Six

Lachlan gritted his teeth and tried to keep his eyes on Amber’s face as she wrapped the towel around herself and stepped back with a squeak, her cheeks blushing a fiery red. “What?”

“I said this is my chamber. I didn’t follow you.”

Her mouth opened and closed until finally she said, “Niall sent me here.”

“Well, he didn’t mean in here. This is my room. I left my saddlebags right over there.”

She looked in the direction he pointed. A dusty pack lay in the corner where he’d dropped it a few hours ago when he’d come up for a quick wash. He saw the comprehension dawn on her face, and she swallowed.

“I’m sorry. I looked through the rooms and this was the first one I found with a fire going and a…” She waved her arm in the direction of the screen and the tub behind as if she couldn’t say the word. “I didn’t see your bag.”

“Several rooms were prepared, including one for you.” Lachlan shifted his feet, conscious that his cock stuck straight out beneath his kilt, hard as an anvil. She couldn’t miss it.

When her eyes flitted down then quickly back up again, she pulled the bath linen around her more securely.

“God’s blood,” he swore softly and rubbed his hand over his forehead.

“I’ll leave,” she said as she stepped toward the door.

“You canna. I’ll leave.” He headed to the exit then darted back to the bed, and she let out a wee squeak. “I forgot my boots.” He grabbed them, and at the door, he hesitated, his back to her, his hand on the bar that he’d slid across when he came in. “Why didn’t you lock it?” he asked.

She cleared her throat. “I thought Finola or Niall might need to come in. I would have heard you but I…fell asleep.”

He noted her pause and wondered about it. He’d heard her yawn and didn’t for a second doubt she’d done just that, but why had she paused? Embarrassed, maybe.

“Amber?”

“Aye.” She sounded wary. She should be.

He didn’t know what made him say it, the wee devil in him, he supposed, or the built-up annoyance at all the orders she’d slung about earlier. Maybe the way she’d blackmailed him to lead her clan.

Or perhaps it was simply hope.

“Next time you show me your breasts, dearling, I’d like to see both of them, not just one.”

He darted out of the room before she could say anything and closed the door behind him. With a one-sided grin, he leaned back against it, listening for her response. Something hit the door from the inside, and his grin widened. His saddlebags, no doubt.

He bent down to tie his boots then straightened with a shake of his head and stared into space. He’d just seen Amber naked—and clean. Even if she hadn’t been smiling.

Good lord, she was beautiful. Round and lean all at once. He wandered toward the stairs, no longer sleepy in the slightest as the images of her walking toward him played in his mind. He came to a halt when he glanced at his protruding kilt and realized he couldn’t go down in such a state.

He’d just turned around and headed back down the passageway, intent on going to the laird’s solar, when he saw the door to his chamber open ahead of him, then silence.

After a moment, Amber whispered, “Lachlan.” The urgency in her tone had him hurrying forward. “Lachlan,” she whispered again, louder this time.

“I’m here. What is it?”

She ducked back into the room and spoke through the crack. “I doona have any clothes.”

“What?”

“You have to find them. Niall said he would put a clean arisaid on the bed for me and I was to place my dirty one outside the door. ’Tis gone, and the clean one isna here, obviously.”

Lachlan looked to the floor where he’d seen the pile of dirty clothes only minutes before. “’Twas here when I entered. I saw it.”

“Well, that doesn’t help me now, does it? Someone obviously picked it up after you intruded.”

“I did not intrude. I came into my chamber to find you had intruded.”

“Argue with me all you like, but if you doona find my clothes before someone finds me in here, naked as the day I was born, you’ll be saddled with a verra unhappy bride.”

Her words washed through him, and he suddenly found his straining cock retreating back to the safety of his body. Talk of a bride was the surest way to keep that part of him pliant.

“Aye, I thought you’d understand,” she said, reading the alarm on his face.

“Where would it be?” he asked.

“In one of the other chambers.”

“All right. Lock the door and doona open it for anyone but me.”

“Of course not! Do you think I’m addled?”

