Page 34 of The Lass Defied the Laird (Explosive Highlanders 1)

Soot thick lashes hid his disquieting moss beacons, that, when trained on her, caused her insides to flip with the most unconfessable yearnings. She did not fathom what to do with it. She did, in fact. But the intensity consumed her. It had from almost day one.

Peacefully as he lay here, he would not understand how scary it was that a man possessed this hold on her. He had barely to kiss her, and she slipped under his spell, for him to do what he wished, what they craved, heedless to everything around.

Not enough. Not remotely enough.

The thirst he el

icited in her compared to a bottomless well that would not be filled in a thousand years.

Not that he was a bad man. On the contrary, his clan gave all the signs they admired him. Respected him. Regarded him as their true leader. And the man proved to be up to the task, obviously. His single-mindedness in protecting and keeping them together, his involvement in what concerned his lands and his people crystalline. A leader they could count on.

Despite his imposing posture, which could be totally overbearing. And led her to red-hot fury. It abraded her at the same time it made her burn for him. How soft-witted might she be?

Problem being she did not have a mind of becoming any smarter. Not while he lay at arm’s reach. Not while he took her from the fires of hell to heavenly bliss.

Better not to muse too much. Or her head would go spinning. Turning to the other side, she tried to get a modicum of rest.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sam waited for her in the clearing just outside the manor, with her carriage and servants. They had arranged it the morning before while they walked to the chapel. Mairi, Brody and Greg had been kept in a cottage in the village, watched by a McDougal kin, the boy discovered. Apparently, Sam told the kin his father sent for them.

On a sheet of paper, he drew a map of secondary roads and shortcuts through which she would be able to arrive home without anyone being able to follow her.

The decision to depart came the day Taran did his ‘convincing’ number to herd her to the church. She saw no reason to change it. The night they spent together had been… unforgettable. But played no role in the big picture of her life. She must go back to her usual duties and her family. To linger here without her brothers’ knowledge foolish and unreal. The thought that last night changed anything even more foolish and unreal.

It was not as if she did not impart this to the Laird. She did, the day they rode the cart together. And he denied her wish, even with reasonable arguments.

Not as if she would be with child. It rarely happened in one night, the women in the village implied.

The sun’s edge appeared on the far hills warning of the time to leave.

Sam took her hands in his. “I wish you could stay.” He expressed, a tint of sadness in green eyes behind round lenses.

Head tilted, she smiled encouragingly. “Come visit me. Stay as long as you like.” She invited, knowing he needed a reprieve now and then.

“Father would imprison me in the dungeon, I believe.” He scoffed, the sun making his hair redder.

She only rested a hand on his almost beardless face, unwilling to express her actual opinion on the matter. “Good bye, Sam.”

“Take care, Aileen.” And she climbed in the carriage.

They should be arriving tonight if the roads did not disappoint them.

~.~.~

Much later, Taran turned on his side in his crumpled bed, hands stretched looking for her. His desire for the witch never fully sated. Cool sheets met his hands. Eyes snapping open, an empty chamber greeted him.

Jerking to a sit, he surveyed around. That hollow hunch from the day she had bolted smothered him. In swift action, he bulleted from the bed, fumbled on some clothes and exited the room like lightning.

His feet stormed the hothouse, to meet Sam taking care of one of his species. Father and son faced each other in mute communication.

“She is gone.” His son informed simply.

He scowled in the height of vexation. “And you let her?” Long fingers raked his sable hair. “In these dangerous roads?”

“She will be fine.” The mild comment only served to make him madder.

He wanted to punch a wall. “When?”

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