How many bannocks an’ sweet buns have I confiscated from this wee hidey-hole? An’ now look at me!
Suddenly, the stable was much darker, the only light now from the few dusty windows as the door shut with a loud bang.
Cicilia stood, the book clutched to her chest, and spun around. Her heart was hammering, and her mind was racing, considering the tools around her and how she could use them as weapons if need be.
Then she saw Alexander, watching her like a bird of prey, propped against the wall next to the door. He wore the most devilish smirk on his face as he said, “Why, good morrow to ye, Cicilia. What’s that ye’ve got?”
“Some light reading,” Cicilia replied. He didn’t need to know how her chest pounded, or that it wasn’t in fear. “What in God’s name are ye doin’ in me stables at this time?”
Alexander nodded to the side, where the filly was now drinking some water. In the stall beside her, the other Cob still slept. “I came to see Ailill an’ Aibreann. I love me horses, ye ken.”
Slowly, deliberately, he took a step forward.
“Oh,” Cicilia replied faintly, stepping back. She wasn’t afraid, not really. She hadn’t known him for long, but she knew there was no way that Alexander would hurt her. She could quickly get past him, but she couldn’t stop staring as he approached.
His eyes were bright, bright enough that even in the stable’s dim light, she could see the mischievous gleam they held. What was he thinking? Did he intend to take the book? Could she fight him?
Do I want to fight him?
And then suddenly he was too close, and Cicilia darted like a rabbit, heading for the door. She was fast, but Alexander was taller and had a much longer reach, and he caught her arm with no issue, stopping her in her tracks. He didn’t pull hard, but her body was drawn to him anyway, and now she stood before him, staring up into his eyes, clutching the book tight.
Now, with him towering over her like this, she could not help but feel a little nervous. It must have shown in her eyes, because Alexander’s smirk dropped instantly and he let go of her arm, even stepping back a little.
“Cicilia,” he said smoothly. “Why nae just give me the book? Will it nae make everythin’ better for everyone?”
“Make everythin’ better for ye, ye mean,” Cicilia retorted, trying not to look at the way the morning shadow highlighted the sharpness of his jaw. “I think ye’ll find we’re quite fine as we are.”
“Fine as ye are, are ye? Nae lettin’ yerself grieve for yer faither, pretendin’ to be a man on yer documents?” Alexander asked, raising an eyebrow. He stepped forward again, though not so close. She could feel the heat radiating from him, drawing her closer. “Is this really what ye want to be doin’ wi’ yer life, Cicilia? Do ye want to be hidin’ who ye are, playin’ a game o’ pretend forever?”
“Did ye want to be a Laird?” she snapped. She wasn’t really angry, but bickering would help clear her head more than noticing every angle of his face, every curve of muscle under his thin shirt. “Did ye want to be hidin’ yerself from the people like ye do? Seems to me ye ended up in yer own position much the same way I ended up in mine.”
Alexander’s expression didn’t flinch. “Aye, that may be so,” he agreed pleasantly. “But I dinnae need to bury mine in deception.”
“Aye?” she scoffed. “An’ tell me, Laird, what are all yer finely pressed shirts an’ immaculate kilts if they’re nae a sign of deceit?” Alexander looked surprised, and Cicilia continued. “Dinnae look at me like that. Just because ye’re nae outright lyin’ in yer words doesn’ae mean ye are nae lyin’.”
Alexander actually chuckled. “Quite the wit ye have there, Miss O’Donnel. More than ye’d expect from yer average farm girl.”
She knew he was teasing her, but it irritated her nonetheless. “An’ quite the teasin’ attitude ye’ve got there, Laird. Nae what ye’d expect from yer average pampered rich lad.”
His deep gaze was burning into hers now, the fullness of his lips and sharpness of his cheekbones highlighted more as the sun rose further. And he stepped closer once more, enough that he was close enough that, if she wished, she could simply put out a hand and touch…
Her hands slackened on the book, and that was when he pounced. He dived for it, giving her no time to escape—but she was ready for him, clinging to it with her fingertips as she tried to move out of the way.
Unfortunately for them both, Alexander had underestimated the difference in their weights and sizes, and his lunge sent them both toppling to the floor. The book skittered out of Cicilia’s hands and out of sight, but in this position, it was all but forgotten.
He was on top of her on the stable floor once more, his hands on the ground just next to her rhythmically rising breasts, his knees between her parted thighs. Her arms had shot out to stop him, and now they hovered just above his shoulders, her fingertips brushing an errant strand of his hair.
It’s soft. Softer than I would o’ thought a man’s hair could be.
“Ye’ve got me on the hay again, Laird,” she said, wondering at how thin her voice sounded, how light and girlish. “An’ I’m in yer power. What’ll ye do wi’ me now?”
She saw him gulp, saw the movement of his Adam’s apple as it bounced in his throat. His face was close enough that she could see the beads of sweat on his forehead, and the dilation of his pupils. “I dinnae ken what ye mean,” he said back. His own voice was different, too, a low, deep rumble that came from deep in his chest.
