“Don’t you want to see it before you go back to Scotland?”
“I must wait to be invited.”
“I’veinvited you.”
“Clarry, you must ask Mama and Papa first,” Corenlius said.
“Then I’ll ask them.”
They continued in silence, Clara’s brothers leading the way. As Pittchester Castle came into view, bathed in the glow of the afternoon sun, Clara’s companion leaned close and lowered his voice.
“Permit me to apologize, lass,” he said.
“What for?”
“For distressing ye earlier when I asked about yer real father. I’ve no right to pry, though ye can rest assured that I’d not think any less of ye whomever yer father was.”
“You wouldn’t?”
He smiled, and little creases appeared at the corners of his eyes.
“The circumstances of yer birth matter not to me, lass. Neither does the manner by which ye drink yer tea, serve cake, or conduct yerself in Polite Society. What matters is what’s inside yer heart. I see yer heart, lass.”
“And do you like what you see, Mr. McTavish?”
“Now, lass, I’d hoped ye weren’t going to disappoint me today.”
Her heart sank. “D-disappoint?”
“Aye,” he said, mischief shining in his eyes. “I thought ye’d promised to call me Murdo.”
She gave him a saucy smile. “Then do you like what you see…Murdo?”
“Och, lass. Very much. Both yer heart, and yer person. A delectable a sight for a man.”
He took her hands and drew her close, his huge frame and masculine aroma—the scent of wood and spice—overwhelming her senses. Her eyes were level with his broad chest, and she tilted her head to meet his gaze.
“Murdo…”
“Oh, Clara…”
Then he lowered his mouth to hers.
The nugget of need that had been swelling and pulsing in her body all day burst into life as he slid his lips across hers. How could such a huge beast of a man have such soft lips?
A sigh escaped her, and she pressed her body against his.
“Good lass,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against her. He flicked his tongue out, running the tip along the seam of her lips, seeking entrance.
