by Emma Prince
“Nay!” She clamped her mouth shut, swallowing. “That is, I dinnae wish to be amongst a crowd. But…we are alone now.”
Good God, was this truly happening? Would he be Adelaide MacDonnell’s first kiss, out here beneath a sparkling winter sky?
He felt drunk at the possibility, yet he knew the heady feeling didn’t come from whisky. After seeing his father overindulge nearly every day, Fillan had vowed never to do the same. Still, the feeling of intoxication at the prospect of kissing Adelaide was more potent than any drink.
She looked up at him, uncertainty making her shy. Yet her gaze no longer wavered. In fact, her eyes were filled with curiosity and…dare he call it longing?
Fillan snipped the bud of hope in his chest then. Aye, she felt longing—to experience her first kiss, naught more. Not longing like he felt for her—a bone-aching, gut-twisting yearning that had seized him from the moment he’d laid eyes on her three years past and had only grown stronger over time.
He would give her this, an experience she could remember later with a wee smile or a chuckle at the silliness of it all. She would know that she was desired, wanted, and would no longer have to fret about that first press of lips again.
It wouldn’t mean to her what it meant to him. But as long as he was gentle, made it pleasant and sweet, she wouldn’t have to know about the need that burned beneath his skin.
“Ye are sure?” he murmured, taking a half-step closer.
When she nodded, her lips parting on a misty breath, his heart leapt into his throat. An instant later, he closed the rest of the distance between them.
Chapter Four
Adelaide’s breath hitched at Fillan’s nearness. She had to tilt her head back to hold his dark gaze as he moved so close that only a whisper of cold air separated their bodies.
This is madness. She shouldn’t even be speaking to him, unaccompanied and in the dark, let alone agreeing to a kiss. But the prospect of those curving yet serious lips brushing hers kindled a fire deep in her belly that could not be doused with rational thought.
He dipped his head toward her, but then he froze, lingering only a few inches away. It seemed this would not be the swift, congenial kiss she’d seen so many couples exchange. Nay, Fillan apparently wanted to draw out the moment, his gaze intent as he traced her features.
Her pulse sped from a trot to a gallop. Did he find her lacking? Was that why he hesitated? Suddenly uncertain of herself, she sank her teeth into her lower lip, as if to hide it from his dark, unreadable eyes.
As though he feared spooking her, he lifted one hand and cautiously cupped her flushed cheek. Despite the heat in her face, his palm, roughened with calluses, was warmer. His thumb settled on her chin. Gently, he pried her lip from between her teeth.
Cold air whispered across her dampened lip for a heartbeat, and then his mouth was on hers.
Everything seemed to fall silent then. Even her heart missed a beat, leaving one long, quiet instant in between its swift hammerings.
Though his lips were so often set in a steady, serious line, they were shockingly soft and warm. His hand slid to the back of her neck, his fingers threading through the hair there and holding her in place gently.
At first, his mouth barely brushed hers, sending matching flutters into the pit of her stomach. But then Fillan pressed more firmly, and the butterflies turned into ribbons of fire. He tilted his head so that their lips fitted together in an intimate embrace, her lower lip nestling between both of his.
Adelaide had no sense of how much time had passed, but when Fillan shifted, she assumed it was to put an end to their connection. Without thought, she pressed closer rather than drawing back, unwilling to lose the heat of his lips just yet.
But to her satisfaction, he didn’t pull away, either. Instead, he placed all his weight on his good foot, then leaned his shoulder against the stones rising from the battlements. Without his cane in hand, he’d likely grown uncomfortable standing. But rather than end their kiss, he’d found a way to extend it.
As he continued to move his lips slowly over hers, brushing then pressing, tilting his head to catch every angle, her mind began to spin. To steady herself, she slipped one hand from the folds of the plaid he’d spread around her and placed it on his chest.
It was as if her light touch broke a dam. He made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded half-pained, half-hungry. His fingers tightened in her hair, sending prickles of sensation over her scalp and across her skin.
To her shock, the velvet heat of his tongue flicked against her lips. Tentatively, she parted them. His tongue slipped inside, finding hers and caressing it.
