Pride of the Clan by Anna Markland Page B

it if only for the view of the entry from the cleverly designed landing that spanned the space between the two chambers. Margaret had kept up with him without complaint, though she clung to him now. “Ye must be exhausted,” he said, sheathing the weapon. “Right or left?”
    She stared at him as if he’d spoken in Greek. “What?”
    He gathered her more tightly into his embrace, realizing she was trembling. He supposed the events of the last hours were taking their toll. “The chambers. Right or left? They’re both the same as I recall.”
    “I—canna—move,” she stammered. “Heights.”
    He was tempted to chuckle, but the color had drained from her face, and she looked truly terrified. He scooped her up. “Have no fear, Sir Rheade is here,” he quipped. “He will carry the fair lady to her chamber.”
    She nestled into him, her arms clamped around his neck. He chose the chamber on the left and kicked open the door, discovering one thing he hadn’t paid attention to during the search. There was one small bed. He sat her down on the edge of it. “I forgot there is only one bed. I’ll stay in the other room.”
    “No, please dinna leave me,” she begged, clinging to his arm. “I trust ye to be a gentleman.”
    Despite her conviction, he wasn’t confident of keeping his hands to himself if they shared a bed. He sat down beside her. “Margaret, I’m a man. Men have urges.”
    She put a hand on his thigh. “I had three brothers,” she said. “I’m aware of men’s urges.”
    While it might be true in theory, he suspected she’d fly back down the steps, fear of heights or no, if she caught sight of the rock hard flesh between his legs that had sprung to life at her touch. He took her hand off his thigh lest the desire it sparked consume him completely. “That’s as maybe,” he rasped, “but I am drawn to ye.”
    She cuddled into him, lacing her fingers with his. “I’m drawn to ye too,” she whispered.
    He craved her, but they were both exhausted. “Let’s eat a wee morsel, then sleep for a while. Afterwards we can explore the castle.”
    They shared a heel of brown bread and a chunk of cheese. Margaret was at first reluctant to accept the flask of whiskey, but when he pointed out there was naught else to drink, she took a swig and grimaced. He drank a long swallow, laughing at the sour expression on her face.
    “I’m guessing ye dinna drink much whisky,” he teased.
    She stifled a yawn and curled up on the bed. “Cuddle me,” she murmured.
    Intense as his desire for her was, cuddling was what she needed. He spooned his body around hers and drew the extra plaids over them.
    She fell asleep almost instantly. It took over an hour to calm his greedy body, but finally he dozed.
    ~~~
    Margaret blinked open her eyes, but for only a split second. The chamber was bathed in blinding light. The sun must be well up.  
    Sun?
    She did feel overly warm, perhaps because of the copious amounts of plaids under which she lay. She moved to push them away. An arm tightened around her waist.  
    Someone else was in the bed.
    She froze, her heart beating wildly, until she remembered.  
    Rheade .
    The incredible recent events flooded back in a confusing torrent, but Rheade’s presence throughout kept her afloat.
    He let out a long, slow breath, and she savored the warmth of it on her nape. Had he awakened? Did he regret helping her?
    “Good morning,” he rumbled. “Or should I say Good afternoon .”
    She snuggled into him, feeling the heat of his body on her back. How wonderful it would be to wake up in this man’s arms every day. He desired her. She’d heard her brothers boast often enough of what happened to their male parts when they wanted a woman. However, Braden had also told her men usually woke aroused. Was it the explanation for the hard bulge pressed against her bottom? She’d grown up with brothers who’d always treated her as one of their gang, but there was much about men she didn’t