pulse quickened in reaction, and he frowned against the ease with which she seemed able to stir his blood.
And this time the damnable shackle did little to still his untoward urges. But to his immense relief, the thought of Gavin being held somewhere within her castle walls did quell his ill-placed lust.
"Where are you holding Sir Gavin and how fares he?" he demanded, his tone gruffer than he'd intended.
She met his guaranteed-to-intimidate stare full on, her eyes blazing with a fine boldness of her own. "No ill has befallen your man. He is comfortable enough in a cell far more habitable than yours and will be sailed to his clan's isle of Colonsay as soon as-"
"As soon as what?" Donall mimicked. "As soon as you and your gray-bearded minions have seen me draw my last?"
At once, the annoyance vanished from her eyes and she paled visibly, flinching as if he'd struck her. "I understand why you are wroth with me," she said, a hint of guilt lacing her words and flickering across her beautiful face. "But you err in thinking I -"
"I err?" His brows shot upward. “`Tis you and your buffoons whose heads are stuffed with falsehoods and nonsense."
She began pacing the chamber, the hem of her black mourning gown swirling around her shapely ankles, her light, wildflower scent floating out to bedevil him anew each time she passed.
"Aye, sir, I do believe you speak the truth," she said suddenly, peering sharply at him. "The notions that fill my head and haunt my dreams do appear foolhardy at the moment. Unfortunately, I am loath to relinquish them."
Too flummoxed by her speech to do aught but gape at her, Donall waited.
She came to stand before him.
Dangerously close before him.
So close, another scent rose up from her, but this one offended his senses as foully as the pleasant wildflower fragrance roused him.
The remnants of the sharp-smelling potion she'd gulped, still clinging to her tongue .
A pungency so strong Donall forgot all else.
With lightning speed, he reached out and seized hold of her wrist. "I would know what manner of brew you imbibed."
She tried to jerk away but he clamped his fingers in an iron grip. Apparently unaware of the offensive smell clinging to her, she glared at him. "What I swallowed, sirrah, was a potion to ... to rid my complexion of freckles," she declared in a rush, her whole demeanor challenging him to doubt her.
"Truth tell?" Donall captured her chin in his free hand and turned her face toward the glow of the nearest cresset lamp. "I vow the mixture is potent indeed for I see nary a freckle to mar your fair skin."
"Then mayhap your eyesight is as lacking as your chivalry."
Donall tamped down a near irresistible urge to throw back his head and laugh. At her audacity as well as the lame pretext she'd so glibly tossed at him.
The woman was an inveterate liar.
The fair-skinned womenfolk in his household had tried every freckle-purging remedy known to man and not one had e'er smelled so abominably.
"Ah, I do believe I see one." Donall smoothed the side of his thumb over the curve of her cheek. "Aye, 'tis a great need you have of such an elixir."
"My needs are greater than you can know," she said, and a foul-reeking whiff of her breath caught him full in the face, even as the fleeting trace of vulnerability he'd glimpsed in her eyes caught him off guard and tugged at something deep inside him.
A disconcerting something he didn't care to identify or scrutinize.
A most unsettling something.
The laughter he'd been trying to suppress ever since she made her ludicrous pronouncements about freckle-banishing potions froze in his throat and he released her as if she'd scorched him.
With effort, he concentrated on the ramifications of his present predicament rather than how soft her cheek had felt beneath his thumb or how the smooth warmth of her wrist had seeped into his fingers, distracting him so thoroughly he near forgot who she was and why he stood, half-naked and fettered, in her
And this time the damnable shackle did little to still his untoward urges. But to his immense relief, the thought of Gavin being held somewhere within her castle walls did quell his ill-placed lust.
"Where are you holding Sir Gavin and how fares he?" he demanded, his tone gruffer than he'd intended.
She met his guaranteed-to-intimidate stare full on, her eyes blazing with a fine boldness of her own. "No ill has befallen your man. He is comfortable enough in a cell far more habitable than yours and will be sailed to his clan's isle of Colonsay as soon as-"
"As soon as what?" Donall mimicked. "As soon as you and your gray-bearded minions have seen me draw my last?"
At once, the annoyance vanished from her eyes and she paled visibly, flinching as if he'd struck her. "I understand why you are wroth with me," she said, a hint of guilt lacing her words and flickering across her beautiful face. "But you err in thinking I -"
"I err?" His brows shot upward. “`Tis you and your buffoons whose heads are stuffed with falsehoods and nonsense."
She began pacing the chamber, the hem of her black mourning gown swirling around her shapely ankles, her light, wildflower scent floating out to bedevil him anew each time she passed.
"Aye, sir, I do believe you speak the truth," she said suddenly, peering sharply at him. "The notions that fill my head and haunt my dreams do appear foolhardy at the moment. Unfortunately, I am loath to relinquish them."
Too flummoxed by her speech to do aught but gape at her, Donall waited.
She came to stand before him.
Dangerously close before him.
So close, another scent rose up from her, but this one offended his senses as foully as the pleasant wildflower fragrance roused him.
The remnants of the sharp-smelling potion she'd gulped, still clinging to her tongue .
A pungency so strong Donall forgot all else.
With lightning speed, he reached out and seized hold of her wrist. "I would know what manner of brew you imbibed."
She tried to jerk away but he clamped his fingers in an iron grip. Apparently unaware of the offensive smell clinging to her, she glared at him. "What I swallowed, sirrah, was a potion to ... to rid my complexion of freckles," she declared in a rush, her whole demeanor challenging him to doubt her.
"Truth tell?" Donall captured her chin in his free hand and turned her face toward the glow of the nearest cresset lamp. "I vow the mixture is potent indeed for I see nary a freckle to mar your fair skin."
"Then mayhap your eyesight is as lacking as your chivalry."
Donall tamped down a near irresistible urge to throw back his head and laugh. At her audacity as well as the lame pretext she'd so glibly tossed at him.
The woman was an inveterate liar.
The fair-skinned womenfolk in his household had tried every freckle-purging remedy known to man and not one had e'er smelled so abominably.
"Ah, I do believe I see one." Donall smoothed the side of his thumb over the curve of her cheek. "Aye, 'tis a great need you have of such an elixir."
"My needs are greater than you can know," she said, and a foul-reeking whiff of her breath caught him full in the face, even as the fleeting trace of vulnerability he'd glimpsed in her eyes caught him off guard and tugged at something deep inside him.
A disconcerting something he didn't care to identify or scrutinize.
A most unsettling something.
The laughter he'd been trying to suppress ever since she made her ludicrous pronouncements about freckle-banishing potions froze in his throat and he released her as if she'd scorched him.
With effort, he concentrated on the ramifications of his present predicament rather than how soft her cheek had felt beneath his thumb or how the smooth warmth of her wrist had seeped into his fingers, distracting him so thoroughly he near forgot who she was and why he stood, half-naked and fettered, in her
Similar Books