When the door shut and he heard the bar slide across, he hurried down the hall, checking each chamber in turn. The second one had a bath waiting and fire lit but no arisaid on the bed. He spotted Callum’s saddlebags in the corner, and went back into the hall to keep looking.

Finally, at the end of the passageway, he found another room with a fire, a tub full of water, and an arisaid and clean shift on the bed. After snatching up the clothes, he turned around and hurried back to his bedchamber. Before he reached it, however, Callum and Niall appeared at the top of the stairs.

He darted into an empty room across from Callum’s. His foster brother heard him, of course, and slowed, his hand on his sword. He raised a brow when he caught sight of Lachlan, who signed with his fingers what he wanted Callum to do.

“Will you show me the room, please?” Callum asked Niall. “I couldnae find a mug for the mead that was there. Maybe it fell down somewhere?”

“Oh, aye. I’d be happy to look for it, Laird MacLean.”

Niall preceded Callum into the room. Callum paused and shot Lachlan an enquiring look. Lachlan shook his head and stepped back into the hallway, not thinking to hide the arisaid he carried.

Callum saw it and his brows shot upward. “Amber?” he mouthed, barely even a whisper.

Lachlan tucked the incriminating dress under his plaid and frowned at his foster brother, refusing to answer. He hurried down the hallway to his chamber, followed by Callum’s chuckle.

Before alerting Amber he was back, he turned to see Callum had shut the door to his room. Good lad.

“Amber, open up,” he whispered as he knocked.

The door cracked open, and she peered at him. “God’s blood, it took you long enough.”

She widened the door just far enough so her bare arm could reach through. Her skin shone fair and clear in the candlelight, her arm lightly muscled with a sprinkling of orange-gold hair over it.

The sight was enough to send his pulse pounding again, and his cock thickened. When he passed over the arisaid, their fingers touched, lingered for just a moment. A spark flew between them, and he felt it all the way up his arm and into his groin.

From the way her eyes jumped to his, he’d wager she felt it too. Then she pulled back her hand with the dress and clean shift in it and shut the door. When he heard the bar slide across, he let out a long, slow, painful breath and rested his forehead on the wood. He stayed there for what seemed like hours, but was most likely a minute at most.

Steps sounded in the distance, coming up the stairs from the great hall, and he started. He heard a woman’s voice singing breathlessly and knew it was the housekeeper, Finola. By all that was holy, he’d be trapped in matrimony for sure if Amber was found in his room. And if any saw him standing at the door, with it locked from the inside, they’d know someone, most likely a woman, was in there.

As long as they didn’t see him, they’d assume he had locked it and didn’t want to be disturbed. He darted down the hall in the opposite direction toward Callum’s room, but just before he got there, Callum’s door opened. Niall emerged, looking down at his key ring as he spoke.

“I doona know how the mug got down there, Laird MacLean. Maybe the wind caught it just right and blew it behind the chair?”

“Aye, maybe,” Callum said, looking over Niall’s head and catching Lachlan’s eyes, which he was sure were wide with panic.

Lachlan skidded to a halt and retreated back the way he’d come. Nowhere to hide. The ruse was up unless he could get Amber to let him in. “Open up—now!” he whispered.

“Laird MacKay. There you are!” Niall said cheerfully as he hustled toward him. Callum followed, his face filled with anticipation, aware he watched a disaster in the making. “I didn’t hear you come up. Let me come in and check the bath water. It must be cold by now.”

“Nay, ’tis not necessary,” he said, his hand pushing on the barred door. “I’ll not have a bath now, anyway. You can change the water later.” He yawned loudly, and Callum snorted in amusement. “’Tis time for a wee nap. I’m going in now. Alone. I’ll let you know when I need anything.” He hoped Amber would catch on and let him into his room, elsewise he’d look like a fool, standing in the hall after saying that. A married fool.

“Well, I’ll come in and turn down the covers for you, then. ’Twill be my pleasure for all you’ve done for us.”

“Nay! I can manage on my own.”

The door suddenly gave way beneath his hand, and he stumbled into his room. Niall hurried forward, and Lachlan blocked the way just in time, his heart pounding like he was facing off with a deadly opponent on the battlefield. He shut the door so only his head poked out.

