have been led to believe about, about Fairhair is nothing like the man ye are. Ye’re not black-hearted, nor are ye a brutish fiend.”
One corner of his mouth turned up in a devilishly wicked grin. “Ye have not seen me in battle, lass.”
Had he stepped nearer? Anya couldn’t be sure, but he seemed closer. “Nay,” she replied, a tad breathless. “But aren’t most men savage when fighting for life or death?”
“They are.” Angus dipped his chin, his breath skimming her forehead. “There is one thing I must set to rights, lass.”
She dared meet his dark stare while butterflies set to flight inside her. “To rights, did ye say?” she asked, trying to sound completely unaffected.
He inched even closer, cupping her cheek with a gentle hand. “Ye may be a wee bit petite in stature, but I never again want to hear ye refer to yourself as squat.”
“Oh.”
There was no doubt in Anya’s mind as to his intention. Licking her lips, she tilted up her face, while a maelstrom of desire swirled inside her breast. Oh, how she wanted a kiss—only one while they were alone and unguarded. Aye, she desperately wanted to know what kissing a man was like.
The moment their lips met, her knees turned boneless. His mouth was warm and soothing while his fingers traced along the sensitive skin just below her jaw. Not wanting it to end, she moved a hand to his waist. With her touch, he sighed, his tongue sweeping across her lips.
Startled, Anya began to withdraw, but as if he’d anticipated her reaction, his fingers slipped to the back of her head while he increased the pressure, his tongue demanding that she part her mouth for him.
Oh, God in heaven, warm cream flowed through her like nectar as the Lord of Islay showed her how to kiss—how to truly kiss. Unable to resist, she wrapped her arms around him and held on for dear life while together their mouths joined in a dance nothing like the merry reels below stairs.
He pulled her into his embrace as his lips moved across to her cheeks, her jaw, and down her neck. Never in her life had Anya felt the powerful pull of seduction in a man’s arms. Never had she dreamed kissing would consume her so extraordinarily.
As Islay drew his lips away, a sudden chill coursed across her skin. She gasped, not able to meet his gaze. She’d just kissed the devil and it felt inexplicably wonderful. Yet she must not possibly have feelings for this man.
“Forgive me,” he whispered, lifting her chin with the crook of his finger.
She scooted away, her eyes wide, her head spinning. “Y-y-ye must never do that again!”
Not waiting for a reply, Anya spun and dashed for the stairs.
“Wait!” he called after her.
But she was not about to stop. As fast as she could, she hastened down past three landings until she reached her floor. Fleeing into the passageway, she spotted Rory.
He opened the door. “Good evening, miss.”
Anya didn’t dare look at him either, lest he know exactly what she had been up to. “Good evening.”
She moved inside and stood in the center of her chamber until the door closed, then she slid the bolt across, just to ensure no one tried to enter. God save her, where had she landed, and how was she to resist the Lord of Islay? Perhaps he was indeed the devil he was reputed to be.
Anya paced and paced, rubbing away his kiss, yet her lips still tingled. She plopped on the bed and stared at the ceiling. No matter how tired she might be, her mind spun with too many thoughts for rest to come.
She absolutely must never think about kissing Fairhair again.
No. No. No!
In the corridor, the guard stirred, making a bit of a racket. Was he planning to sleep out there?
Sitting up, Anya took note of her pillows—two ornate and two covered by linen cases. Atop her bed was a feather-down coverlet, which would be ample to keep her warm. She didn’t need the blanket folded across the base.
Huffing, she took a pillow and the blanket, unlocked the bolt, and threw open the door.
With a rattle of weapons and an old man’s grunt, Rory lumbered to his feet. “Forgive me, miss. I assumed ye had turned in for the night.”
“I have.” She glanced up and down the corridor. “Will ye be sleeping out here?”
“Aye, ’tis expected.”
She thrust the bedding into his arms. “Well, then, I’ll nay have ye catching your death with