The Laird's Willful Lass (The Likely Lairds Book 1)

by Anna Campbell

  “Be careful or you’ll fall,” he said in a low voice.

  Marina had a grim feeling that was true. If she stayed any longer at Achnasheen, she would indeed fall.

  * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  * * *

  Fergus approached dinner with the bleak certainty that this was the last night Marina would spend under his roof. He cursed himself as a numskull for taunting her to the point where she decided she must go. Especially as for one dazzling instant when she kissed him, he’d wondered if she meant to give him everything he asked for.

  After he’d dragged her to safety, all he’d wanted to do was cherish her, and hold her tight, and give thanks for her survival. He was never going to let her do anything dangerous again as long as she lived.

  But he soon admitted that was unfair. Daring and curiosity were part of who she was. No wonder he was at sea with his intriguing guest. He was used to women who sheltered in his strength. Marina met his strength with strength of her own.

  Devil if he knew how to handle her. He made blunder after blunder. Orders only made her rebel. So far, while he’d been lucky enough to coax a couple of kisses out of her, his attempts at seduction had fallen flat.

  Be damned if he’d let her go.

  Be damned if he knew how to make her stay.

  It was Ugolino’s first night downstairs. Fergus’s clansmen Jock and Ian had carried the older man down in a chair, and now he sat with his broken leg propped up on a stool. He was in good form, full of jokes, outlandish tales and bonhomie.

  While the man’s chatter flowed around him, Fergus couldn’t take his eyes off Marina. Although the night wasn’t cold, she wore the purple dress with the Elizabethan collar and long sleeves. He guessed she was trying to hide the evidence of her fall from her father. She hadn’t mentioned her brush with death. In fact, she’d been quiet all evening.

  For once, she hadn’t brought her sketchbook. The sketchbook crammed with pictures of the man she meant to forsake.

  Those drawings should give him hope. Not to mention the way she’d kissed him this afternoon. But she set her formidable will against him, and he didn’t underestimate what that meant for his success. He feared his pursuit of her was doomed.

  “Fergus?”

  Fergus realized Ugolino must have asked him a question. Marina wasn’t the only one distracted tonight. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “Santa pazienza, a man might as well talk to himself. I asked if today’s good weather was going to last. My daughter says the views on the estate are magnificent.”

  Fergus couldn’t refrain from casting Marina an incredulous glance. Unless she considered the sight of her host a magnificent view, she’d taken little advantage of the spectacular landscape.

  A flush rose on those dramatic cheekbones, as she avoided his eyes and went back to pushing a piece of parsnip around with her fork. He hid a grim smile and answered Ugolino. “Weather here is unpredictable, but most years, winter starts to move in toward the end of October.”

  If Marina meant to travel to Skye, she needed to leave soon, so she had time to complete—start—her commission for the duke. The mere thought of her leaving made Fergus’s gut twist into a painful knot of despair.

  She gave up all pretense of eating and set down her cutlery. “I wasn’t prepared for how beautiful the Highlands are.”

  “They’re even beautiful in dreich weather, although I suspect only a Scotsman would say so.” And tired of waiting for the ax to fall, Fergus went on. “If you stay until next month, you’ll see storms and rain, snow if you’re unlucky.”

  He provided her with the perfect opportunity to announce her departure. Instead she went back to staring at her half-full plate, leaving her father to respond. “What inconvenient guests we are, arriving with no definite plans to leave.”

  Marina had plans to leave, but again, to Fergus’s surprise, she didn’t speak. “I told ye, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

  “If ever you’re in Firenze, I hope you’ll let us return your hospitality.”

  Should he chase Marina back to Italy? Would she be any more receptive in Florence than she was at Achnasheen? Could some extravagant gesture tip her over from rejection to acceptance? He doubted it. She wasn’t a woman who played flirtatious games.

  Moodily, he studied her, and wished for the thousandth time that things had worked out differently between them. In the candlelight, she was all dark mystery. To a man denied her favors, that gown was a fiendish instrument of torture. It covered her so modestly, yet suggested so much.

