Chapter 9
The door closed behind Angus, leaving Deidre alone with Ewan. That suited her plans perfectly. He’d been strung tighter than a crossbow for the entire journey north. With every step deeper into the castle, his tension had become visibly worse. For a brief moment, after his grandmother slammed the door in his face, Deidre thought he just might tear it off its hinges. Instead, he’d turned and quietly told Darrow to see to the rooms.
Deidre respected that kind of control. She also knew what kind of toll it took, keeping in check like that. Her broad-shouldered rescuer was overdue for a release.
“Is he right? Do ye mean to steal my clothes?” The timbre of his voice sent delicious shivers over her skin.
She leaned back on her elbows. “I’d much rather let you offer them freely.”
Ewan’s lips tilted up on one side. “Oh, aye? And why would I do that?”
“A sense of fair play.” She slipped both shoes off this time, letting them thud to the floor. “You’ve seen mine. It’s time to show me yours.”
Bloody hell. The heat behind his eyes. Deidre half expected her clothes to burst into flames. He remembered her little show; that much was obvious.
“We dinnae seem to have any rivers handy.”
“I’m sure you’ll make do.” She had him, she was certain of it.
He reached up, but when he touched the button on his shirt, his brow furrowed. “Deidre.”
“I can see you thinking, sweetheart. Don’t.”
He smiled, but it died quickly. “Ye can have what ye want. Ye dinnae need to seduce me.”
“I’m well aware.”
“Why then?”
Not once in her life had a man tried to talk Deidre out of bedding him, never mind twice. “Ewan, do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a man?”
He shook his head.
“More than a year.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve actually wanted one?” She pushed herself back up into a sitting position. This was clearly going to be a hands-on operation. “I’ll give you a hint. It’s much longer.”
“And ye want me.” He was catching on.
“Yes.” She reached for his belt and pulled him forward. When she started to unbuckle it, though, he took her wrists and pulled her up against him. For the love of—
Before she could express her irritation, he rocked her with a kiss she felt all the way in the tips of her toes. His hand tilted her chin to the angle of his liking, while the other spread out across the small of her back. There was nothing around Deidre but Ewan. The room around them was blocked out by the width of his shoulders. His warm wool smell, whisper of last night’s fire, and remnants of the forest enveloped her.
His lips were gentle and his hands did not stray, but there was no question that she was under his control. He explored every angle of her mouth with deliberate precision. For a brief moment, she remembered that she was supposed to be helping him lose control, but then he pressed her closer and she forgot everything except the feel of his palm against her back. Even through her dress, it fired every nerve ending and made her wish he would adventure lower.
She tested him, shifting her hips.
He growled at her, and his other hand came down to her waist, holding her motionless.
Deidre pulled back from his lips, teasing. She took his bottom lip between her teeth. His eyes met hers in a warning. Her hands roamed the linen covering his chest, finding and conquering buttons. When she had the broad muscles of his chest exposed, she released his lip.
The scrape of her teeth elicited a groan but he didn’t move to stop her. She teased him with kisses while her hands went to work on his belt. It fell to the floor with a clatter. She felt a little of his control give way.
“Deidre.”
“Tell me you want me.”
“More than breathing.”
She tested the truth of that. He gasped when her hand closed around him. Unable to help herself, she went to work on him. Her hand wedged between their bodies. His hands pinned her hips in a white-knuckled grip. They rocked there, slowly, while she unraveled his control thread by thread.
The sound of the door opening didn’t register for either of them.
The shocked gasp and the breaking glass did.
Ewan spun around, shielding her with his body. The protective gesture made her smile against his back. Even if she hadn’t been fully clothed, Deidre was hardly modest. She stepped around his back to find a woman scrambling to pick up pieces of a broken vase.
“I’m . . . oh . . . I . . . I dinnae . . . I’m . . .” The new arrival was a stuttering wreck.
“It’s all right,” Ewan said, his tone gentle.
“I just . . . dinnae realize . . . I thought . . .” The woman looked up.
She was older than Deidre by a few years, with soft features. It was the sort of beauty Deidre associated with women in convents or virgin saints. Soft living had left her face unlined and her shoulders straight. Everything about her was clean, pale, and wholesome.
Ewan inhaled quickly. “Rose?”
The woman smiled up at him, tears forming in her eyes. “Ye remembered.”
***
Rose. Ewan’s mind had trouble comprehending how she’d managed to arrive in his room—carrying flowers, no less.
Next to him, Deidre filled the silence. “Old friends?”
Rose gave a light laugh—bells chiming—as she wiped away the falling tears. “I was fostered with Ewan’s grandparents as an infant. We grew up together.”