Did he feel the draw between their bodies? Did he feel how she ached to bring them together? Did he want that, too?
“Ye dinnae?” she asked doubtfully. She was unable to resist a slight tease, it was in her nature. “The great Laird o’ Gallagher cannae even dream o’ what to do wi’ a pretty lass he’s got pinned in the stable? I have to tell ye, Laird, every uneducated stable lad an’ milkmaid has worked out as much.”
It was a bluff, of course. Cicilia herself had no experience in such matters. She would not know what to do with a man if she had one. And yet, with Alexander here, their bodies so close…
“I would never dream o’ doin’ somethin’ so improper,” Alexander murmured, though the way his eyes roved over her face, her neck, her breasts, made her think that the truth was quite otherwise.
Perhaps that was what gave her the push to do what she did next. “Well,” she said, barely able to believe she was speaking. “I would.”
She pressed her hand to the back of his head, curling it in that impossibly soft dark hair, and pulled gently. There was not enough pressure that he couldn’t stop her if he didn’t want to, but just enough to make her meaning very clear.
And then their lips met, and their mouths molded together like they had been created as a complementary set. Cicilia’s one dim memory of a kiss had rather put her off the whole idea, but this, the way his mouth moved against hers, the way he leaned in so close, was mind-blowing.
Almost nervously, his tongue knocked against their lips, and she opened her own without thinking, needing more of him, needing more of this feeling. She made a little whimpering sound as he balanced on his elbows and gripped her arms with his hands, encouraging her to cling harder, kiss him deeper.
Then, just as suddenly as it started, it was over. Alexander drew back for air, and the moment was broken.
Cicilia darted backward, reminding herself of a frightened rabbit as she wriggled out from underneath his body and rushed to the door.
“Cicilia, wait—!” she heard behind her, but she couldn’t stop now. She threw open the doors and hurried into the morning air, hoping it would calm some of the embarrassment from her cheeks.
To throw meself at him like some kind o’ wanton!
As she ran back to the house, half-wishing she never needed to leave again, the cock crowed in a new day.
The kiss had been everything that was promised to Alexander in his secret, troubled dreams. No, it was more than that. The sweet pressure of her breasts against his chest.
The way her tongue danced with his, and her hands caressed his hair. Even more, that little moan she’d made near the end…
Enough.
Alexander coughed and straightened his clothes as best as he could, clambering to his feet in the barn. He could feel the horses all staring at him, almost accusatory. “Aye, an’ what do ye ken?” he snapped at the animals.
It felt so different from me last kiss. Softer an’ harder all at once. Nothin’ like she was.
A newly awakened Ailill whinnied in response, and Alexander sighed.
I should nae have done that. I should nae have done any o’ it. What kind o’ Laird takes advantage o’ such an opportunity?
But then, what kind of man did not? After all, Cicilia had clearly wanted him. Was it so wrong that he gave in to his body’s desires for just a moment? It had been little more than a kiss.
Troubled, he turned to pet Aibreann’s nose before leaving, and that was when he spotted the book on the ground. Cicilia must have left it behind in her embarrassment, and now here it lay, ready to reveal all of her farm and her father’s secrets at last.
He bent and picked it up, indecision tearing at his soul. On the one hand, he was here with a job to do. He was a Laird, and this farm was one of his clan’s most significant providers. It was his duty to understand fully what was happening here.
But…
What if she thinks I just kissed her to get the ledger? What if she believes I used her as a common illicit brothel-wench?
The thought horrified him so much that he almost dropped the book. Cicilia was aggravating, but she was also, no doubt, a good woman. Alexander would not be responsible for adding to her already considerable burden of pain.
She was like a whirlpool in the middle of the sea, drawing everything towards it with her irrepressible charm and undeniable talent. Alexander had a steadier course than most and could avoid the whirlpool or even stop it entirely if he so wished.
But a force of nature did not mean a force of evil, and he knew that Cicilia deserved better than to suffer yet another blow in her already fraught life.
Which left the question, then—did he try to sail around her, or did he set a course straight into the abyss?
Chapter 13
Amicus Certus in Re Incerta Cernitur
A Certain Friend in an Uncertain Matter
Nathair waited for Cicilia at the front gate of the property, filled with amusement at the complexity of their arrangements. He had barely seen either Cicilia or Alexander all morning. Though he had no real idea what had happened, he could undoubtedly hazard a guess.
Cicilia had initially suggested that they should ride to the market in the next village over, using her buggy. Nathair had waylaid that suggestion with a made-up excuse about how carriages made him sick. In truth, he simply didn’t want to spend three hours or more in the company of Jeanie’s father alone, even with Cicilia as a buffer.
Both o’ Jeanie’s parents ken or have guessed more about us than I’m even a bit comfortable wi’. Best I avoid them for now.
And so they were supposed to meet at the stables after breakfast and the morning chores were over. Nathair had risen, washed, and eaten, and was on his way to read until it was time to meet. Just outside the library, he ran into a somewhat disheveled Alexander.
