The Lass Who Loved a Beast

by Lee, Caroline

  In fact, if Lyon were being truthful with himself, it was almost…nice.

  Bonnie had joked about not changing for the meal, but in truth, Lyon’s dinners were always informal. More often than not, Keith brought him a tray to his study when he’d forgotten the time, or the two men ate together in the room off the kitchens his grandfather had renovated.

  But Oliphant Castle did have a formal dining room, and apparently, Keith had seen fit to use it that evening. It had taken Lyon three tries to figure out where the man had laid out the meal, and by the time he made it to the dining room, he was scowling.

  Not that this was any different than usual.

  “Here ye are!”

  “Good evening, milord,” Keith intoned seriously, his hands clasped behind his back as he did a credible impression of an old family retainer. “Pray be seated.”

  Lyon glared at the table. Bonnie was already seated—apparently, she hadn’t had any issue finding the place—at one end of the long table. And the second place setting was directly across from her.

  “There?” Lyon growled at his friend.

  “Yes, milord. So you can better converse with the lady.” Keith blinked comically, innocently. “Unless ye wanted me to place ye at the arse-end of the table, where the two of ye would have to yell at one another, which ye could use as an excuse no’ to talk to the poor woman?”

  Since that was exactly what Lyon had meant, he just muttered, “Dinnae call me milord,” and stalked to his place setting.

  As Keith poured the soup, Bonnie smiled across the table at him. Damn, in the candlelight, her big blue eyes sparkled enticingly, and her smile made her face light up.

  “Did ye get distracted by work, Lyon?”

  “Nay, I got lost,” he barked, scooping up his spoon and plopping his other elbow on the table. Let her think he had horrible manners. “Why in the hell are we having dinner here, Keith?”

  “Usually we eat downstairs near the kitchens, milady,” Keith intoned in an aside to Bonnie. He cleared his throat and placed the tureen down on the sideboard, before facing Lyon once more. “I thought ye’d be better able to impress the lady here in the dining room, Lyon, than downstairs.”

  “I dinnae want to impress her,” he mumbled, before lowering his head and slurping up his soup, in an effort to hide the lie. When he realized it was a lie, he just slurped louder, hoping she’d think he was the uncultured beast everyone assumed.

  Bonnie of course, ate delicately. But he was pleased to see, enthusiastically. “This is delicious! I’ve always loved hot squash soup in the winter.”

  “It’s a miracle it’s still warm, after the trek from the kitchens,” he mumbled.

  Keith ignored him. “I’ll be certain to pass yer compliments on to Mrs. Oliphant. The new cook—the grumpy one—no’ the housekeeper.”

  “Oh, you have a housekeeper?” From under lowered brows, Lyon watched Bonnie peer around Keith toward the door. “I havenae seen anyone beside ye.”

  The younger man shrugged. “She doesnae live here. Just me and Lyon. Mrs. Oliphant comes in each morning—she left the soup and the roast for tonight warming for us—and the other Mrs. Oliphant brings her girls up as needed. Oh, and Mrs. Oliphant, who comes to get the washing twice a week.”

  Bonnie, who’d grown up on Oliphant land, merely hummed at the litany of names, as if she recognized each one. Perhaps she did.

  “Well, the soup is delightful, and judging from the haste with which Lyon is inhaling it, he agrees.”

  Lyon froze. Slowly, he lowered his spoon and lifted his head to see her smiling at him from under her lashes.

  She was…teasing him? Him?

  When was the last time someone had teased him? He couldn’t honestly recall.

  He glanced at Keith in confusion, and the fact the younger man was smirking didn’t help one bit.

  “I’ll pass both of yer compliments on to Mrs. Oliphant, milady.”

  “Oh, please do call me Bonnie,” she corrected blithely, finishing off the last of the soup. “This seems to be a delightfully informal household. Do ye and Lyon share all yer meals?”

  “Most of them—” Lyon watched the other man bite his words off with a wince, then shrug. “That is to say, when Lyon isnae hosting a grand dinner or important guests, milady.”

  Which was exactly never.

