moment. But the mental image that came to mind made her quickly discard such a suggestion, for if he gave her a leg up, he would be looking directly up her skirts.
"I fear I'll have to conjure up another plan," she said.
"There is only one alternative: I must lend you my plaid," he countered, and suddenly he was loosening his belt. She backed up a pace, but in an instant he'd partially unwound the woolen from his waist and stepped toward her.
"That is quite unnecessary," she said, but he slipped the end of the woolen behind her back and to his opposite hand, drawing her closer. She could feel the warmth of his body. The light mist that fell only seemed to intensify his heat. She should draw back and flee, but something kept her where she was, though she found it difficult to breathe.
"This is truly beyond the demands of chivalry," she murmured.
"On the contrary. Tis naught but the gentlemanly thing to do," he countered.
Their lips were inches apart. He smelled of fine wine and leather, and his voice, when he spoke, seemed to rasp against her nerve endings, like the lick of a tongue against her earlobe. What would it be like to kiss this man? Of course, she shouldn't, Shona thought. Her father wouldn't approve. But then, the Rogue had gone through a great deal of planning and expense to find her a suitable husband. And a suitable husband was one she could be happy with. And surely she couldn't be happy with someone she didn't enjoy kissing. So what better way to decide on a spouse than by kissing him? After all, this was the sixteenth century, a new era. It was practically her duty to kiss him.
Father would probably thank her.
Shona parted her lips, ready for the caress. One harmless kiss, stolen in the dark. He moved nearer, pulling her closer with his plaid.
His lips grazed her cheek. A shiver ran through her; against her breast, Dragonheart felt inordinately heavy. Dugald's breath was warm on her skin, and when his gaze slipped to the high, exposed portion of her breasts, she could feel his heat with tangible intensity.
She waited for their lips to meet, but instead, he lifted one hand and trailed his finger, feather soft, along her collarbone to the hollow at the base of her throat. Once there, he pressed two fingers to her pulse and caught her gaze. The blood beat slowly against his fingertips, and her lungs felt strangely heavy as every nerve waited for their kiss.
He leaned closer still. His arm brushed her breast, and she held her breath in silent anticipation.
"Lass," he murmured, his lips mere inches from hers. "You should be more careful who you accompany to the stable. Such beauty as yours might turn any man to lunacy."
For a moment Shona was caught in the sensual rasp of his voice, the lingering caress of his fingers, but suddenly his words penetrated her fuzzy thinking. Her stomach pitched, and her toes curled in her velvet slippers. She jerked sharply back, stretching the woolen between them. "Ye were there!" she gasped. "Ye saw the whole thing."
The left corner of his lips lifted the slightest fraction of an inch. "Tis not true," he countered.
"Twas dark and I did not have a very favorable position hidden as I was between the stalls. Though I must admit your dialogue kept me quite well apprised as to your goings on."
"Ye were spying on me!" Righteous anger steamed up in her like an onerous volcano. Yanking the plaid from his hands, she scrunched it up in front of her. "Ye heard it all and ye didna come to my rescue!"
"Your rescue?" He sounded genuinely surprised. "And why would I be doing that, lass? As I see it, twas poor Halwart who needed the rescuing. After all, twas he who ended up with his pride bruised and his jewels jammed up between his shoulder blades."
"Ye are a knave!" she exclaimed.
"And a moment ago I was beyond chivalrous. Tis the thanks I get for baring my own nether parts—offering you my own plaid to cover—"
She ground her teeth and tossed the woolen at him. "I wouldn't
"I fear I'll have to conjure up another plan," she said.
"There is only one alternative: I must lend you my plaid," he countered, and suddenly he was loosening his belt. She backed up a pace, but in an instant he'd partially unwound the woolen from his waist and stepped toward her.
"That is quite unnecessary," she said, but he slipped the end of the woolen behind her back and to his opposite hand, drawing her closer. She could feel the warmth of his body. The light mist that fell only seemed to intensify his heat. She should draw back and flee, but something kept her where she was, though she found it difficult to breathe.
"This is truly beyond the demands of chivalry," she murmured.
"On the contrary. Tis naught but the gentlemanly thing to do," he countered.
Their lips were inches apart. He smelled of fine wine and leather, and his voice, when he spoke, seemed to rasp against her nerve endings, like the lick of a tongue against her earlobe. What would it be like to kiss this man? Of course, she shouldn't, Shona thought. Her father wouldn't approve. But then, the Rogue had gone through a great deal of planning and expense to find her a suitable husband. And a suitable husband was one she could be happy with. And surely she couldn't be happy with someone she didn't enjoy kissing. So what better way to decide on a spouse than by kissing him? After all, this was the sixteenth century, a new era. It was practically her duty to kiss him.
Father would probably thank her.
Shona parted her lips, ready for the caress. One harmless kiss, stolen in the dark. He moved nearer, pulling her closer with his plaid.
His lips grazed her cheek. A shiver ran through her; against her breast, Dragonheart felt inordinately heavy. Dugald's breath was warm on her skin, and when his gaze slipped to the high, exposed portion of her breasts, she could feel his heat with tangible intensity.
She waited for their lips to meet, but instead, he lifted one hand and trailed his finger, feather soft, along her collarbone to the hollow at the base of her throat. Once there, he pressed two fingers to her pulse and caught her gaze. The blood beat slowly against his fingertips, and her lungs felt strangely heavy as every nerve waited for their kiss.
He leaned closer still. His arm brushed her breast, and she held her breath in silent anticipation.
"Lass," he murmured, his lips mere inches from hers. "You should be more careful who you accompany to the stable. Such beauty as yours might turn any man to lunacy."
For a moment Shona was caught in the sensual rasp of his voice, the lingering caress of his fingers, but suddenly his words penetrated her fuzzy thinking. Her stomach pitched, and her toes curled in her velvet slippers. She jerked sharply back, stretching the woolen between them. "Ye were there!" she gasped. "Ye saw the whole thing."
The left corner of his lips lifted the slightest fraction of an inch. "Tis not true," he countered.
"Twas dark and I did not have a very favorable position hidden as I was between the stalls. Though I must admit your dialogue kept me quite well apprised as to your goings on."
"Ye were spying on me!" Righteous anger steamed up in her like an onerous volcano. Yanking the plaid from his hands, she scrunched it up in front of her. "Ye heard it all and ye didna come to my rescue!"
"Your rescue?" He sounded genuinely surprised. "And why would I be doing that, lass? As I see it, twas poor Halwart who needed the rescuing. After all, twas he who ended up with his pride bruised and his jewels jammed up between his shoulder blades."
"Ye are a knave!" she exclaimed.
"And a moment ago I was beyond chivalrous. Tis the thanks I get for baring my own nether parts—offering you my own plaid to cover—"
She ground her teeth and tossed the woolen at him. "I wouldn't
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