The Highlander's Choice (4 page)

“They were headed to one of the rooms. As soon as we hear a door latch close, we can proceed.”

She shivered, the room being chilly, and her gown not covering much of her upper body. Liam tugged her to him, and wrapped his arms around her, which was a mistake. In his attempt to warm the lass, he was treated to the scent of lavender drifting up to tease his nostrils. The softness of her breasts pressed against his chest, and the warmth of her body had him thinking of what the couple they’d stumbled upon would be enjoying verra shortly.

“Are they still in the corridor?” Sybil’s voice seemed strained. Could she be as affected by their closeness as he was?

He released his hold on her and pressed his ear to the door. All was silent. Sybil rubbed her palms up and down her arms. The lass was cold, and he needed to get her to her room and a fire started to warm her.

“I believe they’ve found a place for their meeting.”

“Very funny.”

He eased the door open and pulled her out. Grasping her hand in his, they continued on until they reached her door. He opened it and they slipped inside.

“You can’t come in here! If we get caught it will be a disaster.”

“Ye are in need of some warmth. I will start a fire for ye, and then leave ye in peace.”

“Well, please hurry. My maid or someone could come into the room.”

“Ach, that would be a problem, in truth. Sit yerself over there on the bed and I will have the room warm in no time.”

Her shivering grew worse as he broke up the peat and used a flint to start the fire. Once he had a small flame, he stood and removed his jacket. Crossing the room, he wrapped the jacket around Sybil.

“Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at him with soulful eyes. By the heavens, the lass was a beauty. And much stronger than he’d given her credit for. He turned on his heel and returned to the fireplace, adding another peat block. He dinna need to be spending time in the lass’s bedchamber. He squatted in front of the fire, suddenly aware that she’d walked up behind him. She knelt and regarded him. “Thank you for tonight.”

He poked at the block with a fire iron and shrugged his shoulders. “’Twas nothing.”

She touched his arm. “Yes, it was something. Warwick tried the same thing at a ball in London. Luckily, my brother intervened and a scandal was avoided.”

“I’m sorry I let ye go outside with the man.”

“You had no way of knowing.”

He dropped the fire iron and turned to her, running the backs of his fingers over her soft cheek. “Aye, I saw the fear in yer face. I never should have stopped to speak with Wollsley.”

“It is over now.” She licked her lips, the action sending all his blood to his groin. If he dinna leave soon he would do something he would curse himself for in the morning.

“Aye. The fire is burning brightly, so ’tis time for me to leave.” He rose and extended his hand. She stared at it for moment, then took his hand in hers. He pulled her up and drew her close. In the glow of the fireplace she bent her head back to stare in his eyes. She leaned toward him, and without thought, he lowered his head and took her lips in a soft kiss.

Her mouth was warm and moist. Like fine honey. His lips left hers to nibble at her earlobe. “Ach lass, ’tis such a temptation ye are.”

No sooner had his whispered words left his mouth than she pulled back, her chest heaving. She backed away, her arms wrapped around her body and turned toward the fire. “You must go. We cannot do this.”

“Aye. Ye are right.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Good night, lass.”

When she didn’t respond, he withdrew and turned to leave. He strode across the room and opened the door, checking to make sure the corridor was empty. He glanced over his shoulder, his last glimpse of her standing in front of the fire, staring at the flames. A beauty surrounded by an orange glow.

Chapter Four

The next morning the seven men eating breakfast stood as Sybil entered the great hall. It was a bit disconcerting to always be the only woman at breakfast. She really should be more like the other ladies and have toast and tea brought to her room each morning, but she was too restless and too anxious to see what the day would bring to languish in bed.

Liam drew a chair out for her. “Good morning, lass.”

She nodded her thanks and reached for the teapot. Did he feel as uncomfortable about last night’s kiss as she did? After she had climbed into bed, she’d tossed and turned for a couple of hours, the episode with Warwick barely a wisp of a thought compared to what had followed. Laird MacBride knew how to kiss. Extremely well.

