Some Like it Scot (Scandalous Highlanders Book 4) (23 page)

“I'm nae aboot to try to force Bear into someaught if he's finally found a lass to keep his interest fer longer than one night.” He grimaced. “And he threatened to break Conchar Boyd in half if I tried to marry him off to Boyd's sister.”

Laughing, Arran drummed his hands against the tabletop. “I should've thought of threatening to damage a lass's family if I didnae like the look of her.”

“Instead, ye nearly started a war.” And Arran's pursuit of Mary Campbell had nearly fractured the MacLawry family, which was worse than any damned war as far as Ranulf was concerned. After the near mishap with Arran, he'd taken a step back. He might suggest or even threaten, but he wouldn't force Bear to marry someone the big man didn't want. Nor would he prevent his brother from claiming a half-Sassannach, English-raised lass if she was who he wanted. After all, the MacLawry siblings were half English, themselves.

“I still cannae help thinking that Bear's nuptials are a bit anticlimactic,” Arran resumed. “Ye marry a Sassannach, I have a Campbell, Winnie and Lach nearly get murdered before they come to their senses—and then Bear marries a MacDonald lass and costs ye what, a hundred acres of grazing land?”

Ranulf returned the letter to his breast pocket. “I'll nae complain aboot that. I ken I'm still the devil to the English and to our rivals here, and I mean to keep it that way. Within our own family, though, I believe we've earned some peace and calm. Dunnae ye think?”

“Aye. That I do.” Arran pushed away from the table and stood. “And now I think I might find myself in An Soadh in time to purchase the lasses some luncheon at the Bonny Bruce.”

Once his brother left the house, Ranulf had the letter sent off by special messenger north to the MacDonald. Then he sent Owen out to deliver luncheon to Munro and Peter Gilling at Haldane Abbey. It wasn't much in the way of a peace offering, but for Bear, food counted double.

He had the feeling it would take more than sandwiches when he sat down with Munro in the next few days and asked for some answers about the lass and when he planned on marrying her, because however distant her relationship with the MacDonalds, at least a token number would expect invitations. And coordinating any meeting between clans took both time and some finesse.

In the meantime, the MacLawrys and MacTiers would be occupied with making young Lady Elizabeth MacColl feel like a welcome part of the family. Even if he didn't quite see what had drawn one of them to the other. Bear had made it clear that that was none of his affair, and so he would keep his distance as much as he could—as much as the head of the family, the chief of clan MacLawry, and a brother, could.

*   *   *

Something had changed. Catriona couldn't quite put her finger on it, and it wasn't anything obvious, but it hung there in the air like the scent of pine trees in the cold. “Ye're certain Elizabeth is safe?” she asked, over the stack of lumber she and Peter Gilling were wrestling up the fractured staircase. “Ye gave yer word, Bear.”

Unkempt black hair above a devilish handsome face appeared over the railing. “If ye ask me that one more time I'm likely to start howling like a banshee. She's surrounded by a half-dozen burly MacLawry men and, if that isnae sufficient, she has my sister on one arm and Lady Glengask on the other, and Mary Campbell-MacLawry in the mix, as well. Those lasses would make me think twice before I made a ruckus.” He reached down and lifted the armload of boards with no noticeable effort.

“But they didnae make a promise to her. Ye—”

“Aye. I made a promise to her. Peter, will ye fetch the tarp and the bucket of nails?”

“Dunnae throw each other off the roof while I'm away,” the footman muttered, then flashed her a smile and headed back to the ground floor.

Munro reached down again. “I also made a promise to
ye,
wildcat. Since I cannae divide myself in two, I've seen yer
piuthar
looked after, and I'm here. Now give me yer hand and stop trying to order me aboot. I told ye I wasnae going anywhere.”

With an exaggerated sigh she gripped his hand, and he half lifted her over the rubble of the fallen second floor. “So now ye expect me to climb about on the roof with ye?”

Instead of releasing her hand, he drew her slowly closer. She had to put her palm against his chest to keep from falling against him. Aggravating man and his cheeky, attractive smile—and those delicious, naughty kisses. “Do ye ever take yer hair doon?” he murmured, lifting his hand to run the back of his forefinger down one cheek.