Good gracious. This was astoundingly intimate, so much more than she could have imagined. Their lips fused together as their tongues tangled in a dance that implied acts well beyond her experience.
And it wasn’t just their mouths. His fingers sank into her tender nape—a place no man had ever touched before. His scent, of smoke and soap and male skin, enfolded her, clinging to the plaid around her shoulders and filling her nose. And the heat of his body—it radiated from him as if he were a blacksmith’s forge.
Beneath her hand, the linen of his shirt was hot. His heart pounded, swift and erratic, just below the surface. He was surprisingly hard, his sinewy strength making his chest feel like a stone wall.
The man kissing her was Fillan MacVale, yet this was a side of him she’d never witnessed before. In place of his usual controlled, solemn demeanor was a man of scorching flesh and rushing blood. A man of passion and urgency. Of commanding need.
Her mind simply couldn’t make sense of the blazing reality of this moment. So she surrendered to sensation, riding the rising wave of her own need. She curled her hand into his shirt, trying to pull him impossibly closer. Her tongue matched his strokes, deepening their entanglement.
“…been too long.” A voice drifted up from the courtyard below the battlements. “I’d best ensure the daft lass hasnae frozen solid.”
A familiar voice.
Through the haze of mounting desire, an alarm bell clanged in Adelaide’s mind. But her body was sluggish and warm with pleasure. She couldn’t seem to reason out what she ought to be doing instead of kissing Fillan.
“What the bloody…”
Her father. He’d been the one who’d spoken a moment before. He was in the courtyard. And he’d seen them.
Too late, the pieces came crashing together and Adelaide’s wits rushed back. At the same instant, she and Fillan jerked apart.
“MacVale!” Laird MacDonnell roared. Like a charging bull, he barreled across the courtyard and up the stairs to the battlements.
Abruptly, Fillan jerked her behind him, positioning himself between her and her father. He took a hobbling half-step to square his shoulders to the enraged Laird as he reached the battlements.
Distantly, Adelaide realized that Fillan thought to protect her from her father’s anger. Of course, her father would never strike her, even in a fury like this one, but Fillan didn’t know that. He only had his own father to go from. His protective impulse made something in her heart fracture, and a flood of warmth filled in the cracks.
“MacVale, ye bloody, stinking—” her father bellowed.
“Let me explain, Laird,” Fillan said, his voice surprisingly calm.
Her father jabbed a finger into Fillan’s chest. “No need. I saw enough with my own eyes. Ye have sullied my daughter, ye cowardly, deceiving—”
This time Adelaide was the one to cut off her father’s rant. She stepped around Fillan’s broad shoulder and faced him.
“Nay, Father. Fillan didnae—”
“Och, so he is Fillan to ye now, daughter?” he snapped.
“He didnae sully me,” she continued, resolutely holding her chin steady. “I allowed him to kiss me.”
Her father turned a dark red behind his beard. “Nay. I dinnae believe that. Besides, ye are little more than a bairn, Adelaide. Even if this bastard didnae force ye, he clearly manipulated ye.”
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“I didnae force yer daughter, nor did I manipulate her,” Fillan said stiffly. “It was an innocent kiss, meant only to soothe her pride after what happened in the hall.”
Adelaide’s stomach dropped. Was that all it had been to him? A wee kiss to placate her, like a sweet given to a bairn who’d skinned her knee?
She ducked her chin, feeling small and foolish for having imagined so much more in their kiss. It was happening again. She wasn’t wanted. Not truly. She was only a sad lass to be taken pity on.
“I’d sooner eat my boot than believe the lies of a MacVale,” her father replied heatedly to Fillan. “Ye will pay for dishonoring my daughter, I vow—”
“What goes on here?” Reid said from the keep’s open doors.
“MacVale has assaulted my Adelaide,” her father replied loudly, uncaring of the curious faces peering out from the great hall behind Reid.
Reid hurriedly crossed the courtyard and climbed to the battlements.
“There must be some misunderstanding,” Reid said, keeping his voice low as he eyed each one of them in turn.
“Aye,” Fillan said, but before he could explain further, Laird MacDonnell jumped in again.
