The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,18
full bottom lip swept across his and along with it came a wee gasp that made his heart melt like sweet cream butter in the afternoon sun.
Within the blink of an eye, he captured that alluring mouth, closed his eyes, and kissed her. Emma’s delicate fingers slipped to his waist. Unable to stop, Ciar moved one hand around her back while the other cradled her head. Ever so gently, he swept his tongue inside her silky warmth, asking permission to take more. Her sigh whooshed through him as she returned his kiss.
“Emma? What on earth are you doing?” asked a hushed but shrill voice.
“Betty!” The lass jolted from Ciar’s arms as if she’d been seared by a red-hot brand. “You’re awake?”
Holding a candle, the lady’s maid stared at Ciar, her eyes wide, her shoulders back as if she were ready to thrash him with the candlestick. “I most certainly am.”
“Forgive me.” Ciar made a hasty bow and shifted his attention to Emma. “If there’s nothing else you require, miss, I’ll leave you.”
Betty moved in front of the lass. “What else would she require? And why—”
“I lost my way, and Dunollie came to my rescue just like a knight in shining armor.” Facing the empty corridor, Emma dipped into another curtsey. “Thank you for coming to my aid, sir.”
“’Twas my pleasure,” Ciar choked out as he started away. What the hell had he just done?
“Quickly, into the chamber afore someone sees.” Betty’s curt whisper resonated through the passageway.
Good God, there would be hell to pay come morn.
* * *
“What, exactly, were you doing with Dunollie—at all hours, if I might add?” asked Betty as she closed the door.
Heavens, Emma was two and twenty years of age, and her lady’s maid saw fit to scold her? After the most passionate kiss she’d experienced in all her days? The only other time she’d been kissed was when the vicar’s son stole an unpleasant, hard-lipped peck in the vestibule of the church. But Ciar’s kiss was nothing like that. His lips were warm and soft and…practiced. Oh, she could kiss him all night if given the chance. Moreover, when would she ever again have the opportunity to be daring and kiss a man in a passageway in the middle of the night?
It was nigh time to assert herself, and in no way would she wilt and allow Betty, a servant, chide her. “You may be my companion, but I do not care for your tone.”
“My tone? Wait until Robert hears—”
Emma shook her fists. “Robert will not hear a word about this.”
“But—”
Boldly marching forward, Emma grasped Betty’s hands. “How dare you immediately arrive at the conclusion that Dunollie was up to no good?”
“I saw you in his embrace.”
“So, what of it?”
“I beg your pardon, but your brother has tasked me with your care. I need more of an explanation than he rescued you. And from what?” Betty led her to the settee, and together they sat. “How did you end up with that man at our door in the dead of night—in your nightclothes of all things?”
“’Twas my fault.” Emma twisted her robe’s sash. Oh, dear, what must Ciar have thought of her, bumbling into his chamber with him completely undressed? Her face burned at the thought. Moreover, he’d had to don his plaid—good glory, he most likely had been bare beneath his shirt. If she did not take this incident in hand this moment, her virtue would be compromised.
Heaven help me.
“How was it your fault?” asked Betty, though her tone had softened considerably.
“Ah…” Emma mustn’t ever think of Dunollie without his kilt again. “I went out searching for the kitchens and ended up in his chamber.”
“I am quite certain his chamber is nowhere near the kitchens,” Betty said dryly. “Such a thing sounds preposterous even coming from you.”
Emma groaned. “I thought his chamber was this one.” She explained the entire debacle with all the stairs going west and south and down to the cellars.
“My word,” Betty groaned. “A lesser man might have had his way with you.”
“But not Dunollie. He prepared the most delicious elderberry jam spread atop fresh bread. He was so very entertaining. We talked and jested about eating sweets for every meal. I swear I had more fun with him in the kitchens than I’ve ever had at any gathering. And then—”
“He kissed you.”
Gooseflesh rose across Emma’s skin. “Aye, well, I think he meant to kiss my cheek, but I turned at the wrong time.”