She stood up and put a tentative hand on his forearm. Ewan covered it with his own. Aye, they had grown up together. Far too quickly, and under less than ideal circumstances. They used to hide in the space under the stairs together, telling each other stories to block out the sounds of his father’s drunken tirades. And she thought he could forget her.
“How—” He struggled with the words under the rush of old memories.
She seemed to understand. “Yer grandmother kept me on as her companion.”
“I thought ye would have left, after—”
Rose shook her head. “Where would I go?”
Where, indeed. She hadn’t had any family left. That’s how she’d ended up at Broch Murdo in the first place. There had been no Aunt Maggie, no Dalreoch Castle, for her to escape to.
“Ye never married?”
She blushed.
Ewan realized he was letting the past get the better of his manners. “Sorry, I—”
“After your father died . . . Iona needed me.”
Iona. He should have realized his grandmother would be selfish enough to trap Rose here. Without her precious monster of a son around to devote energy to, Lady Broch Murdo would have needed some other project to keep her occupied.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Rose dismissed his apology. “Iona has been good to me.”
Ewan doubted that.
On his left Deidre cleared her throat, and held out her hand to Rose. “I’m Deidre. Deidre Morgan.”
Bollocks. “Ah. Aye. Deidre is . . .”
She was what? He didn’t even bother to finish the thought.
Rose stepped in gracefully, taking Deidre’s hand. “It’s lovely to meet ye, Miss Morgan. Rose Lambert, but please call me Rose.”
Deidre nodded. Her guard was clearly up, but she stayed on the friendly side of polite.
“Oh, where are my manners,” Rose said. “I’m intruding. Please, excuse me. I’ll just—”
“It’s been a pleasure to meet you,” Deidre said.
“Dinnae be silly, we were just—” Ewan said at the same time.
Deidre shot him a look. “Go ahead. We were just what?”
The collar of Ewan’s shirt suddenly felt overly tight, despite being unbuttoned to the waist. He pulled it closed.
Rose blushed again, grinning at the floor.
“We were . . . uh . . .”
Deidre rolled her eyes, and grabbed her shoes from the floor. “I’m going to find Tristan.”
“I should check on yer grandmother,” Rose said as Deidre sailed past her.
Ewan nodded.
She stopped at the door, turning back. “Ewan?”
“Aye?”
“I’m glad yer back.”
That made one of them.
***
Idiot. Fool. Blockheaded clod. Deidre wasn’t certain if she was talking about herself or Ewan, but it hardly mattered. She stomped down the stairs, stopping on the landing to put on her shoes. God only knew what manner of filth was on these floors. She knew better. She of all people knew better. A little bit of kindness. Was that really all it took to make her forget? Ewan might pretend he saw her as more than a cheapside hustler, but his attitude had changed in a hurry when Rose showed up.
Deidre is . . .
Deidre is what, you big oaf. She’s the woman who had her hands wrapped around your cock not five minutes earlier. He couldn’t admit that to his precious Rose, though, could he? She might swoon and bump her flawless brow.
She found Tom Darrow lounging on a broken settee at the bottom of the stairs. “Darrow! Round up your useless excuse for a crew and meet me in the courtyard.”
“Eh?”
She stopped, turning to him.
“Aye, love. Straightaway.”
She turned back, resuming her hunt for Tristan.
Darrow hopped up to follow her. “Always had a fondness for a woman in a temper. If yer lookin’ to take it out on someone . . .”
“Tristan!” she shouted.
His head popped out of the entrance to a side corridor. “What?”
“We’ve got work to do.”
“What kind of work?” He moved into the room, dusting himself off. He stopped when he saw her face. “He said yes?”
“He did.” It wasn’t a lie. Ewan told her she could have what she wanted. Right before he’d kissed the sense out of her, and then forgotten she existed.
Tristan whooped. He pulled her into a spinning jig, recklessly crashing into debris around the great room.
She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. Tristan’s good moods always did that to her.
Her brother stopped their twirl in front of Darrow. “Tom, old boy. This is your lucky day.”
“It is?”
“You are about to be subjected to an expert education in the criminal arts by two of the greatest hustlers Glasgow has ever known.”
Deidre rolled her eyes, but didn’t disagree with him. She would need Tristan’s help to pull this off. He was hardly a mastermind, but he could run circles around the likes of Darrow and his men. She had taught him that much, at least.
The task ahead of her was exactly what she needed. Forget about Ewan, with his broad shoulders and his intoxicating smell. This was business. Anything that happened between them from here on out would solely be to secure a future for her and Tris. She would not allow herself to forget again.