  Fergus struggled not to stare at the lush bosom pushing against the deep purple silk. Once he’d been churlish enough to dismiss her curves as unimpressive. Now the thought of touching those elegant breasts made every drop of moisture evaporate from his mouth.

  Not that she was ever likely to grant him that privilege. He could go to Florence. He could go to Timbuctoo. He could go to bloody Jupiter. Her answer would still be no.

  What a tragic waste, that such a passionate creature should seal up her innate sensuality and devote herself to the altar of her art. When he’d accused her of being a Vestal Virgin, he hadn’t been far wrong.

  “No need to repay me.” He paused. “Unless Signorina Marina would give me a picture. That would be a grand reminder of our time together. Apart from a few inept watercolors my sisters did in the schoolroom, I have no paintings of Achnasheen.”

  Marina’s head jerked up, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Why would you want the facsimile when you have the reality?”

  Surprise struck him speechless, then his lips curved in a wolfish smile. Well, well. This was a direct challenge to what he’d said this afternoon, and her first sign of spirit tonight. “Sometimes in the winter, it’s nice to have a reminder of summer,” he said smoothly.

  He knew she’d pick up on his meaning. He waited for her to retreat back into pensive silence, but she shot him a sly look that set his blood rushing. “Memories of summer aren’t enough to keep you warm on a cold evening, Mackinnon.”

  “Without memories of summer, winter seems to last forever.”

  “Marina, after Fergus’s kindness, giving him a painting is the least you can do,” Ugolino said, taking the conversation on its literal terms.

  “Perhaps one of the pictures you’re working on now.”

  Fergus’s silky suggestion earned him a glare. He shouldn’t provoke her. It was as if he dared her to abandon him.

  “None of those are worth keeping,” she said with a hint of a snap.

  His headstrong lassie wasn’t short on effrontery. When Fergus couldn’t contain an appreciative laugh, Ugolino sent him a curious glance.

  * * *

  Ugolino retired as soon as dinner was over. Fergus could see that despite the Italian’s high spirits, the effort of sitting at a table tired him out. Marina rose when Jock and Ian arrived to carry her father upstairs.

  “Don’t let me spoil your evening,” Ugolino said, unable to hide his disappointment at not making a better showing. “It’s still early. Marina, perhaps you could play the piano for our host.”

  Fergus cast her a surprised glance. “You play?”

  “And sing. She inherited her musical talent from her dear mother. Do you have an instrument, Fergus?”

  “Aye, my sisters learned. It hasnae been touched in years, though. It must be devilish out of tune.”

  “Like my singing,” Marina said.

  “I’m sure you’re too modest.”

  Fergus wasn’t just talking about her musical abilities. If she’d been a brazen wench, he wouldn’t be suffering the torments of the damned. On the other hand, the merry chase she led him added to her fascination.

  “If not music, perhaps cards?” Ugolino suggested. “Dio, there are a hundred things you could do.”

  There were indeed. Fergus had dreamed of every single one of them, before he woke up alone and empty-handed in his tower.

  He waited for Marina
to demur and say she had an early start. Or perhaps offer to go up and read to her father. She was a devoted daughter. Whenever he was inclined to condemn her as unwomanly—most of the time, because she wasn’t womanly enough to tumble into his arms for the mere asking—he recalled her care for Ugolino.

  She shot him an unreadable glance, then kissed her father’s cheek. “Very well, Papa. To keep you happy, we’ll stay down here, burning the midnight oil.”

  “Eccellente!”

  Once Ugolino had gone, Fergus waited for Marina to tell him what she was up to. Perhaps she saved the news of her departure for when they were alone. He struggled to come up with some reason to keep her at Achnasheen, but he had nothing new to say.

  I want you. I hunger for you. Please don ’t leave me.

  None were likely to persuade her. What astonished him was how close he verged to kicking his pride aside and saying them anyway.

  “Are you going to play for me?” He struggled to pretend that having her near but forbidden didn’t push him to the edge of madness.

  “Would you like me to?”