  Humming speculatively, Bonnie propped her chin on her hand in the most improper dinner manner. As she studied Keith, the young man shifted uncomfortably, and Lyon had the impression she was seeing far more than she ought to.

  Not that he should be surprised; she was certainly intelligent and empathetic enough.

  “What did ye say yer position here at Oliphant Castle was, Keith?”

  Keith shifted again. “Butler, milady.”

  “Bonnie,” she corrected. “And what is it ye do?”

  “I buttle.”

  Her gaze flicked from Keith’s cracked knuckles to the slight bruise fading under one eye, to Lyon’s equally abused knuckles, and she hummed again. “And when ye’re no’ buttling? Are ye also sparring partner, and footman, and food server? Confidante? Friend?”

  Keith’s nearly panicked hazel gaze flicked to Lyon, who merely shrugged. Of course Bonnie could see through their relationship.

  “I— Uh…” Keith cleared his throat. “Shall I fetch the roast?”

  Bonnie nodded and pushed her bowl forward. “Only if ye also fetch another place setting and join us.” When both men stared at her, she smiled almost shyly at Lyon. “After all, I dinnae want ye to change up yer habits just because a little weather has trapped an unwanted visitor here with ye.”

  No’ unwanted. Never unwanted, though I’ll no’ admit that.

  Perhaps she saw the unspoken thoughts in his expression because her smile turned knowing, then pleased, as she dropped her gaze to her wine glass. Keith cleared his throat and scurried off toward the kitchen, and Lyon knew he was doomed.

  How in damnation was he supposed to make it through the rest of the meal with her smiling at him? Perhaps he should ask Keith to pour him a glass of wine, so he could drink himself into a stupor, then mayhap he wouldn’t have to hear her witty observations or imagine what else she might do with those lips of hers.

  Nay. He didn’t imbibe in alcohol for a reason. He didn’t like the way it made him feel as if he had no control over his body, even if there were times he didn’t want to think or feel. Like tonight.

  “Well, Lyon, I do hope my being here willnae upend yer daily schedule too much. Once it’s possible, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Nay,” he growled, his fingers closing around his glass of water. “We have nae horses nor conveyances here at Oliphant Castle. Ye’ll have to wait for Phineas to come fetch ye.”

  Instead of responding to that bit of bad news, she just nodded in agreement. “I noticed the stables appeared to have been burned. Did ye lose yer mounts in that fire?”

  Rose had been worth more than the horses they’d lost, had she no’?

  Unable to speak, Lyon nodded curtly.

  Bonnie hummed sympathetically, then took a small sip of her wine. “And without a stable, ye have nae place to keep more animals.” Without lowering her glass, she eyed him over the rim. “Is that the fire where ye were burned so horribly?”

  The soup soured in his stomach. “Did yer mother no’ teach ye to stay out of a man’s private past?” he growled.

  But she wasn’t intimidated. Instead, she shrugged. “Mother tried to teach me many things. If ye’d ever spent any time with her, ye’d understand why I tried my best to un-learn all the lessons she thought important.” She placed the wineglass down, her attention on the spot where her fingers toyed with the stem. “If ye’re the kind of man who thinks a woman should be beautiful and empty-headed, or seen without being heard, or should keep her opinions to herself…then I’m sorry to say ye’ll be disappointed in me.”

  It was said nonchalantly, almost challengingly. But the way she peeked up at him as the las
t words left her mouth told Lyon, for some reason, his answer really did matter to her.

  He wanted to shout, I’ll no’ be disappointed! But he couldn’t. Because, ultimately, she’d be disappointed in him.

  Trying to swallow down the growl which threatened to escape at the thought of this intriguing, exasperating, enticing, terrifying beauty spending the night in his castle, Lyon lifted his water to his lips and gulped desperately.

  Nay, he wouldn’t be disappointed in her, but rather himself.

  Because with her sleeping in one of the guest rooms—Oh God, what would she wear to sleep in that big bed all by herself—there was no way Lyon wasn’t going to take himself in hand and frig himself senseless.

  Chapter 3

  “Well, no’ to toot my own horn, but the blizzard is working well.”

