The Scot's Quest - Keira Montclair Page 0,17

it. More than you know.” His golden locks looked brown at night, gently curling at the ends where they hit his shoulders. “I have a favor to ask of you, Derric. Something unusual. Something I wouldn’t ask of anyone else.”

“I’ll do anything for you if I can.”

“All right,” she said, pausing to consider what she was planning, wanting to be sure. “But what I want cannot happen here or this eve. We’ll have to plan another time.”

He looked at her, more confused than ever.

“Take my maidenhead. I don’t want it anymore.”

Chapter Six

“What the hell?” Derric jumped up as fast as if he’d been struck by ten arrows from a row of Englishmen. He’d never been so shocked over anything another person had said.

She sprung up nearly as quickly. “Not now. I’m just asking if we could arrange for it to happen later.”

“Nay.” His answer came out in nearly a shout, but he had to fight to control the emotions raging through him. Desire was first and foremost, and it was a nearly painful challenge to tamp it down now that he knew she wanted him. If he’d stayed next to her on that hilltop, it would have been all over in a matter of minutes since she was willing to allow him liberties. She was too bloody tempting.

He couldn’t allow that to happen.

He couldn’t forget that they were on MacLintock land with two of her cousins and her grandsire, all of whom had threatened to unman him if he did anything disrespectful to the lass. He couldn’t forget that the guards were watching them at this moment.

Somehow he didn’t think looking at her grandfather and saying, “She wanted me to do it,” would suffice.

Els and Alasdair would string him up by his bollocks for all to see. Or…

Visions of her grandsire tying a rope to his bollocks and dragging him behind his horse caused him to sweat, in more places than he’d ever sweat before.

He coughed and began pacing, taunted by the imagery in his mind, which completely reversed his arousal.

“Derric? Am I truly that undesirable to you?”

“What?” He raced over to stand in front of her, taking her hands. “Nay. You’re the most beautiful lass I’ve ever known. And you’re courageous and funny. I love talking with you, but…” Bloody hell, but the pain in her gaze made him wish to do what she asked, just to make that look go away.

“But what?”

“I did tell you that your cousins and your grandfather threatened me, did I not? Have you forgotten so quickly? I surely haven’t.” He began to pace again, running his hands through his hair. Now that he thought on it, he shouldn’t be up here with her, or even alone with her. Would the guards tell Alasdair?

What the hell had he been thinking to kiss her the way he had on MacLintock land?

The answer was simple: he had no control over his base urges when it came to Dyna Grant. None.

“But ’tis not their decision. ’Tis mine.”

He stopped to stare at her, his hands on his hips. “I doubt they would agree with you, Dyna. You don’t really think they would, do you?” He reached for her hand. “Come, we must return, or they’ll be coming after me soon.”

She followed him for a few paces, then tugged on his hand to stop him. “Derric, wait.”

They stood a hand’s length apart. She took his chin and forced him to gaze into her eyes. Her beautiful blue eyes were full of hurt, and he hated himself for it. “Lass, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Aye, it should be your decision, but you’re not a camp follower. You have a clan who watches over you. Have you forgotten you’re of noble blood? Even the King of England watches over you just because you’re the daughter of a chieftain. He could order your marriage just as he did Emmalin’s match with the baron. If I took your maidenhead, I would have to marry you. Are you ready for that?”

Her scowl was so deep that he stepped back and arched his brow. It was a battle of the wrinkling foreheads before either of them said anything.

“What? You wouldn’t want to marry me?” he asked, a little hurt by her reaction.

“You would?” The look on her face was so nuanced, he couldn’t hope to read it.

Hellfire, but he could feel his own forehead doing things he hadn’t told it to do. “If I took your maidenhead, I would want to marry you.”

“But