Her performance showed James a side of his captive he hadn’t seen before. A side that was light-hearted, lively. Also one that was more amicable than a skin of whiskey could make her. Personable and approachable rather than hostile and sardonic. This new facet of her character held him spellbound. Confound it, she was a perplexing woman, prickly one moment, engaging with his sisters the next. Giving him a glimpse into a side of her he hadn’t imagined existed.
Igniting a spark within him that had long lain dormant as well. He could hardly keep his mind on the convoluted tale of scarecrows, metal men and talking lions, she was such a vision in the firelight. The rough linen gown of the morning was gone in favor of one far more becoming. Though without lavish adornment, the bright blue of the velvet gown seemed to set her uncovered hair on fire by contrast.
And ah, those slender ankles! At least she’d been shod in a jeweled slipper rather than shite this time.
“As thin and tall as she is, without womanly hair or ample bosom, she should look like a lad,” Rhys said quietly at his side.
It wasn’t a question rather than a statement of fact. And fact it was, James couldn’t deny Rhys’ observation. The most desirable ladies of the court were petite and plump, though hidden beneath stylish headdresses, their hair would be long. Their bosoms and arse amply fleshed to warm a man’s body and plump thighs to cradle his hips.
Scarlett Thomas had none of those assets. She was extremely tall and painfully thin to the point of emaciation, her collarbones clearly outlined. Her wrists were as thin as a birds. Aye, she should look like a lad.
But she did not.
Nay, she was lovely indeed. Her delicate bone structure only accentuated by the heavy gown she wore. Her flawless skin looked as soft as velvet and as pale as fresh cream as if the sun or the elements had never touched her. So frail he could almost see the veins, blood beneath her skin. Not a callous on her fingers.
Her figure might seem to some boyish or wraith-like, but he saw her as long and elegant. Though it seemed as though she might break in a strong wind, her curves were not masculine and her breasts, he knew well, were ample enough to fill his hand and rouse his loins.
Her head was nearly shorn, her auburn hair far shorter than he wore his own. Yet it somehow it suited her, accentuating that fey look.
But most compelling, despite that aura of delicacy and purity, there was something about Scarlett Thomas – perhaps the constant upward turn of her lips that suggested knowing amusement, the warmth of her whiskey brown eyes or the way they pierced a man’s soul – that made a man wonder at what fire that might be kindled beneath.
It made him long to pin her against the castle wall and taste her honey lips once more. To taste much more of her as well.
As wrong as he knew it was, he couldn’t stop imagining it.
Those bewitching eyes were warm with laughter now as she brought yet another rare smile to Aileen’s lips. Aye, James knew the sight of her shouldn’t have been able to conjure an iota of warmth in a man’s loins but James would wager that the mere memory of a night with her would sear a man to the core for the rest of his days.
“Laird?”
“Aye, she should,” he agreed at last, keeping the rest of his thoughts to himself.
“She insists that she hasnae been ill,” Rhys continued though James was only giving him half an ear. “Still it maun be true. I ken nay other reason why any woman of her years would shear their hair as she has. ‘Tis against God’s will.”
James nodded at that, though his eyes never left the lass in question as she once again began to skip across the hall while her small audience clapped along. “Nay, the only other reason I’ve e’er known a woman to shave her head was because she took the ve…”
Rhys chuckled aloud at the sour expression on James’ face. “Aye, and doesn’t that just turn yer stomach given the thoughts going through yer head?”
James turned to his brother with a scowl. “What do ye ken of my thoughts, brother?”
“I ken they’re the same as any man here.” With some surprise, James looked about to find the gaze of many men following Scarlett with more than amusement in their eyes.
His brother laughed some more but James dismissed the other men and considered Rhys’ speculation. Short hair aside, Scarlett was quite clever and seemingly educated. He knew she had been reading the King’s proclamation the previous night. Not just scanning it curiously as Lady Ishbel did. She looked at a man as if she were his equal and demanded respect for her opinions. She met his gaze steadily without fuss or flirtation. The lasses in Scotland might be bold but never had one leveled him a look like that. As if she were his equal. She had the will of a queen.