  With a sigh, he ran his hand through his hair. “Ye ken what I want.”

  He waited for some dismissive response, but the eyes she leveled on him seemed to weigh his soul in the balance. That was new, too. None of his earlier affairs had touched on anything more profound than carnal pleasure.

  “I do.”

  “I suppose you’re about to say you’re leaving,” he said flatly.

  To his surprise, she laughed. “Have courage, Mackinnon. Faint heart never won fair lady.”

  Taken aback, he straightened and gave her a direct look. “What in Hades…”

  “It’s a lovely evening.” Her smile broadened. “A thoughtful host might invite a guest for a walk.”

  “Marina?” he asked wonderingly, then to his utter astonishment, she stepped forward to curl her fingers around his arm. His heart performed a triple somersault, then crashed hard against his ribs.

  “I’d like to see the loch by moonlight.”

  It was absurd, but Fergus had difficulty breathing. Some vestige of honor made him dredge up a warning. “If I get you alone in the moonlight, lassie, you willnae be wasting time admiring the view.”

  “That’s a pity,” she said with patent insincerity. “If the view doesn’t hold my attention, how else can I pass the time?”

  “You wee…” He bit off the rest of what he meant to say because Kirsty came in to clear the table.

  Marina pulled away from him, leaving his skin tingling with the memory of her touch. “I have it on good authority that the fine weather won’t last much longer,” she said airily.

  “Aye, winter can be cruel,” he responded, paying little attention to what he said.

  Kirsty’s surreptitious glance toward them held a hint of smug approval. The unwelcome insight hit Fergus, that he hadn’t hidden his hankering after his lovely guest as well as he’d intended.

  “Then a short stroll will be perfect.” Marina paused. “One must seize happiness when one can.”

  Fergus hardly dared to hope that this meant what he thought it did. After all, Marina could just be talking about a walk in the night air. His heart thumping with anticipation—even as he told himself to calm down, he could be reading too much into this—he gestured toward the door. “ Signorina?”

  “With pleasure.” When he extended his arm, she slipped her fingers into the crook of his elbow. Was he a fool to find cause for optimism in this sudden willingness to touch him? She had him in such a spin, he hardly knew where to look. Was she merely thankful because he’d saved her life? Hell, he couldn’t bear it if gratitude was the reason behind this thaw in her manner.

  As they left the dining room and entered the hall, cavernous in the flickering candlelight, he could swear he heard muffled giggling behind him. The women in Achnasheen were getting above themselves. It was time he restored order. Marina Lucchetti was providing a bad example.

  “You’re smiling,” Marina said curiously.

  “Aye.” Despite his confusion and turmoil, he was. “I’m thinking that the lassies here are losing all proper respect for masculine authority.”

  As they approached the castle doors, she cast him a taunting glance. “Well, one lassie is anyway.”

  Before he could contest that intriguing remark, Jock appeared out of the shadows to open the doors for them. Was a man never to find a minute’s bloody privacy in this great barn of a house?

  “Thank you, Jock,” Marina said, as she and Fergus passed through into the courtyard.

  Fergus placed his hand over hers, where it curved around his arm. “Are you cold?”

  “No,” she murmured.

  They went under the portcullis to emerge into a landscape touched with silvery magic. Or perhaps the magic stemmed from the woman beside him. A gasp of wonder escaped her. Her artist’s soul would respond to this beauty.

  In silence, Fergus and Marina strolled down to the loch, where the moon laid a shining path toward the black mountains rising in the distance. Apart from the soft lap of water on the bank and the hoot of an owl as it flew high above them, the night was quiet.

  He wanted to badger Marina with questions and entreaties and demands, but something about the view’s grandeur stopped him speaking.

  They paused on the grassy bank and looked up at the moon. Then Marina turned and smiled. The moonlight played games with his perception. He couldn’t be sure he read surrender in her eyes, or whether it was just more bloody wishful thinking.

  “You saved my life today,” she said, to his regret releasing his arm.

