of that rather lusty dream, Conran grimaced and quickly turned his gaze away from her to peer across the landing and over the rail at the great hall below. Much to his surprise, the room was a hive of activity with half the people up and moving quietly around, while the others were just stirring.
Apparently, it wasn’t as early as he’d thought. The gray light he’d spied through the open shutters must be a result of a coming rain rather than the hour. On the bright side, that meant Cook should be up and about, and there would be something for him to eat.
Conran’s gaze dropped to the woman again and he briefly debated what to do. He didn’t wish to wake Evina, but didn’t want to leave her lying there on her hard little pallet either.
Turning, Conran peered back into the laird’s bedroom, considering the large bed the man was in. There was more than enough room for Evina to sleep there without it disturbing her father’s rest, he decided, and it would certainly be more comfortable than sleeping on the hard floor.
Decision made, he bent to scoop her carefully and gently into his arms. Much to Conran’s surprise, he managed the task without waking her. Letting out a little breath of relief, he held Evina close to his chest and straightened with her, then turned to walk to the bed.
All went well until he walked around to lay her next to her father. Conran was perhaps halfway up that side of the bed when he tripped over what felt like a discarded fur on the floor. Caught by surprise, he stumbled forward several steps, his arms tightening around his burden as he tried to keep his balance.
Despite Conran’s best efforts, he couldn’t save himself. The only thing he could do was throw himself toward the bed at the last moment, with the hope to at least give himself and the lass a softer landing than the floor would offer.
It was something pulling tight around her legs and shoulders that drew Evina from sleep. Blinking her eyes open, she was just in time to note the Buchanan’s face above hers, and his expression of alarm as they tumbled forward. She had no idea how she’d gotten into his arms, but didn’t care in that moment. She simply threw her own arms around his shoulders and cried out as they fell toward the floor.
Evina was sure they were in for a hard landing, one she would take the brunt of, so was quite surprised when instead of the hard, wood floor slamming into her back and side, she landed on something softer. It gave under her weight, but then the Buchanan came down on top of her, his body pushing her deeper into the softness she’d landed on.
“Are ye all right?”
Evina opened eyes she hadn’t realized she’d closed at that question and blinked in confusion at the Buchanan. While he’d pulled back slightly, the man was still resting on top of her, his face so close she could count the stubby hairs growing around his mouth. They outlined his full lips, and Evina was sufficiently distracted by those lips that she merely stared. They looked incredibly soft in comparison to the prickly stubble. But then Evina knew his lips were soft. She’d felt them when she’d blown air into his mouth after pulling him out of the water.
Absorbed by his lips and her thoughts, Evina didn’t at first realize his mouth was lowering toward hers until it brushed gently across her own. She tightened up in surprise then, and shifted her hands from where they still grasped his shoulders. She moved them to his chest instead. Evina did so with the intention of pushing him away, but her hands never pushed. Much to her surprise, they merely curled into the cloth of his plaid as the caress of his mouth on hers brought a bewildering rush of sensation and feelings clamoring up inside her.
He tasted of cider, Evina noted when his tongue pushed between her lips to explore her mouth. It was the last near-sensible thought she had. In fact, had she the ability to describe it, Evina would have said that at that point her brain disengaged altogether, overwhelmed by the excitement and desire that suddenly exploded to life inside her. She wasn’t aware that her hands had begun tugging desperately at his plaid, or that little mewls of need and pleasure were sounding in her throat as she