Taken by the Laird by Margo Maguire

oven. She was so intent upon her goal, she ran straight into Laird Glenloch, who suddenly stepped out of a doorway in her path.
    “Miss MacLaren,” he said, catching her shoulders to help her regain her balance. His eyes were dark and sensual, his faint smile reminding her of the scandalous interlude that passed between them last night.
    He was darkly handsome in his simple country attire, all tweed and leather, with the scent of his shaving soap about him. He looked seasoned beyond his years, his features angular, marred only by the crescent-shaped scar high on his cheek. His physique was utterly male, and Brianna was hard-pressed to forget the power of his touch and the deep desire he had kindled within her.
    She moistened her lips and took a deep breath of resolution, aware that the forbidden sensations he rousedin her could come to naught. “Good morning, Laird Glenloch.”
    His fingers drifted from her shoulders down to the middle of her back. “Are you hungry?”
    Brianna swallowed and tried to speak lightly. “Yes. Quite.”
    “I am very glad to hear it,” he said, his voice low and dangerous to her peace of mind. His head dipped, and he caught her lips with his own.
    Brianna drew back. “Laird…” she said breathlessly. “ ’Tis unseemly t-to…”
    “To act upon our attraction to each other?” He pulled her closer and feathered kisses down the side of her jaw to her throat, and Brianna forced herself to deny the sizzle of arousal that burned deep within her feminine core.
    “Please,” she said. “We cannot.”
    A door opened and an older woman with fading red hair came through it, carrying a tray. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Laird,” she said, pushing past them as though barely noticing their presence.
    The laird released Brianna and followed the woman into a dining chamber. He turned and held out a hand to her. “Join me for breakfast, will you, Miss MacLaren?”
    “No, Laird. Just a small bite in the kitchen will suffice.”
    “No—I insist.”
    Brianna clasped her hands at her waist, aware that she would touch him at her own peril. Her senses were humming with too much awareness of the man, yet he seemed barely affected, indicating that Brianna shouldgo ahead, then following her through the door as though naught had just passed between them.
    “Mrs. Ramsay, this is Miss Bridget MacLaren, who will be staying with us until the weather clears.”
    “Aye, Laird,” the woman replied, her slight hesitation the only indication that she might remember Brianna from the one time she had visited Castle Glenloch with Claire several years before. But then Mrs. Ramsay gave a slight bob of her knees and the moment passed. “Let me know if there is aught ye need, miss.”
    Brianna blushed deeply, aware that Mrs. Ramsay had witnessed the kiss in the hall. She must think her a strumpet.
    Laird Glenloch gestured for Brianna to enter the dining chamber ahead of him. Feeling flustered and ill at ease, she did so, and found two places set at one end of a long, polished table. She was determined to ignore her qualms about continued contact with him, and the poor opinion of his housekeeper. Bree was nothing if not practical, and knew she would need sustenance for her continued journey. And once she left, she would never see the Ramsay woman again. Whatever she might think hardly mattered.
    Brianna took a seat and waited for Glenloch to take his own. He did so, and handed her the platter laden with kippers, eggs, and thickly buttered toast.
    “ ’Tis too wet to travel today,” said the laird.
    “And cold as a stone,” said the housekeeper as she returned with a pot of tea, which she poured into each of their cups. When it was done, she left them alone in the dining room.
    Perhaps Lord Stamford would not be traveling in such bitter weather. Brianna’s guardian was not one to sacrifice his comfort for any reason, but she knew he was quite anxious to accomplish the marriage he’d orchestrated. She tried to