The Parchment Scroll by C. A. Szarek Page A

avoided the blasted painting that hung in the corner by the fireplace. Every time he’d taken it down, someone—probably his Aunt Mab—had returned it to the spot it’d been in since he’d gotten married eleven years before.
    As if he needed assistance with his guilt.
    Juliette stirring washed the dismal memories from his head—thank Jesus.
    She moaned as she stretched, arching her back, and Hugh stilled, unable to rip his gaze away. She was temptation alive and he fought a shudder and the heat that settled in his groin.
    “Lass, ye—”
    Her beautiful green eyes flew open and she froze. “Oh my God.”
    Hugh quirked an eyebrow.
    She shook her head. “Dammit.”
    “Somethin’ wrong?” He propped himself on one elbow, looking down at her and restrained himself from doing more than looking.
    Juliette’s cheeks were flushed pink, and her body was sleep-warmed. Hugh wanted to reach for her. Touch her.
    Then take her.
    “Everything is wrong. I am here. It wasn’t some horrible nightmare.” She snorted and sat up, scooting away from him. “Odd, that I’d wish for a nightmare, but I’d rather have night terrors than be here.”
    Hugh frowned and stroked her cheek, he couldn’t help it. “Am I so bad?”
    She leaned away, her familiar glare back in place. “Yes.”
    He didn’t know whether to admire her resolve or let the insult inching up from his gut take over. “Weeeel, I am glad ta wake and find ye in my bed.”
    Juliette narrowed her eyes. “I told you I wouldn’t run away. You just have to come through with your end of the bargain.”
    “I’m a man of my word.”
    She studied him, saying nothing. The golden waves of her hair kissed her shoulders, disheveled from sleep.
    His fingers itched to smooth them, and taste her lush lips again. Perhaps she’d even kiss him back like last night.
    “Don’t look at me like that,” Juliette snapped.
    Hugh startled, forcing a breath and reclining into his carved headboard. The bite of wood at his shoulders was refreshing. His cock twitched and he was glad for the blankets still covering him.
    Aye, I am insulted.
    No lass he’d ever pursued had refused his advances.
    Was that why he was so intrigued with this one?
    He pushed off the wood behind him and shot to his knees, leaning toward Juliette. Intentionally towering over her. Hugh blocked her in, resting his palms against the headboard.
    Instead of the fear he’d seen in that emerald gaze the night before, anger darted across her countenance. “Get away from me.”
    “Nay.” Hugh grinned. “Before I take ye to yer sister, ye will admit you wan’ me.”
    “No, I won’t.”
    “Ye doona’ want me, or ye willna admit it?”
    “I hate to break it to ya, dude. You’re far from God’s gift to women.”
    Her phrasing was odd, and he had no idea what dude meant, but the rest of her statement was clear. Hugh threw his head back and laughed. He’d assure her he’d never had complaints, but it would only rouse more ire. He liked her feisty, but he was enjoying her company. Wanted to talk to her more.
    Juliette shoved him backwards, both palms to his chest. She scooted from his bed before he could react, but Hugh threw his palms flat behind him and avoided falling on his arse—barely.
    “Get out of here so I can get dressed.” His foundling perched both hands on her shapely hips, but the sleeping gown still hid too much of her form.
    Not that Hugh had any trouble remembering her naked on the beach. More heat shot to his groin and he swallowed. He slid his legs over the side of his bed and stood, then stalked to her. “Nay. I am the laird, and these are my rooms. Ye willna put me ou’.”
    She frowned. “Fine. At least turn around.”
    “Why?” Hugh smiled.
    Juliette huffed and turned away, grabbing a tunic—not a more feminine leine—Mab must’ve left for her. Instead of skirts, there was a pair of folded trews beneath them.
    Why would his aunt get her lad’s clothing?
    There were skirts and