No gentlewoman of his acquaintance, not even his Queen, was all those things. Not even his sisters who, while intelligent, could hardly read, or write beyond their own signature. Scarlett was completely unlike any woman he had ever come across. Few stations in life educated women so well. Few vocations. Bitter bile burned at the back of his throat. “If she is for the church…”
“Then ye maun hae something new to confess at matins tomorrow,” Rhys said with a grin as he clucked his tongue lightly. “Lusting after a nun, Laird? There maun be some sort of sin against that.”
“She isnae a nun,” James felt compelled to say, even knowing that the slightest argument would do little more than confirm his growing attraction to the lass.
“Save it for the confessional, brother.”
“Why do ye insist on bedeviling me?”
“I take a great deal of joy from it, actually.”
“I thank ye for an entertaining evening, my dear Scarlett,” Rhys said, lifting her hand to his lips. “Yer by far the most diverting captive I hae ever taken.”
“Have there been so many?” Scarlett teased, quenching her thirst with a large swallow of wine, wishing it were water instead.
“More than ye would imagine, I’d wager.”
Her lips twitched. “My, my, Rhys, you didn’t strike me as the bondage sort.”
His wicked grey eyes narrowed as if he were gauging her meaning and the corner of his mouth tilted up attractively. “Is that an offer?”
Scarlett laughed at that, lifting her cup in silent salute. Before she could summon a witty retort however, a curious warmth glided over her and without looking, she knew Laird was behind her.
“Yer in good humor.”
Already flushed with exertion, Scarlett’s cheeks warmed even more under the banked desire in his eyes. “I had more fun than I thought I would. Perhaps I should turn my efforts to the stage.”
It was true. Though she doubted that the grand design for her time traveling adventure – assuming there was a reason to this madness at all – was to provide endless entertainment in medieval Scotland. If it were, Scarlett wouldn’t be the one to throw a monkey wrench into the cosmic design, at least when it came to a performance that was as distracting for her as it was diverting for them.
“I thought ye already had.”
“A more intimate venue,” she amended, not wanting to get into the different avenues for actors in her time.
“Aye, intimate,” Rhys drawled in a suggestive brogue. “I was just telling Scarlett how interested we are in what more she might offer.”
More of what she had to offer?
That roguish question – Laird’s, not Rhys’ – was back like a wrecking ball, shattering Scarlett’s composure to bits. Though not a single smile had graced Laird’s lips during her performance, she’d been all too aware that he had watched her intently. Her nerves had been thrumming like the steady rhythm of a Tardis all night, though she was professional enough to disguise her jumpiness.
Was he flirting with her? Was he serious? She wished she knew.
Laird’s brow furrowed tightly as he leveled a dark scowl on his brother. “Yer no’ as amusing as ye think ye are, brother.”
Rhys cast her a wink. “Aye, I am. ‘Tis getting late. Can I escort ye to yer rooms, my dear?”
“Than –”
“I will see to her,” Laird grumbled and turned away as if he expected her to follow. Scarlett waited until he turned back impatiently.
“If it’s a choice between being escorted and seen to, I’d rather have the escort.”
Rhys chuckled but Laird only sighed impatiently and offered her his arm. Scarlett slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, immediately second-guessing her testy command. Already shaken by his proximity, touching him made her all the more conscious of his raw masculinity. Through his fine linen shirt, she could feel the heat of his flesh and the bulge of his bicep beneath her fingers. Against the back of her hand, the brush of his torso caressed with every step.
“I’d like to thank ye for being so kind to Aileen,” he said as they climbed the stairs. “She’s had little to find joy in of late.”
“That’s no problem. She’s a sweet girl.”
“Aye, she is.” Laird fell silent once more but Scarlett wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t much for conversation. It was more of a shock when he spoke again. “The usual entertainment at Crichton is a bard Lady Ishbel retains. She’s determined to get her penny’s worth from him. Having heard him but once, I dinnae believe that is going to happen.”