“I saw him with my own eyes,” he said again, jerking his finger at Fillan. “He had my daughter pressed against the stones like some common whore!”
“I kissed her, aye,” Fillan said to Reid. “But I didnae coerce her.”
“The hell ye didnae!” her father roared. “First I witness ye treating her like a whore, and now ye are calling her a whore, as if she would so wantonly invite yer touch.”
“No one is saying—” Reid began, but her father plowed on.
“I should never have turned my back on ye, MacVale,” he hissed. “I kenned yer promises of turning over a new leaf were too good to be true. My instincts were right about ye. Ye are conniving and manipulative, trying to take advantage of an innocent for yer benefit—just like yer father.”
Adelaide sucked in a cold breath. Beside her, Fillan jerked as if her father had just landed a punch to his chest.
“Enough,” Reid barked. Clearly fighting for composure, he smoothed a hand over his dark hair. “Mayhap we’d best continue this discussion someplace more private,” he said pointedly to MacDonnell.
Adelaide’s gaze slid to the still-open keep doors. To her horror, several dozen people now stared at them, and the music from deeper in the hall had died. She was the center of attention again, in the worst possible way.
Her father had apparently noticed their audience, for he huffed a breath. “Aye, verra well.”
“Come,” Reid said to all of them. “Let us sort this out in my solar.”
Chapter Five
Fillan trailed behind Reid, MacDonnell, and Adelaide. Blessedly, Reid kept his pace slow enough that Fillan could keep up. But it made their crossing of the great hall long and uncomfortable.
The tap of Fillan’s cane on the ground was the only sound at first. But then the whispers began. There was no avoiding the stares, either, for MacDonnell had assured with his shouted accusations that even from all the way on the battlements, everyone in the hall had heard.
As they headed toward the stairs, Corinne started to rise from her seat on the dais, a question in her eyes for Reid.
Reid held up a hand to stay her. “All is well,” he said to both Corinne and everyone else. “Only a wee misunderstanding to smooth out. Please, all of ye, carry on with the celebrations.”
Still, the murmurs and stares followed them. In front of him, Adelaide hunched in on herself, her head tucked and her shoulders slumped. Belatedly, he realized she still wore his clan plaid. No doubt none in the hall had missed that.
From the bright color on the one cheek he could see, she likely wished to flee the hall once more. But her father had her arm tightly tucked under his so that she couldn’t escape.
At last, they reached the shelter of the stairs. They climbed one flight to a landing bearing two doors. Reid took the one on the right, which opened to a tidy solar.
As Reid hastily lit the fire that had been laid in the hearth, Fillan took a moment to glance at the room. A large wooden desk, along with a few cushioned chairs, dominated most of the open space. The top of the desk was covered in parchment and writing supplies. Corinne, who served as the clan’s scribe and record keeper, undoubtedly used the space more than Reid, yet the tapestries, the heavy wooden furniture, and the large hearth had a more masculine feel.
“Sit,” Reid ordered once the fire flared to life. They each took a chair except for Reid, who perched on the edge of the desk. “Now, explain what happened—without shouting,” he said, pinning MacDonnell with a look before turning his attention to Fillan.
“I found Lady Adelaide on the battlements,” Fillan began. “She was cold, so I gave her my plaid. We talked. It seemed she was distressed at being caught under the mistletoe alone, so I…” He swallowed. God, what an idiot he’d been. “I offered to kiss her.”
“And I agreed,” Adelaide added, her gaze darting to her father before returning to her lap.
“I willnae hear this,” MacDonnell grumbled. “MacVale is up to something, I ken it. If he didnae force her, then he has some scheme in mind—to ruin her marriage prospects by sullying her good name, mayhap, or—”
Fillan gripped the arms of his chair to keep from pounding a fist against them. If he lashed out now, he would only be proving MacDonnell’s words—that he was no different than Serlon MacVale.
Blessedly, Reid cut MacDonnell off before he could spew more venom.
“Fillan has no reason to do that,” he said evenly. “These past three years, he has proven to the Mackenzies that he means to keep his word and lead the MacVales in a new direction. He and his people have also worked to make amends to the MacDonnells, isnae that right, Laird?”