“But, Laird. I should check the room for…”

“For what?” Lachlan asked, beginning to suspect something. Perhaps Niall had been vague with Amber about which room was hers on purpose. “I assure you naught is amiss.” Then he shut and barred the door from the inside.

Amber stood beside him, her hands clenched together over her stomach, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, her cheeks flushed—a doe trapped by approaching hounds. She’d dressed hurriedly by the looks of it, her pleats uneven and the dress sitting awkwardly on her shoulders.

He raised a finger to his lips as he listened through the door.

Niall knocked, tried the handle. “Laird MacKay! Laird MacKay!”

“He’s exhausted, Niall,” Callum said. “I’m sure he’s quite capable of readying his own bed. Making it too, and lying in it.”

The last was said for his own ears, no doubt.

As footsteps receded down the hall, he heard Callum ask, “Will you take my arm, Niall. The stairs can be difficult, and you’ve been up and down them numerous times today.”

Lachlan’s breath left him in a loud exhale, and he rested his forehead on the door. Callum would take Niall down to the great hall, keep him occupied until either Lachlan or Amber reappeared.

He swiveled his head to gaze at Amber, who leaned her shoulder against the door next to him. Their eyes met, hers still looking a wee bit wild.

“My heart is racing like I’ve run from here to Inverness,” he said. “Or just beaten an opponent who had a great, bloody axe.”

“Mine too. He’s determined.”

“And wily too. He knew you were in here. I think he set you up.”

“Aye. Tricky bastard.”

“Not tricky enough.”

A wee smile cracked her face. She tried to hold it back, but it broke through, and they both burst out laughing—in relief, but also at the absurdity of it, at what had almost happened. How he, a grown man and laird, a warrior and defender of good people, had been running from chamber to chamber trying to outwit a decrepit, interfering old man. And how she, a healer and leader of her people, had skulked behind a closed door like an errant child.

They laughed in waves, inciting each other, their sides heaving and breath gasping. Legs threatening to drop them to the ground, they leaned beside each other against the door.

Finally, they sighed, the tension dissipated, the humor settled.

Their eyes met, and she smiled, her face clean and luminous, so beautiful his heart hurt—even though her hair had dried into different lengths all around her shoulders and face. And he knew he must be looking back at her like all the other men in her life. Like an adoring puppy, as he’d once feared.

But she didn’t look away or scowl at him like she did all the other men. Nay, when he raised his hand to cup her cheek, soft like the feathers in his pillow, she rested her head in his palm, her lips parting slightly, her own hand rising to his chest. And when he angled his body to hers, she turned to him as well, her chin rising, her eyelids drooping to half-mast. And when he lowered his head, breathed into her mouth, she breathed in unison with him.

His lips pressed hers gently, reverently, not a question, but an exploration, and she leaned into his body. Those breasts he wanted to suckle, cushioned his chest. His other hand trailed up her arm and around her waist, coming to rest on her rib cage. Her back arched, an opening up of her spine, and she welcomed him in with a sigh.

The kiss deepened as their tongues tasted each other, rubbing leisurely and learning the feel of each other, the shape of their mouths. Their lips sucked playfully while teeth nibbled.

His tongue delved even deeper inside the warm cavern of her mouth as she grasped her other hand around his nape, her fingers tangling in his hair, tugging the strands, which only incited him more.

A surge of blood, hot and heavy, filled his groin, and he pushed her back against the door, his knee sliding between hers. She moaned into his mouth, wrapped her leg around his, and pulled him even closer into the juncture of her thighs. Her arms hugged him in a stranglehold and the kiss grew carnal—tongues and hips thrusting and rubbing, hands squeezing.

When he slipped one palm down the small of her back to knead the soft, round bow of her arse, and curved around her breast from the underside, she pulled her mouth from his, panting, and tilted her head back. He took every advantage and kissed, heavy and wet across her cheek before closing his lips around her earlobe and sucking it onto his mouth.

She mewled as she bucked against him, a high-pitched sound that shot straight to his stones, tightening them to hard hammers against his body. She was close to release.