Scarlett’s jaw sagged. Was he making a joke? Stoic, serious Laird trying to be funny? “Glad I could help then. I suppose it’s a good thing Lady Ishbel didn’t join us for dinner.”
“She was abed wi’ a sick headache,” he told her as they stopped at Scarlett’s chamber door. “Remarkably, they come upon her each time I visit.”
Another joke, as self-depreciating as it was. She wavered, wondering at the change in him. Perhaps, maybe Laird was just a wee bit likeable after all. “An amazing coincidence.”
With just the light of a single sconce in the hall, the stillness felt more intimate than uncomfortable. Still, she couldn’t look at him. “Well, goodnight.”
“Scarlett.” His hand covered hers as she reached for the door latch. “Ye should be wary of Rhys. He has a reputation among the ladies at court.”
Scarlett snorted skeptically. “Oh, I doubt that.”
She looked up and up again past his powerful chest, noticing again just how huge he was. Just how delicate he made her feel. How feminine. How the flames licking at his steely eyes radiated toward her.
“I don’t think that will be a problem.” Instead of the sarcasm she had intended, the words emerged breathlessly.
Laird’s warning was laughable. It would be more appropriate to warn her of the danger Laird himself posed to her. Rhys was more handsome than any man had the right to be but he couldn’t rouse her desires the way Laird could with a single glance. It would be far better for her peace of mind, in fact, if her feelings for Laird were as platonic as those she had for Rhys.
The dim hallway felt as though it were shrinking around them. Scarlett was dangerously aware of his every breath, the rise and fall of his chest beneath his linen shirt. Her breath slowed to match his, the very air compressing against her breasts as she inhaled.
“Laird.” Whatever she might have been planning to say was swept away as his lips covered hers. Lightly, like a soft caress then deepening as he drew her into his strong arms. Crushed against that captivating chest, he lifted her, propelling her into her chamber and nudging the door shut before falling with her on the bed.
No man had ever kissed her like this. Other men waited for her permission, or worse, her initiation of a kiss. Laird took what he desired, devoured polite objections. Forced her body into an honest, if shocking, response. She felt wild. Wanton.
Panicked by the loss of control, Scarlett tore her lips from his, panting, “Laird, we can’t do this.”
Laird tugged her gown off her shoulder. First pressing a kiss there, then nipping at her collarbone. His lips dragged upward, his beard scraping until his tongue curled around her earlobe. He drew it between his lips, biting gently and Scarlett swallowed hard. “It’s ridiculous, really.” Scarlett gasped as his rough palms enclosed her tender breasts and he bent his head to take her sensitive nipple between his teeth. A tortured moan formed at the back of her throat. “You’re not my type at all.”
“Yer type?” he asked against her breast.
“The kind of guy I normally find attractive,” she explained haltingly, panting for breath as his tongue lapped over her nipple. “Overly handsome, domineering.” Domineering? Oh, would he be? Scarlett felt a little thrill at the thought. No, that really wasn’t her type at all! “You’re too big.”
Laird’s hands slid to her hips pulling her roughly closer as he thrust his hips forward, clearly illustrating his immense length. “Too big?”
“Big, as in overpowering,” she explained and a smile lifted the corner of his mouth. But that demonstration had sent her blood pressure soaring.
“Och, lass, I’m every woman’s type.”
Of course he was. He was tall, dark and ridiculously handsome. Even a saint would want him for his sensual brogue alone. Scarlett released a pained laugh. “Ego.”
“Experience,” he whispered and kissed her again. His tongue plunged deep, sweeping along hers seductively. He tasted of heady whiskey and almost undeniable temptation. Powerful hands roamed over her body, gliding from her waist to her shoulders and back down again before he clasped her bottom in his palms and lifted her against him.
His hips rocked and Scarlett helplessly arched against him. Her heart pounded hard against her ribs. Desire pulsed through her veins. Desire unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Laird hiked up her skirt, one broad finger slid between her damp folds. Her thighs quaked, tensed. Clinging to his shoulders, Scarlett prayed for mercy.