Grudgingly, MacDonnell gave a single, curt nod.
“Then why would he jeopardize all that hard work over a single wee kiss?”
Why, indeed? Damn it all, Fillan hadn’t been thinking of the lace-thin alliance he was supposed to be strengthening when he’d kissed Adelaide. He’d only been thinking of easing her hurts—and, if he were honest, indulging in an intimacy he’d dreamed of for three long years.
“I dinnae ken the nature of his schemes,” MacDonnell replied, “but he is a MacVale. He no doubt seeks some benefit in smearing my daughter’s prospects.”
“That is what ye’re worried about?” Reid asked. “Adelaide’s marriage prospects?”
“Aye, and her good name. The clan requires her to make a useful match. No self-respecting man will have her if he kens that some MacVale dallied with her first.”
Reid frowned at that, but his gaze drifted from MacDonnell to the fire. For a long moment, the only sound in the solar was the crackle in the hearth.
“I wonder…” Reid said, glancing from Adelaide to Fillan.
Though he didn’t know his half-brother well enough to read his slate-gray eyes, the hairs at the nape of Fillan’s neck pricked with some intuition of impending danger.
“What are ye about, Mackenzie?” MacDonnell demanded warily, clearly sensing the same thing.
Deciding something with a nod to himself, Reid focused on MacDonnell once more.
“I have the solution to yer problem, and a way to advance the trust and goodwill between the MacVales and the MacDonnells.”
A heartbeat before Reid spoke, realization dawned on Fillan.
Bloody hell.
“Fillan and Adelaide shall be married,” Reid finished.
“Nay,” Fillan said flatly even before the last word was out.
“What?” MacDonnell snapped.
Fillan dared a glance at Adelaide. Her head snapped up and her eyes went wide with shock for a fleeting moment, but at Fillan’s swift refutation, her brows crumpled together and she dropped her gaze to the floor.
“Hear me out,” Reid said to MacDonnell, ignoring Fillan. “If they marry, there are no prospects to ruin
, no sullying of the lass’s name, naught untoward for the gossips to latch onto. And ye said ye wanted an advantageous match, MacDonnell. What could be more advantageous than a neighboring Laird, one who could shore up an alliance between yer clans to everyone’s benefit?”
“But dinnae ye see, Mackenzie? He is scheming something, just like Serlon would ha—”
“I would remind ye,” Reid cut in, his voice hard as granite, “that ye are speaking of my father as well as Fillan’s. Ye are also casting aspersions on a Laird with whom I am allied. Mayhap ye’d best cool yer temper before ye say something that threatens the valuable relationship the Mackenzies and MacDonnells share.”
That had MacDonnell sitting back in his chair, his lips clamping shut at last.
“I didnae mean to dishonor Adelaide in any way,” Fillan said, taking the opportunity to speak. “Nor am I plotting aught to harm her or yer clan, Laird. Ye ken I have done all in my power these last three years to show ye that I am in earnest when I say I wish to make peace with ye.” Fillan swallowed. “But,” he continued. “I cannae marry yer daughter.”
“Why no’?” MacDonnell demanded. It seemed the man was prepared to take offense no matter what Fillan said, but at least he was no longer shouting.
“Aye,” Reid asked, frowning. “What objection could ye have?”
Fillan felt Adelaide’s eyes on him, but he willed himself not to look at her. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. She’d already known the sting of rejection, and she didn’t deserve more of the same.
Yet to marry her would be to burden her with a crippled husband, not to mention a Laird who was still struggling to rebuild his clan and atone for the sins of his father. He would not yoke her to his hardscrabble life, no matter how badly he longed to hoard her light and grace for himself.
“It would…no’ be an agreeable match,” he replied after a moment. Not agreeable for her, he thought.
“Ye seemed plenty agreeable when ye had yer mouth on her,” MacDonnell retorted.
But Fillan ignored him, instead turning his gaze to Adelaide. She still had her chin tucked, but now a bright slash of red marred her creamy cheeks, as if she’d been slapped.