“Have ye given up on the whole organization thing, then?” Nathair had asked him, amused. There was straw in Alexander’s hair, and his shirt was rumpled. For him, it was the equivalent of not having bathed in months.
Alexander had glanced down at himself and scowled. “Never mind that,” he chided. “Here.” He’d pressed a small but thick bound book into Nathair’s hands. “When ye meet Cicilia, give her that from me. Tell her nae body read it.”
Nathair looked at it. It was a journal of some sort, or perhaps a ledger. “Can I read it?” Nathair teased.
“Nay!” The seriousness of Alexander’s face was no joke. “Nae body is gonnae read it. If she wants us to ken what’s in it, she’ll tell us herself.”
Och, Sandy. Ye’ve got it bad. If only ye were nae so blind to yerself.
“Aye, aye, all right,” Nathair had assured him. “Dinnae look so worried. I’ll take it wi’ me to the stables in an hour or so.”
A cross between guilt and a smirk found its way onto Alexander’s face as he had replied, “Maybe dinnae meet her at the stables. I’ve got the oddest feelin’ she’ll nae be wantin’ to head back there today.”
He hadn’t said anything else, but Nathair was no idiot. He wondered exactly how much teasing he could get away with on this trip before Cicilia slapped him in the face.
So now he stood awaiting her, Aibreann and Ailill tethered next to him, ready for a long journey. And here she came, dressed surprisingly properly.
An’ she may nae be me type, but it is nae so hard to see what Sandy does when she’s dressed up like this.
There was no straw nor muck on her, though that made sense. Cicilia would obviously have changed out of her work clothes after chores were done.
Now she wore a full gown that flared at the waist, with a white laced-up bodice and a thistle-purple skirt. Her bonnet was purple, too, except for the green ribbon tied around its middle. The whole ensemble sat very nicely with the color of her hair—why, anyone could have mistaken her for a proper little lady.
As such, Nathair thought it only right to bow when she approached, only a trifle overdramatically. “Madame,” he greeted in a silly attempt at a French accent. “I am to be yer escort this fine morn’.”
She looked confused for a moment, then her eyes crinkled in amusement. “Aye?” she asked. “Is that so? Well, now, how fancy, a farm lass such as me wi’ a fancy Frenchman to escort me! I’m honored.”
He grinned as he helped her up on her horse, delighted that she was playing along. “As ye should be,” he said, while she mounted Aibreann.
Nathair himself got on Ailill’s back, and they began their journey, continuing to joke and make small talk as they went.
It may nae be what we were expectin’ in comin’ here, but some time wi’ such a pleasant lass may finally do poor Sandy some good.
“…an’ not a penny more,” Cicilia said firmly, feeling Nathair’s gaze from where he stood a few feet behind her. She couldn’t see the Man-at-arms’s face, but she knew he was grinning.
“Off wi’ ye, ye crazy woman,” the pig seller huffed, folding his arms. “I’m already sellin’ ye me sows an’ a boar at near a loss. This weaner is gonnae grow to be a prize hog, I’m tellin’ ye.”
“Grand,” Cicilia said pleasantly. “An’ he’ll grow to be such on me farm, for the price I offered, or ye can keep yer sows an’ breedin’ boar, too.”
The pig seller narrowed his eyes. “I can sell to anyone, ye ken, lass. I dinnae need yer custom.”
Cicilia snorted. “Aye? An’ ye dinnae want to be kent as the prime supplier to the O’Donnels, is that it? That’s just fine, there are other sellers.” Pausing for effect, she turned on her heel. “Nathair, he doesn’ae want to sell to me. Let’s go find another.”
She took a few steps towards her escort but stopped almost immediately as the pig seller called, “Och, wait. Hald yer horses, lass.”
Cicilia turned back to him and smiled pleasantly. “Nay, sir. Nae me horses. Me pigs.”
A little more banter and the deal was done, three sows and a boar alongside the piglet who would be the twins’ new pet. They would join the four goats and six sheep that Cicilia had already bargained for, on the transport home from the farmer’s market. By the time she and Nathair returned to the farmhouse later that evening, the animals should already have arrived.
She handed over the money and then said her courteous farewells before returning to Nathair’s side. “Well,” she said, her cheeks flushed with the happiness that always came with a good bargaining session, “That was more productive than I could have hoped. I’ve even got some o’ Alexander’s money left. An’ he thought I needed help bargainin’!”
Cicilia frowned at this but didn’t comment, taking Nathair’s offered arm and allowing him to lead her through the crowd. They would eat together at a small serving house, they’d decided, before returning later in the day.
She could feel the lion-like man’s amber eyes focused on her, along with a knowing smirk.
“An’ since when,” Nathair asked pleasantly, “Has he been Alexander? Nae ‘Laird’ anymore?”
Dinnae ye tease me, Leòmhann. Though frankly, ye’re more of a Sionnach, a cunning fox, rather than a charging lion.
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