“It appears Lord Warwick has been called away for a family emergency. He left early this morning.” Liam stared at her straight-faced as he imparted the news.

Sybil hoped the flush she felt in her chest didn’t reach her face. “A shame. I hope everything is all right.”

“I am sure whatever the emergency is, his being in London will benefit.”

Only years of good breeding kept her from spewing out a mouthful of tea at Liam’s casual remark. Yet he still looked as innocent as a babe. Another reason not to trust the man. He hid his feelings well. Most likely years of seducing women into his bed had sharpened his subterfuge skills. That was something she needed to remember, especially in light of last night’s kiss.

“Lady Sybil, why is it ye are the only lady who enjoys breakfast?” Duncan eyed her full plate, a slight smile on his face.

She’d always had a good appetite and had never employed the ruse of eating like a bird when around gentlemen and then gorging oneself when alone. “I enjoy all of my meals. I’m afraid I have been cursed with an unladylike appetite.”

“’Tis not unladylike, lass. ’Tis a blessing to have a strong constitution. Most Englishwomen do not,” Liam said.

She glanced at him, her eyebrows raised. “And you are so familiar with Englishwomen?”

Liam flushed, looking as though he wished to call back his words. Since her arrival at Dundas, several comments Liam had made indicated his idea of a typical Englishwoman was anything but complimentary. No doubt he thought them all weeping, swooning, fragile flowers. Truth be told, many of her acquaintances certainly fit that description, however, she and her sisters had always enjoyed an active, robust life.

“Nay, lass. But aside from yerself, the ones I have met seem a bit on the willow side compared to Scottish lasses.”

“Hopefully, ye don’t mean to include my betrothed in that statement, MacBride?” Duncan said.

“Ach, ’tis a lot of trouble my tongue is getting me into today. Mayhap I’ll take a ride in the fresh air to settle my brain.” He stood and turned to Duncan “Nay, Lady Margaret is a charming Englishwoman.”

He was a few feet from the door when he turned and strode back to the table, standing in front of Sybil. “My lady, would ye care to join me in a ride?”

Surprised at not being addressed as “lass” which he’d done since he’d met her, she replied, “Yes, I would.” She wiped her mouth on a napkin and stood. “I won’t be long to change.”

“Verra well, I will see to the horses.”

Sybil hurried up the stairs to her bedchamber. Fortunately, Bessie was in her room when she arrived. “Oh, I’m glad you’re here. Please unfasten me and pull out my breeches from my trunk.”

“Breeches, my lady?” Bessie
tsked
, but did as she was bid. “What will these people think to see a fine English lady riding about in breeches?”

“I do it all the time at home, Bessie, you know that.”

“Yes, but what will the Scots think?

Sybil fastened the buttons on her shirt as Bessie tied the back of her specially made breeches. “Laird MacBride has already seen me in my breeches.” She turned, finding it hard to keep the smile off her face. “He wasn’t shocked. Well, perhaps a bit. But I got the impression I had risen in his regard.”

Sybil took one last glance in the mirror and pinched her cheeks. Then she chastised herself all the way to the stables. Laird MacBride was not someone she wished to impress. Despite rescuing her last night from Warwick and sneaking her into the house, then kissing her senseless, he was still a Scot with all the bad habits of that breed.

Didn’t I just chastise him for thinking all Englishwomen were the same?

She pushed that uncomfortable thought to the back of her mind and entered the stable. In the dim light Liam stood next to the black stallion he’d ridden the other day, rubbing his large palm down the horse’s velvety, soft nose. He murmured words in a language she didn’t understand, most likely Gaelic.

The melodious rhythm of his words washed over her, tightening her nipples and moistening her woman’s parts. What would it be like to have him stroke her bare skin like that and murmur Gaelic words into her ear? Mesmerized, she watched him, his entire focus on the animal. Another ploy he most likely engaged to woo a woman into bed.