Why the devil did his touch make her shiver all the way down her spine and between her legs? She didn't want any of this to happen. For a long moment she gazed up at his springtime eyes, and he looked back at her squarely, intently, as if he was trying to memorize her features.

They couldn't go on like this. And since she would have been willing to wager that he wasn't going to give in, perhaps she needed to do so. Then, when he had what he wanted and she had a night like the one she'd been dreaming of whenever she managed to close her eyes, they could … well, set things back the way they should be. She couldn't set him after Elizabeth again, not after she'd been with him, but his presence would stop troubling her so.

Aside from that, and heaven help her, she wanted him. His kisses curled her toes, and the sound of his deep, rolling brogue made her heart hum. For the first time in weeks she didn't have to worry about her sister, and instead of running from what she knew she didn't want, she could look at what—who—she
did
want. Even if it would only be for one night.

A holiday from her own life. Yes. A very handsome, very muscular holiday who seemed genuinely to find her interesting rather than odd. Then, when they'd both slaked their lust, or whatever it was she should be calling it, she could think logically about what she needed to do. About which path would best serve her and her future.

“I'll give ye every penny in my pockets fer yer thoughts, bonny lass,” Bear said, tilting his head. A thick lock of his black hair fell across his temple. “Because ye're nae fighting me, and ye're nae trying to flee.”

Catriona snorted. “Does that make ye nervous, giant?”

“Aye. Ye're clearly pondering someaught, and that's nae been good fer me up till now.”

Before she could change her mind, she lifted up on her toes, tugged on his hair to lower his face to hers, and kissed him. His mouth was warm, and he tasted of American coffee and marmalade. This time he didn't grab at her or try to pin her against what was left of the wall, and she realized he meant to follow her lead.

The realization was heady, considering he could haul her about as easily as if she weighed no more than a feather. Freeing her hand from his, she slid her arms over his broad shoulders. Only then did he grip her waist, pulling her closer. If she'd had any doubt that he truly did want her, the growing hardness pressing against her hip answered it. She couldn't breathe, couldn't get close enough to him, couldn't—

“Hello, the house!” a gravelly voice called from below. “I've brought ye luncheon, Laird Bear, courtesy of Laird Glengask!”

Panting for breath, Catriona broke the kiss. “Who—”

“Owen,” Munro growled, setting her away from him. “The head footman at Glengask. Stay up here a minute.”

She nodded, trying to force her mind to work again. So that was what it felt like simply to give in and enjoy a kiss.
Good Saint Andrew and all the heavenly angels.
“The—the blankets are in the corner beside the chimney.”

“I threw a sack over 'em already, just as a precaution.”

And he continued to protect her, even if he didn't know why or from what. She started to thank him, then glanced down. A grin curved her mouth before she could catch it. “Bear, ye've a tent in yer kilt.”

He chuckled, trying to push the stubborn thing down only to have it spring up again. “Ye're a saucy minx, ye are,” he told her. “Now dunnae distract me. I have to think of ugly, warty old men fer a bit.”

Somewhat relieved not to have to carry on a conversation, she turned half away only to watch from the corner of her eye, fascinated, as the tent slowly smoothed out again. Abruptly he caught her arm and pulled her around for a quick, hard kiss.

“I'd tell ye to stop driving me mad, wildcat, but ye do that just by breathing.”

That was quite possibly the most romantic thing she'd ever heard, much less had spoken to her. Now she wanted to kiss him again, whether he claimed that she already belonged to him, or not. “Go,” she whispered instead, pushing him toward the stairs. “Before he comes up here looking for ye.”

“Aye. Dunnae go anywhere. I'm nae finished with ye, yet.”

An unaccustomed giggle broke from her chest. “Go, ye brute.”

He hopped over the fallen mound of ceiling. “I'm going, woman,” he muttered back, and vanished down the staircase.

No, he didn't own her. No one owned her. She'd left her home to make certain of that. But she'd been around men before—even handsome men, if not as handsome as Munro—and she'd never felt like this. It was all trouble, but for once she thought a bit of trouble might be welcome.

