or the tapestry to be pulled aside.
And as always, there wasn’t one.
All she heard was the labored breathing of a man, intent on his task. Grunts occasionally joined the panting, and she knew she was going to get to see what she’d snuck here to see.
Lara pushed the door open further, until the wooden edge touched the tapestry, and she shifted forward. There was a hole in the fabric here, one probably made on purpose a generation ago for just this purpose.
An enterprising young woman could stand here, and through the rent in the tapestry, have a fairly good view of the goings-on in the solar. Which likely was terrible for security, but lovely for someone in her position.
As the rhythmic pants turned to groans, an occasional slapping sound joined the chorus, and she smiled. This particular exercise was her favorite.
The solar was simple; a desk and chair in front of a wall of shelves and cubbyholes for storing the ledgers, books, and scrolls which kept the clan running. When The Oliphant had been in charge, this place had always been untidy, but now that his son Alistair had taken over the day-to-day running of the clan, Lara was impressed by the meticulous organization.
She was impressed by many things Alistair did.
The man was so devoted to his work, he slept in the solar. There was a small cot, spartan in its comforts, tucked behind the desk, and one trunk. When he wasn’t training, his sword hung on the wall, and the only concession to comfort was a rug spread before the hearth.
A rug where Alistair himself now labored. Naked and gleaming.
Lara smiled.
With another grunt, the man levered himself up off the floor using only the strength of his arms, keeping his body straight as a board. Then he bent his elbows and lowered himself until his nose was touching the rug, then back up again. He did this twice, increasing the momentum, until his shoulder reached a height and speed that enabled him to lift his hands from the floor and clap them together before slamming them back to the rug to catch himself.
The pressures of keeping the clan running likely necessitated some way to relax, to get rid of energy, and she knew Alistair didn’t train with the men as much as he used to. The calisthenics she caught him engaging in likely served the same purpose.
Lara had no idea why he did them naked, but she absolutely did not mind.
The pushy-slappy one was her favorite, because the momentum did all sorts of interesting things to his dangly bits.
Rather like a pendulum.
She licked her lower lip, watching his muscles bulge and gleam with sweat, watching his buttocks clench and his bollocks swing. Her breaths came faster and faster, until she was panting in rhythm with him, and her hands came up to cup her own breasts through the wool of her kirtle.
Blessed Virgin, he is a beautiful sight, is he no’?
With one last grunt, Alistair clapped his hands together, then lowered himself to his chest and rolled over, splayed on his back on the rug. He was breathing heavily, and the sweat beaded on his forehead—and other places.
Hungrily Lara’s eyes dragged over him, wishing she could step out of her hiding spot and offer to clean him.
Mayhap with my tongue.
The thought of dragging her tongue—her lips!—across all that beautiful skin caused an unconscious whimper to escape her. Her hands tightened around her breasts as Alistair abruptly sat up.
“Who’s there?” he called, his gaze immediately going to the door.
Silently cursing herself and her obsession, Lara stepped back from the door.
She couldn’t see him, but she could imagine Alistair pushing himself to his feet and padding, naked, to the solar’s door. There was the sound of the door opening, and she imagined him poking his head out.
When his voice came, it was clear he was facing the room. “I think ye should ken I dinnae believe in ghosts, drummers or nae.”
Oliphant Castle was home to the laird, his family, a dozen servants like Lara, and one ghostly drummer who was said to portend doom. But if Alistair didn’t believe in him, then he’d likely begin to investigate.
Hands shaking, Lara pulled the door shut a bit faster than she’d intended, and stood, back pressed against the stone of the secret passage, for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Part of her wanted him to find the door, find her, discover the illicit feelings she’d had for him for years.
But the rest of her knew that, to Alistair Oliphant and his brothers, she’d always just be their best friend’s little sister.
Dropping her hands to her side, Lara smoothed her kirtle, took a breath and, head held high, slipped down the dark passageway. She was needed in the kitchen…about as far away from the laird’s solar as she could get, and as befitted a lass like her.
No matter what her heart wanted.
Find out if Alistair’s ever going to see what’s in front of his nose, in the best-friend’s-little-sister romance you’ve been waiting for: Drop It Like It’s Scot!
About the Author
Caroline Lee has been reading romance for so long that her fourth-grade teacher used to make her cover her books with paper jackets. But it wasn't until she (mostly) grew up that she realized she could write it too. So she did.
Caroline is living her own little Happily Ever After in NC with her husband, sons, and new daughter, Princess Wiggles. And while she doesn't so much "suffer" from Pittakionophobia as think that all you people who enjoy touching Band-Aids and stickers are the real weirdos, she does adore rodents, and never met a wine she didn't like. Caroline was named Time Magazine's Person of the Year in 2006 (along with everyone else) and is really quite funny in person. Promise.
You can find her at www.CarolineLeeRomance.com.