  “Yes, Broca. Good work. The forced proximity story always works well. I think it’s actually number one-hundred-sixteen in The Book, although a blizzard is only one aspect.”

  “Wait, ye have a horn?”

  “Grisel, it’s a figure of speech, ye wee dobber.”

  “Oh, alright. I wondered if it was some kind of cooking implement, now that ye’ve managed to get a job at Oliphant Castle. If I liked ye, I’d tell ye that was a brilliant piece of planning, but since I dinnae, I’ll just pour some more tea.”

  “And if I liked ye, I’d say thank ye verra much. I do make rather good bread.”

  “Heh. Too bad ye’re no’ at Oliphant Castle in the middle of a blizzard!”

  “I’ll have ye ken, Grisel, that I left my cookbooks in a prominent spot, and I have the utmost confidence in Bonnie’s ability to—”

  “Wheezit! Blern t’biggen at!”

  “Sisters! Seonag is correct! At least, I assume she is. Let us put aside the bickering and focus on the story.”

  * * *

  It was still snowing the next morning, and Bonnie was surprised to realize the thought excited her.

  Merely because it meant she’d have another chance to study the artwork in Oliphant Castle, she assured herself, and nothing at all to do with the man who stalked around the castle, all broody and sweaty and glorious and rude.

  Really, he’d slurped his soup last night like some kind of barbarian, but she’d been almost certain he’d done it on purpose.

  Smiling, she stood in front of the large window in the guest room she’d been given, the quilt from the bed wrapped around her shoulders, and watched the snow blow past. Her feet were cold but given the state of the rest of the castle, she supposed she should be grateful she wasn’t standing on rushes. After all, she’d only meant to come for a short visit and hadn’t planned on staying overnight.

  Which is why, under the quilt, she was wearing one of Lyon’s shirts. She’d slept in it last night, after a blushing Keith had delivered it. When she’d asked if it had been his idea, or his master’s, the poor man had stammered something unintelligible and had quickly made his escape.

  So Bonnie had spent the night wrapped in warmth and his scent, imagining it was Lyon touching her instead of his linen. Perhaps it was the memory of that intriguing embroidery she’d examined yesterday. And aye, perhaps she’d touched herself last night—brushing her palms against her nipples, then lower—wondering what it’d be like to feel a man’s hand there— Nay, not just any man. She’d been thinking about him.

  And strangely enough, the thought didn’t make her burn with embarrassment.

  Why shouldn’t she imagine going to bed with a man? Just because he wasn’t her husband, just because it wasn’t proper? Why shouldn’t she appreciate a well-built man, whose growls made her thighs tremble, and her stomach twist with yearning?

  She could do as she pleased because she was a strong, independent woman, dammit.

  At least, she would be once she made her publishing house a success. And that would happen—had to happen—once she published her book of Highland history. She knew there were other like-minded women out there, women who would be fascinated to learn about their foremothers’ contribution to their country, and Bonnie was determined to bring that to them. Once she did, she was certain she’d receive similar submissions, and she’d be able to support herself the way she wanted to.

  And perhaps engage in an illicit affair or two.

  Nay, just the one. There’s only been one man to catch yer fancy.

  True.

  Chin up, Bonnie tossed the quilt over the bed and defiantly pulled Lyon’s shirt over her head. Nude, she strode to the wardrobe where she’d hung up her serviceable gown the previous evening. Today, she was stuck in the castle, thanks to the snow, but her time there was limited. If she wanted access to more of the Oliphant artwork than just the medieval embroidery—no matter how fascinating that was—she needed to convince Lyon to allow her access to the library.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t at breakfast. Keith was, however, and he was a cheerful font of information…as long as she didn’t ask about Lyon’s past or Keith’s relationship to the laird’s heir.

  Pursing her lips thoughtfully, she finished off the last of her eggs. “Keith, do ye think ye might be able to find a folding table?”

  “Aye, of course. Do ye have need of one?”

  A plan was forming as she stared out the small medieval window in the wallpaper-over-stone wall in front of her. “I think I do.”

