The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,53
sending his body tumbling downward to the chilly depths. Pushing off the sandy sea floor, he fought for the surface, coughing like a seal as he let the surf carry him to the shore.
Worry stretched Emma’s features as she stood and clutched her fists to her chest. “Are you all right?”
Completely naked, he trudged onto the beach, his cock just as hard as it had been when he’d started. “Aye.” He coughed. “Swallowed a bit of seawater is all.”
She seemed to watch him, though her eyes were eerily vacant as they always were. Glittering blue, they were recessed a bit, but Ciar always felt the color made her look more mysterious. Moreover, when Emma Grant smiled, everyone followed, because the happiness she carried in her heart bore enough light to illuminate the great hall at Edinburgh Castle. Her smiles were infectious and addictive.
She stepped toward him. “Are you finished with your swim?”
He glanced downward, ever so glad he didn’t need to hide his nakedness from her. God’s stones, would he be hard for the rest of his days? “I am,” he said, turning his back and reaching for his plaid.
“I’ve been collecting shells.” She gestured toward a pile. “I’m not sure what to do with them now, but they are the most amazing shapes. If you hold the large ones to your ear, you can hear the surf.”
Ciar dried himself then tucked the tartan around his waist. “Can you?”
“Aye, we have an enormous shell in the library at Glenmoriston, and Robert says it sounds like being adrift in the midst of a calm sea.”
“Poetic of him.”
“Indeed. He doesn’t usually mince words.” She laughed, picking up the clamshell. “I think I’ll keep this one and put it on my mantel. That way I will always remember Gylen Castle by the shore on a wee isle, and my great adventure.”
“I doubt you will ever forget this…mishap.”
“Do not say that. It is an experience of a lifetime, and I intend to enjoy every moment.”
“Well then, let us pray you’re not captured by redcoats and sent to the gallows.” Ciar winced. He shouldn’t have said such a thing.
“Oh, no, that cannot happen. You said we were safe.”
He slipped the shell from her fingertips and held it to his ear. “Och, you’re right, the sea is quite prevalent in this one.”
She grinned, making rays of sunlight fill his chest. “Albert loves it here.”
“Perhaps Albert and I have a great deal in common.”
“But I thought you were going mad.”
“Did I say so?”
“Nay, but you’ve fidgeted enough.”
He returned the shell. “I don’t fidget.”
“Very well, oiling and sharpening your weapons three times a day isn’t fidgeting, it’s…hmm…it’s…”
“Being prepared.” He grasped her elbow, the gesture becoming second nature and comfortable. “What shall we eat for supper? The lamb pottage, or would you care for more of my delicious oatcakes and dried beef?”
“Let us make it interesting and have oatcakes and pottage.”
“Excellent idea.”
He started for the tunnel, but Emma didn’t budge. Bending forward, she hooked the leash onto Albert’s collar. “I’d like him to lead me.”
“I don’t mind helping.”
“Aye, but you won’t always be nearby to take my hand. And it has been liberating to have the dog to train. I cannot thank you enough for giving him to me.”
“He’s already been more useful than I’d ever dreamed he’d be.”
Honestly, Emma had been so instantly taken with Albert that Ciar had purchased the dog as a companion. But even though he was still young and excitable, he’d become invaluable. Ciar walked beside them, ready to catch Emma if she should stumble. The ground was craggy and uneven, and there were stones strewn about, covered by slippery moss. Amazingly, Albert walked slowly and picked his way around obstacles while the lass intently followed him as if the pair were a team working in harmony.
* * *
“The wine is fruity,” Emma said, drinking her second glass. Livingstone had brought a new cask along with the stores, and she preferred it to whisky, which made her head swim much too quickly, though she mustn’t overindulge in any spirit.
Ciar sipped, followed by a soft but guttural swallow. “It is nice.”
Oh, how she adored the sounds he made. “What shall we do this eve?”
“You could sing for me.”
“I think I’d rather listen to you sing. Besides, I prefer to play the harp.”
His cup tapped the table. “But your voice is so lovely. ’Tis soothing.”
She batted her hand through the air. “How do you ken?”
“I’ve heard you humming and quite enjoyed it. Your voice reminds me