As an unmarried miss she shouldn’t even be aware of such things. However, Sybil and Sarah had discovered her brother Drake’s hidden naughty book, and had spent many an evening in their bed commenting and giggling over the pictures. They had been amused to discover their older sisters, Marion and Abigail, had done the same thing. Except they’d been caught and sermonized by their brother.

Liam stood in front of the window where dust motes danced in a stream of sunlight. He presented a virile image, one any woman would appreciate. With golden highlights in his ginger-colored hair and strong features—those of a warrior in times past—his countenance was remarkable. Enough so that her mouth dried up and tiny muscles fluttered low in her belly. Her eyes drifted downward to his broad shoulders covered in a white lawn shirt tucked into tight breeches. His muscular thighs were massive, as wide as her waistline. And his bottom!

“Have ye had enough time to admire me, lass?” His deep, chiding voice broke into her thoughts, causing heat to rise to her face which, no doubt, was now crimson.

She raised her chin and assessed him coolly. “You think quite a bit of yourself, sir. I was merely admiring the horse.”

He broke into a grin and dropped his hand from the animal. “Verra good, lass. I like a woman who can think fast.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about.” She swept past him—not so effective in breeches—and approached the other horse that had been tacked. Murmuring to the animal until she could collect her composure, she asked, “What is his name?”

“Acair.”

She continued to brush her palm over Acair’s nose. He was a beauty, dark brown with white stockings.

“If yer ready, lass, we can set off.”

Before she could move a muscle, Liam’s hands were wrapped around her waist, and she was hoisted onto the saddle. “I can mount myself.”

“’Tis sure I am ye can, but mounting has always been my favorite part of the ride.”

Once again heat flooded her body and rose to her face. She snapped her head around, but he stared at her in all innocence.
Ha! He was as innocent as a wolf.

Without further conversation, he moved to his horse and threw his leg over the saddle and grabbed the reins. She headed out of the stable before him, not so sure she liked the view of her bottom she gave him. She pulled up on her reins to allow him to catch up. If there was to be any gawking at bottoms, it would be her peering at his.

Damn the man for making me think things most improper for a lady.

…

Once they reached the open field past the wooded area surrounding the castle, they gave the horses their head. The wind whipped the tie from Liam’s hair, allowing it to blow free. The cool air on his face felt wonderful, reminding him why he loved the Highlands so much. The dandies could keep their London ballrooms and smelly, hot city. Give him fresh air and beautiful scenery any time.

The lass had no trouble keeping up with him, and a quick glance in her direction told him she was enjoying the ride as much as he. Her hair ribbon too, had come loose and the silky strands of her locks streamed behind her. She turned in his direction, a huge grin on her face, her cheeks rosy from the ride. Her breasts rose and fell with her deep breaths, hardening him in places that would make the ride uncomfortable if he continued to dwell on her.

They climbed several hills until they came to his favorite spot. Pulling on the reins, he brought the horse to a trot, then a walk. Sybil did the same. They rode for a while until the horses had cooled down, then Liam brought his horse to a stop. Pointing toward the north, he said, “Ye see the castle in the distance, on the fourth hill?”

Sybil raised her hand to her forehead to block the sun. “Yes. I see it.”

“’Tis my home, Bedlay Castle. It sets inland about a half mile from the North Sea.”

“Yes. You’ve said you and Duncan are neighbors.”

“Aye. We spent many weeks together when we were lads.”

Leaning back in her saddle, she regarded him, her lively eyes filled with curiosity. “Tell me some more about your family.”

Liam rested his hands on his thighs and stared off over the verdant hills and valleys, toward his home.
“My mum and da were both grandchildren of clans that went through the Jacobite revolution and the Clearances that followed. Made for a strong dislike of the Sassenach.”

“Ah. You mean me.”