Christ Almighty, they both were.

He pulled his head away and stared down at her flushed face—her eyes closed, her lips parted as the breath blasted through her teeth in ragged gasps. His hand on her breast had pulled her arisaid to the side, and most of her soft flesh was exposed—high, pink, round. He swept his thumb across her areola to uncover her nipple, and his mouth watered as he stared at it.

He wanted it on his tongue, the hard nub red and tight. He wanted his tongue on her other nub too. Nuzzle it. Lick it.

He could pull her skirt up now and she’d let him, he was sure of it. He could push his fingers, his cock, into her wet center, and she’d explode all over him, her breasts bouncing, her screams of release matching his guttural groans as he pumped into her against the door.

He’d never felt this needy before, this desperate for a woman—even when he’d been young.

He looked at the bed. He could lay her down, kiss and lick his way down her body, push his tongue inside her. He wanted to taste her so badly, to feel her opening pulse on his lips.

But that other part of him, the part he couldn’t ignore, was yelling at him to slow down, to pull them both back from the edge. They’d burned up too hot, too fast for any rational thought to intervene, and she’d have naught but regrets afterward.

She might never forgive him for her own wanton feelings. May never allow it to happen again. And he knew one time would never be enough. He wanted more. Much more.

She had a different attitude toward men than most young women, and she knew herbs to stop his seed from taking root. Maybe she would want to be with him on a regular basis.

He’d never had a leman in his own clan before, but once things were safe for the MacPhersons, he would set up a strong leader here and only visit on occasion. Visit her. She hadn’t grown up with him, he didn’t know her father or mother, so it wouldn’t be the same as taking a leman in the MacKay clan.

And marriage, for him, was out of the question. Maybe he’d been scarred by his mother, but he never wanted to take a wife. He would pass the lairdship to a MacKay warrior he’d trained and trusted. Someone who could continue in his footsteps when the time came.

He shifted her dress back in place and raised his hands to cup her head, rested their foreheads together as he took a deep breath. She protested at first, rubbing against him, but he moved his aching body back just enough so they weren’t pressed so tightly together.

“Amber, breathe with me, sweetling. We need to…calm ourselves.” His voice sounded strangled and his heart still thundered in his chest. “Believe me, I want to continue, but we canna. Not yet. ’Tis verra tempting, lass, but I doona want you angry at me afterward.”

She stilled, and he knew he’d finally gotten though the haze of desire that likely clouded her mind the way it did his. She lifted her hands and pushed him back a step until his arms dropped. Keeping her head down, she stepped to the side and straightened her clothes.

Lachlan almost groaned at the loss of her warmth. Her heat. Had he made a mistake? Aye, by the set of her shoulders, most likely. An uneasiness settled in his stomach. But if he wanted her for his leman, even for a short time, he had to play the long game—which he knew how to do. He’d hunted Machar Murray for five years, and he’d keep going until he caught him.

Amber MacPherson wouldn’t be nearly as hard to catch.

“’Tis for both our sakes. It doesn’t mean I didn’t want to continue. I wanted naught more than to join with you, to feel your heat, believe me, but we can hold off till later.”

Her hands stopped moving and clenched over her stomach. “I give you my thanks, Laird MacKay. I doona know what came o’er me.”

She sounded stilted and stiff. And calling him Laird MacKay? He’d never heard her use his title before and didn’t like it. Well, she’d used it once, maybe, when she pretended to be a lad. “It’s Lachlan, Amber, not Laird MacKay.” He raised a hand to her cheek, wanting to reestablish their intimacy, but she turned her head away. “And doona thank me. Next time we just need to go slower. Be prepared… I’m sure you have herbs or something for…well…bairns.”

A low sound vibrated up her throat that almost sounded like a growl, and he drew his brows together. “Amber?” he prompted her.

She flattened her hands and smoothed them down her dress as if rubbing out any wrinkles. When her head raised, her eyes were ice. “Aye, I have herbs, but trust me, Laird MacKay, we willna be using them, and there willna be a next time.”