Possessed by the Highlander. Terri Brisbin
Mara tugged the horse to stop and he walked over to help her down. Her waist was slight in his hands, narrower than her clothing gave the appearance it would be. He guided her to her feet and would have let go, but she stumbled and he grabbed her to keep her from falling. This time, his hands did not land on her waist, but higher, where he could feel the fullness of her breasts.
Breasts she hid from the rest.
Breasts that would fill his hands, if he but moved them a wee bit higher.
His body shivered then and he grew hard at the feel of her womanly curves in his grasp. Mara stilled in his hold and he knew that she felt the growing hardness positioned between them. In that instant, an awareness of her as a woman took hold of him that shocked him in its simplicity. He’d been intrigued by her, amused by and interested in many things about her. But, now, on a more visceral, more primitive level, he was aroused by her.
It may have only been a moment, but it stretched on for a piece of forever, broken only when the girl’s voice called his name. Releasing her from his hold, Duncan stepped away from Mara and turned to her daughter.
“Mama, look what Sir Duncan gave me!” Ciara squealed. Holding her hand out, she showed her mother the horse that Tavis had carved at his request.
“What is this?” Marian asked. Her gaze met his and he saw a myriad of questions in it. Then she took the horse from Ciara and examined it.
The sight of her fingers following the smooth curves of the wood sent alternating waves of heat and ice through his body now, which seemed to recognize the pleasure that would be gained if such a caress slid over it instead of the wood. Duncan inhaled sharply trying to break the growing spell that surrounded him now.
“One of my men makes them for his wee sisters and brothers. I thought Ciara might like one,” he offered.
“You are kind, sir, but we cannot accept this.”
Her eyes hardened in that moment and she shook her head. Ciara gasped and then reached out for the toy.
“Mama!” she cried. “Please!”
He tried to figure out what had happened and how this innocent gesture had gone wrong. Then the truth struck him. A gift given to a woman who lived without the protection of a man meant one thing.
“It is only a small toy for the child, Mara. I meant no disrespect by it,” he explained in a low voice. He neither wished to make the situation worse, nor did he wish to undermine her authority in her daughter’s eyes.
Mara looked at her daughter for a moment and relented. She handed the toy back to Ciara and motioned with a tilt of her head.
“Thank you, Sir Duncan!” Ciara chirped. “Thank you!”
Before he could answer, Mara interrupted. “Ciara, take the horse in and let it meet your other toys.”
Ciara laughed aloud and left them both, as she skipped back to the cottage and her other toys, intent on introducing a new plaything to the existing ones. He watched her path for a few seconds before turning back to face her mother.
After the physical reaction his body had shown to her nearness, Duncan suspected that his gift had not been all that respectful. Not the carved toy, but the chance to ride his horse.
He’d read her desire to ride free of his presence and even that of her daughter in her face whenever she glanced at his horse. It was like seeing a secret past flitting over her features, moments and memories of pleasure and happiness now held deep inside and only let loose when she thought no one saw or recognized them.
But he had.
His years of reading expressions during negotiations and interpreting them, ascertaining weaknesses and strengths, had not stopped simply because she was a woman and not involved in the meetings. He’d seen the desire and the aching want there on her face, in her eyes, and allowing her that short pleasure seemed an easy thing.
But his body had interpreted the basic, raw part of the offer and she had, too. In spite of his inability to see it, both gifts came with an expectation. He should apologize. ‘Twas the right thing to do. But the awareness between them made it difficult to deny its existence.
“Mara,” he began, but she stopped him with a shake of her head.
“Sir Duncan,” she said quietly, “let me be candid with you. I returned here with the laird’s permission and have tried to lead a circumspect life with my daughter.”
He thought her choice of words strange, especially since she sounded much more educated than a poor widow living on the laird’s beneficence. But he waited for more.
“You are an honored guest of the laird’s and I would not offer insult or be inhospitable to you or in any way threaten the success of your work here, but…”
She glanced at him and then away, taking in and letting out a deep breath, as though fortifying herself for the rest of it. Still he waited.
“But your presence here and your attentions to me and my daughter, regardless of your intentions, can bring only problems to us all.”
Well, at least she’d allowed that his intentions might be simply innocent ones. Practicing the patience he was known for, Duncan let the silence go on, knowing she had more to say. It was her touch, her hand placed on his arm, that nearly undid his control.
“There can be nothing more between us, sir. If you seek only a fleeting amusement, there are others in the village who would gladly provide it to such a man as you.” She paused then for another breath. “And I know that you cannot seek more than that, for your duties to your clan and your laird will call for your return and you will be gone from these lands. And a woman like me has nothing to offer you.”
Part of him wanted to argue each point with her. He did not seek only amusements of the flesh. His actions did not ask for that. He would not simply engage her in something meaningless and then return to Lairig Dubh and she insulted him with such an accusation. However, his pride stung with the truth of her words and he took a moment to think a bit before speaking.
“I did not mean to insult you, mistress,” he began, as he stepped back and added some space between them. Her hand dropped from his arm, but the heat of the touch still pulsed through his skin. “In all candor, I did not think of the consequences of my visits to you or my gift to your daughter. Since I have no wish to cause trouble for either of you, I will not seek your company again.”
Duncan turned to leave, but she stopped him—again with her hand on his arm. Facing her, he now read fear in her expression. And he did not like it.
“Your pardon, sir, for my boldness. I did not mean to insult you or your kindness to my daughter,” Mara said, bowing her head in a gesture of submission that did not fit her and that he wanted not to ever see her perform.
He knew as she did, that she would not, indeed, could not refuse him any request he made. Duncan had the laird’s welcome and they both knew it extended to anything or anyone in the laird’s control. And that meant her. If he’d wanted her in his bed, naked and there for his pleasure, she would be there with the laird’s blessing.
That was one thing he would never do. One limitation he had set for himself early on in his experience. He did not use women for his comfort no matter that he could. Reaching over he lifted her chin with his fingers and waited for her to meet his gaze.
“You have nothing to fear from me, mistress. Truly. I take my leave of you and hope you will give my farewells to your daughter.”
He offered a slight bow and turned away then, even as so many unspoken words entered his thoughts. Some of them would explain his actions, some would simply muddy the waters between them now. Duncan listened as he walked to his horse and mounted it, hoping deep inside that she would call him back.
But she did not.
The pragmatic man within who’d never before been distracted from his duties understood and accepted her actions