 

Chapter Eleven

Catriona sat down on the stack of lumber, listening as Bear greeted the Owen fellow. If this footman was anything like Peter Gilling, he would be far more than a lad in livery expected to deliver tea on command. The male staff of a clan chief's household, if he held to the old ways as Glengask did, would be trained warriors, ready to lay down their lives to protect the family.

Munro was a trained warrior as well, lethal when he needed to be, and casually dangerous by virtue of his size and strength. For some reason she still couldn't quite grasp, he'd decided to use that power to aid her. And to seduce her. It all seemed fantastical enough that she couldn't resist the opportunity.

From what she could make out, he gave Peter and Owen—and himself—a sandwich, then sent both men on an errand to the village for plaster and mortar and more tarps. She knew precisely why he wanted the other men gone, and the thought of what would happen next both terrified and excited her.

To him, this would likely be a hopefully pleasant interlude, just one of many. With his looks and his family connections, how could he not have lovers scattered all across the countryside? Experienced, pretty lasses who knew how to please a man. He'd as much as said he did. As for her, well, she knew how to take down a twelve-point buck from a hundred yards away. Being unclothed with a man, though, was an entirely new experience.

“Ye can come doon now, Cat,” Munro called from the base of the stairs. “We've a beef stew and mutton sandwiches.”

Rubbing her hands against her thighs, she stood up. At least if she made a mess of things, he would realize he'd made a mistake in kissing her, and he would leave her be. And she would know that fleeing Islay had been the absolute correct decision. She would make a terrible wife, a horrible excuse for a lady, and an abysmal peace offering. Squaring her shoulders, she clambered down the stairs and up the hallway—and stopped at the closed door. Her new door.

She smiled, touching it, then stepped sideways to look through the unfinished wall beside it. “This is bonny,” she said, “but I think ye forgot someaught.”

He appeared on the other side of the open wall. “Aye, it may have a few flaws. It's nae finished, though. After yesterday I figured ye should have a bit more protection. I dunnae like the idea of ye spending the night awake with a musket across yer lap.”

Pushing open the door, she stepped into the kitchen. Rather grateful for the distraction, she swung the door back and forth and then latched it closed. “Even like this, it'll give me a bit more notice,” she said. “Thank ye.”

“After we get the tarp set over yer roof, I'll finish the wall here and get ye that bar ye can put across it.”

Catriona faced him. “Ye dunnae have to do all this, Bear. Ye've already lied to yer own brother, yer clan chief, about me.”

“Aye. So I have.”

His direct, unreadable gaze unsettled her a little. “Because ye want to bed me.”

Bear gave a slow smile. “That's part of it. Ye stay in my mind, whether my eyes are open or closed. Mostly I lied because I dunnae want ye fleeing into the wilds. Because ye're a puzzle to me, and I cannae seem to figure ye oot.”

“Ye like puzzles, then.” Perhaps she should simply tell him everything, and he would stop … tempting her so.

He shook his head. “Nae. I dunnae. A puzzle's akin to looking fer the most difficult way to find a simple answer.”

Well, that didn't make any sense. “Then why—”

His mouth closed over hers. She expected him to be rough, to throw her to the floor and smother her. Instead, though, he teased at her lips, nipping at her, tasting her with his tongue. Before she'd even realized it she had her hands tangled into his thick, disheveled midnight hair, heat swirling through her.

“Show me what to do,” she said huskily, the moment she could draw a breath.

“Do as pleases ye, my lass,” he returned, lifting her around the waist to set her down on the edge of the table.

That was better, because her legs felt unsteady as a new fawn's. She knew they would be wiser to keep their distance from each other, but with one of his big hands gripping her waist and the other cupping the back of her neck, the specific reasons for that eluded her. “That isnae very helpful.”

“Then stop thinking so hard. This isnae aboot thinking.”

“Oh. That's good.” Being reasonable and being kissed by Bear MacLawry simply didn't fit together. And at this moment she preferred being kissed to thinking.

“Is it?”

For a moment she wondered whether he was questioning her response to his statement, or her reaction to his moving his mouth along her throat. In either case, oh, it was very, very good. “Aye,” she whispered.