  If Lyon wouldn’t allow her access to the library, she’d grant herself access to him. After all, her manuscript and all the artifacts were in his study, and with the snow still coming down, he was stuck inside the castle, the same as she was.

  And that’s why, an hour later, she swept confidently into his study and didn’t bat an eye when his gaze snapped up from his schematics, and he growled, “What are ye doing here?”

  “I’m setting up my own office,” she told him breezily, then pointed imperiously to a spot in front of the window. “Over there please, Keith. I’ll move my own chair.”

  The servant-who-was-more-than-a-servant winked at her as he manhandled the folding table into place.

  “Keith, what in the hell is going on?”

  “The lady’s setting up her own office, Lyon,” the young man declared cheerfully. “She has work to do on her book—ye ken she’s an author, aye?—and it’d be a waste to have to heat another room in this place.”

  When Lyon glowered, Bonnie turned her head to hide her smile, impressed by Keith’s logic. Aye, the castle was drafty and made of stone, but the study had a cheerful fire going, which was lovely.

  After the door closed behind the young man, she busied herself by setting up her pen and ink, then arranging her papers. One of the chapters, where she’d discussed women’s roles in the medieval household, would absolutely be enhanced by a sketch of one or more of Nessa Oliphant’s medieval embroideries…assuming she could find one which wouldn’t be too shocking.

  “What are ye doing?”

  She turned from where she’d been peering at the framed embroideries to see him still sitting at the desk in the same position as when she’d entered the study; his forearms braced, and three open books spread out before him.

  “I’m looking at the needlework. What are ye doing?”

  He blinked, as if he hadn’t expected her to ask him the same question in return. “I’m researching.”

  Well, now she was curious. “Researching what?”

  Suddenly, his expression softened. Whatever he was doing didn’t make him scowl.

  Unlike I do, apparently.

  “Something ye said yesterday about—about printing artwork. It made me curious. Printing press technology has advanced in leaps and bounds over the last two decades.”

  Her brows rose. The man was researching printing press technology, based on a passing reference she’d made?

  “It certainly has,” she agreed. “The presses I bought are almost as old as the building they’re in; nae wonder auld Mr. Grimm sold them to me at such a good price. They’re outdated but”—she shrugged—“they do work, than
k goodness.”

  He looked as if he wanted to say more, but abruptly nodded and lowered his head over the sketch he was making. Was he sketching printing presses? How…interesting. The Beast of the Oliphants was of a mechanical bent. Bonnie tucked that bit of knowledge away to use later.

  To connect with him.

  Humming under her breath, she turned back to the framed needlework and tried to focus on what she’d set out to do. After a minute or two, Lyon cleared his throat. “What are ye looking for?”

  So he was curious, was he?

  Confident he couldn’t see her expression, with her back to him, she grinned, then shrugged nonchalantly.

  “I’m looking for illustrations I could use in my chapter on medieval life. I’m no’ the best at sketching reproductions, but I cannae print these as they are.” Nonchalantly, she tapped her finger against her lower lip, as if considering. “Which do ye think would be easier for a woman like me to draw; this one with the fellatio, or this one where two men are pleasuring the same woman?”

  There was the sound of a muttered curse behind her, and a chair being slammed backward. She arranged her expression into one of curious innocence and turned to face him.

  He was standing, his shoulders heaving as he breathed heavily; his glare impressive.

  He was magnificent and not immune to her teasing.

  Perhaps he likes hearing the word “fellatio” uttered from yer lips.

  She’d have to test that theory later.

  “Is something wrong, Lyon?”

  “Enjoy yer research,” he abruptly snarled, as he leaned over to slam shut one of the books. “I have need of some exercise.”

  “But it is snowing,” she pointed out, hiding her grin.

  “I’ll be in the great hall. The kind of exercise I have in mind involves Keith’s fists and lots of blood.”

  As he stalked out, Bonnie tilted her head to one side and studied his kilt-enclosed arse.

  Goodness, the man really is fit, isn’t he? And one big ball of confused emotions on top of it all.

  He was going to be fun to tease.