love with my mother?”
He smiled, and her knees weakened. Reaching out, he pulled her against him, his thin, muscular hand firm on her back. “I shall always love your mother, Jeannie,” he murmured close to her ear, “but not nearly as much as I loved your father. He raised me as if I were his own son. I could never have betrayed him, not even if I hadn’t fallen desperately in love with his daughter.”
The tears welled up under her eyelids and slid down her cheeks. “I love you so much and I missed you terribly,” she confessed.
“Does that mean you find me appealing after all?” he teased.
She laughed shakily. “You know exactly how appealing you are, John Maxwell. Has no one ever told you that modesty is a virtue?”
“I had an unusual childhood,” he replied. “I trust my wife will teach me the art of becoming a country laird.”
Her eyes held a wicked glint. “Shall I begin now?” He looked at the pile of rushes on the floor and then at the sleeping woman on the bed. Shaking his head regretfully, he said, “Not now, lass. But after we’re married, I promise to be a most dutiful pupil.”
Pulling him down on the rushes beside her, Jeanne wrapped the plaid around the two of them and buried her face against his chest. Who would have thought the night would end like this? She smiled. Grania always brought her luck.
Fourteen
BLAIR CASTLE
1993
I awoke completely rested with a smile on my lips. The morning air was unusually warm, and I was very aware of Ian’s lean, bare body next to mine. Propping myself up on one elbow, I studied his face, relaxed in sleep. With his hair falling over his forehead, his sun-dark chest against the bleached-white sheets, the stubble of a beard covering his cheeks and chin, he looked different, less civilized, more vital than the sophisticated gentleman I knew by day.
His eyes opened to my admiring gaze. Smiling, he held out his arms. I blushed and looked away, embarrassed by the circumstances. Never before, in my entire life, had I spent an entire night with a man who was not my husband. In the deceptive shadows of darkness, a woman of a certain age might flatter herself into believing that the crow’s-feet around her eyes and the sagging flesh on her neck and kneecaps wouldn’t be noticed. But in the merciless glare of daylight such deception is impossible. Every widening pore, every smudge of leftover mascara, every line and dark circle, every blemish, is sharply and painfully evident.
I drew a deep breath, deciding then and there that this time, with this man, I would make no excuses for my imperfections. Forcing myself to meet his eyes, I allowed Ian Douglas to look his fill. For a long time he didn’t speak. His fingers sifted through my hair, catching in the thick tangle at the back of my head. Then he traced my nose, my lips and chin, lingering on the hollows of my cheeks. Carefully, like an artist, his palm molded my face and throat, resting at last on the flesh covering my pounding heart.
“Do you have any idea how lovely you are?” he asked, his voice hoarse and breathless.
I laughed, shaky with relief. Burying my head against his chest, I erased from my mind the fact that we had known each other only a few days, that the differences in our backgrounds were as great as two people’s could possibly be, and, at this very moment, the forces of a seven-hundred-year-old curse were aligning themselves against us.
His lips were warm against my throat “Are you ready to go home?”
“Uh-hum,” I answered, intent on the feel of his lips as they explored the sensitive skin behind my ear, the column of my throat, and the slope of my shoulder. I shivered as they moved lower. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Ian tensed.
“Who is it?” I asked, looking at the clock. It was after nine.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss Murray, but it’s the cook’s day off. Would you like breakfast before she leaves?”
I looked at Ian. He shrugged his shoulders and bent his head to my mouth. “Tea and toast will be fine,” I managed to call out before Ian’s lips closed over mine. For a moment, I was lost, caught in the incredible sensations of pleasure and passion that his presence managed to evoke.
“Ian,” I gasped, pulling away. “It doesn’t take any time at all to make