“Yer wet for me already, lass. Open and let me in.”
“Oh, God,” she cried, warring with herself. Battling against the naked passion Laird roused it her. It was so incredible. Could it possibly be wrong? “O-kay.”
Laird stilled against her.
“Ye hesitated,” he said, using her words from that morning.
Only the sound of their heavy breaths broke the silence.
“I did. Oh, God, what am I doing?” This wasn’t her. She just didn’t do this! Not like this. For all of Hollywood’s foibles, she wasn’t easy. She didn’t sleep around like many actresses might. She was, in fact, highly conscious of what people saw and assumed after having a lifetime of her parent’s not-so-fine examples to follow. And because of her visibility, she had been very careful about who she had been with if only because she hadn’t wanted her relationships blasted about for everyone to hear. She could count on one hand the number of times she had slept with a man.
Hell, she could count on two fingers! And neither one had been terribly memorable. Neither one had left her shaking like this.
The problem was, she wasn’t entirely opposed to giving it a try. His hold slackened and he pulled away, cooling air found its way between them. Scarlett grasped his wrists before he slid entirely away. “Laird, I want to. I do. It’s just…”
“Yer a virgin.”
“No.” Scarlett scrambled to her feet as he lifted himself away. His chest was damp and heaving when she lifted a hand to his heart. Felt his surprise. “No, it’s not that. I just not ready for this. Please understand, I’m not that girl who sleeps around. I don’t do this on first dates or… or like this, without even one date.”
“Dates? What does fruit hae to do wi’ it?”
“Ugh! I’m sorry. I know I’m sending all kinds of mixed signals here.”
“Mixed signals? Lass, I dinnae understand.”
“I know you don’t. I’m just so… I don’t know what to say. Laird, you’re taking me down a road I’m not sure I want to travel.” She glanced down at the still raging erection lifting his kilt. Oh! She wanted nothing more than to turn back time just five minutes this time and tell her capricious conscience to take a hike. She wanted him badly. Why not?
Because she was his prisoner, remember?
Bull shit! The devil on her sh
oulder taunted her. Take the road. Do it because you want to. Do it because you can finally feel free.
With a sigh, Scarlett closed her eyes.
“Laird, I’m…”
“I dinnae need yer apologies, lass. I ken the situation well enough.”
“Laird…”
“Mind what I said aboot Rhys. I ken ye think he’s the bluidy nice one, but mark my words. Beware. Else ye find yerself thoroughly seduced.”
The door closed behind him before she could say another word.
Scarlett pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. She was already finding herself thoroughly seduced.
17
“Well, if it isn’t the bloody nice one,” Scarlett said when she answered the knock on her bedroom door the next morning and found waiting Rhys in the hall.
“I had thought to escort ye to dinner, dear Scarlett.” A sly grin spread across his lips. “Perchance, were ye expecting someone no’ so nice? My brother perhaps? Should I offer my apologies for disappointing ye?”
A hot blush crept up her cheeks. Such humiliation burned through her on how things had ended between her and Laird the previous night. Laird had brought her to the edge of release and she had left them both hanging. How was she to face him after that?
It certainly wasn’t what she had planned on and he had every right to be angry with her or worse. Honestly, after the way they parted, who knew what he was thinking?
“You have a dirty mind, Rhys. No, actually I was expecting… or rather hoping for a bath. I asked Graeme a half an hour ago if I could have one.” Two days without a bath was two too many. Scarlett felt grimy and was afraid she was starting to smell something awful. The steward had reacted like she was asking for the moon. For such a religious group of people, they didn’t take the cleanliness is next to godliness theorem very seriously.
“Did the servants no’ bring ye water to bathe?”
“They brought a bucket of water and a cloth. That is not a bath.”
“Ye wanted a full bath?” His voice held more than a little surprise. “While some, like Laird and myself, prefer to totally submerge ourselves as well, opportunities to do so in the castle are rare. We will often bathe out of doors in the rivers or streams.”
Taken: A Laird for All Time Novel (Volume 2) Page 13