  Fergus shuddered to think what might have happened on that hillside. His belly still shrank into a painful knot when he remembered seeing her teetering on that cliff face, inches from death.

  Characteristically he sought refuge from turbulent emotion in humor. “You may drive me to distraction, lassie, but I’d rather have ye with me than lying at the bottom of a mountain.”

  Her expression turned serious. “When one balances on a few inches of crumbling ledge, one’s mind becomes surprisingly clear.”

  It would be so easy to take this as an invitation and rush in. He’d learned over the last days to wait until he was certain. “Aye?”

  “Thoughts of snatching opportunities, and how risks can lead to rewards.”

  Now, this sounded promising. Very promising indeed.

  He spread his hands. “Marina, my darling, if you’ve changed your mind about an affair, ye need to tell me straight out. I can’t risk any more mistakes with you. My heart won’t bear it.”

  Impatience firmed her lips. “Must I say it?”

  “For God’s sake, if you want me, say so.” His voice roughened as agonizing hope lodged like a jagged rock in his throat.

  Her dark eyes settled on his face. “I want you, Mackinnon.”

  He didn’t take her in his arms, although the effort of holding back almost killed him. “And that means?”

  Her lips curved in a beguiling smile. “It means you’ve won yourself a mistress, my braw Highland laddie.”

  “Marina…” he said, surging forward until to his astonishment, she placed a hand on his chest. “Not here.”

  “What the devil?”

  Surely to God she wasn’t still teasing him. Not now. Not after what she’d just said.

  She tipped her head toward the castle gate. “We’ve got an audience.”

  Fergus glanced back and saw a huddle of figures in the shadows. Jock’s bulk was unmistakable, and he guessed Kirsty and Jenny were there, too.

  “Hell, you’re right.” He caught her hand in a forceful grip. “Would you like to see the view from the point?”

  Her low laugh ripped through him like fire. “More than I can say.”

  “Then come with me. And don’t dawdle, mo chridhe.”

  * * *

  With a speed that left her breathless, Fergus whisked Marina out of direct view of the castle. Or perhaps that was excitemen
t and anticipation—and still a few nerves about what she’d agreed to. No matter that she told herself she’d cast her bonnet over a windmill, and it was too late for second thoughts.

  He drew her into the shadows under a stand of Scots pines and glanced over his shoulder. “No watching eyes.”

  Warmth filled her. She was right to trust him with her reputation.

  “Kiss me, Fergus,” she said, no longer trying to conceal her yearning, a yearning that had eaten her alive for days. Today’s interrupted kiss had only stoked her hunger. “Kiss me before I die of wanting you.”

  “Oh, my lovely lassie…” he said in a vibrant tone, as he drew her gently into his arms.

  Marina had expected him to overwhelm her with passion. She didn’t know what to do with this tenderness. It sought out the vulnerable spots in her soul that even now she fought to keep free of him.

  This was the start of a short affair, not a lifelong commitment. When the liaison ended, she wanted to leave with a smile and a treasure chest of glorious memories. She didn’t want to take away a broken heart as well.

  His lips met hers and swift pleasure chased away her last misgivings. She sighed in surrender and curved into him, twining her arms around his neck and opening her mouth to his ardent exploration.

  Perhaps because she no longer held back, the kiss was extraordinary, moving from sweetness to demand in a flash. His hands ran down her back to cup her buttocks through her gown and bring her hard against his body. She gave a hungry whimper when she met his arousal, a blatant weight against the soft flesh of her stomach.

  With a groan, he eased away. “Tomorrow can’t come soon enough. Although if we didn’t have an audience, I’d carry you away now and have my wicked way with ye.”

  She touched his cheek. More care for her, although a reckless corner of her soul wanted to forget propriety and tell him to take her now. “It will seem like forever.”

  “I promised to honor your good name. Trust me.”

  “I do,” she said, surprised that she spoke without a scrap of doubt. As a woman making her way in a man’s world, she’d learned to place her faith in few people. But Fergus was a man of honor. It was one of the qualities she most admired about him. That, and how he looked in a kilt.