Page 10 of The Wrong Highlander (Highland Brides 7)

It was something pulling tight around her legs and shoulders that drew Evina from sleep. Blinking her eyes open, she was just in time to note the Buchanan’s face above hers, and his expression of alarm as they tumbled forward. She had no idea how she’d gotten into his arms, but didn’t care in that moment. She simply threw her own arms around his shoulders and cried out as they fell toward the floor.

Evina was sure they were in for a hard landing, one she would take the brunt of, so was quite surprised when instead of the hard, wood floor slamming into her back and side, she landed on something softer. It gave under her weight, but then the Buchanan came down on top of her, his body pushing her deeper into the softness she’d landed on.

“Are ye all right?”

Evina opened eyes she hadn’t realized she’d closed at that question and blinked in confusion at the Buchanan. While he’d pulled back slightly, the man was still resting on top of her, his face so close she could count the stubby hairs growing around his mouth. They outlined his full lips, and Evina was sufficiently distracted by those lips that she merely stared. They looked incredibly soft in comparison to the prickly stubble. But then Evina knew his lips were soft. She’d felt them when she’d blown air into his mouth after pulling him out of the water.

Absorbed by his lips and her thoughts, Evina didn’t at first realize his mouth was lowering toward hers until it brushed gently across her own. She tightened up in surprise then, and shifted her hands from where they still grasped his shoulders. She moved them to his chest instead. Evina did so with the intention of pushing him away, but her hands never pushed. Much to her surprise, they merely curled into the cloth of his plaid as the caress of his mouth on hers brought a bewildering rush of sensation and feelings clamoring up inside her.

He tasted of cider, Evina noted when his tongue pushed between her lips to explore her mouth. It was the last near-sensible thought she had. In fact, had she the ability to describe it, Evina would have said that at that point her brain disengaged altogether, overwhelmed by the excitement and desire that suddenly exploded to life inside her. She wasn’t aware that her hands had begun tugging desperately at his plaid, or that little mewls of need and pleasure were sounding in her throat as she began to kiss him back, her mouth emulating his.

Evina felt one hand close over her breast through her gown and gasped into his mouth at the fire that went whipping through her body. She arched her back, instinctively pressing eagerly up into the caress. Conran responded to the silent invitation by finding her pebbling nipple and pinching it lightly through the cloth of her gown. When she cried out into his mouth in response, he ran his thumb over the hard bud again and again in what might have been meant as a soothing caress, but merely made her squirm and shudder under him.

The Buchanan groaned as her actions made their lower bodies rub together, and then ground down into her, his kiss becoming more demanding. Evina responded in kind, kissing him eagerly back, her hips pushing up in return. She wasn’t at first aware that his free hand had snaked under her skirt and was gliding up her outer leg; it wasn’t until it slid around and his palm pressed between her thighs that she became aware of it.

Evina broke their kiss on a gasp, and then glanced sharply toward the door as a knock sounded. She heard the Buchanan utter a soft oath, and then his weight was off of her. She turned to see that he was leaping to his feet next to the bed just as he grabbed her hand and pulled her up with him. Evina was on her feet so swiftly she was nearly dizzy, and then she whirled to stare wide-eyed at Tildy as the maid bustled into the room.

“Oh,” the woman said, coming up short to peer at them with surprise, and then her eyes began to narrow and her body to stiffen.

“I was going to head below in search of food, and found Lady Maclean asleep on the floor outside the chamber door,” the Buchanan explained calmly. “I thought to bring her in and let her sleep in here where she might be more comfortable. I even managed to pick her up without waking her. However, then I tripped over a fur and tumbled onto the bed with her once I got her inside.” He offered a self-deprecating grimace and shrugged. “I fear I am not always the most coordinated member of me family.”

“Oh.” Tildy relaxed, a faint smile claiming her lips. “Well, that would explain m’lady’s flustered and disheveled appearance,” she commented with amusement, and then closed the door to move farther into the room. “No harm done though. Ye got lucky landing on the bed and no’ the floor.”

“Er . . . aye,” the Buchanan said with a crooked smile.

“Shall I fetch ye food? Or would ye be wanting a break from the room and the chance to go below to eat at table?” Tildy asked as she stopped at the bed to peer down at Evina’s father. Glancing up to the Buchanan, she added, “’Tis why I came. I thought ye must be hungry by now.”

“I think I could do with a break,” the Buchanan murmured, moving toward the door. “Thank ye.”

Evina stood where she was, feeling bereft as she watched him go. Her body was still aching from his attention and craved more of it.

“Oh!”

Tearing her gaze away from the now-closed bedchamber door, Evina glanced to Tildy with alarm. “What is it?”

“Oh,” Tildy repeated, more calmly, and pressed a hand to her chest as she shook her head. “Nothing. ’Tis just that for a moment I thought yer father’s eyes were open and he was awake. But it must have been a trick o’ the shadows in here. He’s sound asleep still.”

Evina glanced down at her father. His eyes were closed, his face in repose. Bending over him, she pressed a hand to his cheek, relieved to feel how much cooler he was. Good Lord, Rory Buchanan was a miracle worker. He’d only arrived the night before and her father was already improving, she thought, and then smiled when he moaned and turned his face into her caress. “Da?”

His eyes blinked open slowly and settled on her face. “Daughter?”

Evina winced at the rasp to his voice, but nodded. “Aye.”

“I’ll fetch him some mead to wet his whistle,” Tildy murmured, hurrying for the door.

“How are ye feeling?” Evina asked, settling on the edge of the bed and watching him with a combination of worry and relief. He was awake. He was not fully recovered yet and was still ailing, but she never thought she’d see him even this well again.

“Better than I did yesterday,” he growled, lifting one hand weakly before letting it drop back to the bed.

Evina took his hand in hers and squeezed gently.

Her father shifted restlessly, and then scowled and asked, “Who was the man trying to drown me in me bath?”

Evina frowned, a combination of concern and confusion rising within her at the question, and then understanding pushed the expression away, and answered, “Rory Buchanan. He was no’ trying to drown ye. He was trying to cool ye off.”

“The water was ice cold,” he complained.

“Aye. Donnan told me the Buchanan said ’twas necessary to get yer temperature down,” she said soothingly. “And it worked. Ye’re much better today.”

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