He grinned at her affronted posture. “Aye.” Truth be told, the time spent with the lass had not proven the things he’d accepted as fact most of his life. Sybil was far from an English princess. All the women here, with the exception of Sybil, Lady Margaret, and Lady Somerville, were Scottish. Yet the lass was the only one who appeared at breakfast each morn, rode the hills in breeches, and hadn’t picked up an embroidery needle since she’d arrived.

“Do you have siblings?”

He warmed at the thought of the minxes. “Aye. I have two sisters. Catriona is three and ten, no longer a wee lass. Alanna is two years her senior.”

“That is quite a gap between you and your sisters. I assume you are much older?”

“I reached my thirty-first year this past winter. Da wanted more sons, so he kept mum busy, but she lost so many bairns.” He shook his head. “Catriona near killed her.”

“And your parents?”

“Da passed away soon after Catriona’s birth. Mum still controls Bedlay, but reminds me every day of my duty to marry and fill the nursery with bairns.” He grinned at her. “She keeps inviting lasses to sup with us. Sometimes I find myself tripping over them.”

Sybil laughed—that deep, throaty laugh—so strange in such a wee lass. Although this wee lass had plenty of curves a man could wrap his hands around. “Now that I’ve confessed all, tell me about yer family.”

“My father died rather suddenly a few years ago.” She paused, a sheen of tears in her lovely eyes.

“You were close?”

“Yes. He was right there in the middle of our large, noisy family one minute, and dead from a broken neck the next.” Her throat worked as she tried to control her emotions, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes of tears. “My brother is the Duke of Manchester.” She shifted on her saddle to turn to him, a grin on her face. “He is married to a American botanist! Can you imagine? And he allows her to work in her science.”

“Very forward thinking.”

“Oh, it wasn’t easy. He gave her a difficult time in the beginning.” She grinned, apparently amused at some memories. “I also have four sisters.”

“Ach, indeed a large family.”

She nodded. “There’s my sister Marion, married to a baron—who is blind. My sister Abigail is married to a rector, my twin sister Sarah, and the last of our brood, Mary, are still unmarried.” She glanced at him, mirth in her eyes. “As am I.”

“’Tis glad I am to hear it since ye responded so well to my kiss.” He loved the red flush that crept up from her neck to her lovely cheeks. “A twin are ye?”

“Yes. This is the first time in my life I’m away from her. It seems strange somehow, and freeing at the same time.”

“Freeing in what way?”

“As much as I love Sarah, we have been treated like a matching set our entire lives. Shared birthday parties, shared come-outs, shared friends, shared everything.” She sighed and continued. “When we both received a strand of pearls for our sixteenth birthday I begged my father to return them to the jeweler and replace them with a golden pendant. I love pearls, but I just wanted something different from my twin.”

A ducal brother married to a scientist and a sister married to a rector. A father willing to return an expensive piece of jewelry to please a daughter who just wanted to feel apart from her twin. Indeed, not only was the lass dissimilar from his idea of English, but she apparently came from an entire family of nonconformists.

“Ye appear to have a verra different family than what I’ve been told about the English.”

“As much as I would like to say all your assumptions about the English are wrong, I must admit, my family is a bit different. When we were young, my mother actually got down on the floor and played with us.” Apparently warming to the subject of her family, she continued. “We spent most of our childhood in the country. Mother felt the London air was not good for our lungs. That gave us quite a bit of freedom.”

“And that is where you learned to ride in men’s breeches?”

She nodded. “As do my sisters. Father had them specially made for us. Well, except for Marion.” She wrinkled her forehead. “She is too much of a lady.”

Liam threw back his head and laughed. He couldn’t remember when he’d found a lass so entertaining. The women his mother paraded before him were only interested in his money and lands. They spoke of nothing except how they would redecorate Bedlay Castle, not caring that he found it quite pleasant just the way it was. And the lasses his mum would not consider worthy as mother to her grandchildren were more interested in what was between his legs. Not that he objected to those lasses, since a man had needs. But he didn’t seek them out for conversation.