In the Laird's Bed. Joanne Rock

thumb along her cheek and down to her jaw, stopping just below her chin. “Can you truly appreciate what you will miss when you’ve never experienced it?”

      Heat sparked over her skin as he drew closer. From this distance, she could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. Then her gaze flicked down to his mouth as she remembered the feel of his lips upon hers. His kiss had been exquisitely sweet. Patient. Stirring.

      A new, small scar speared his top lip with a tiny white line. She found herself wondering what that marred skin would feel like against her mouth if he were to kiss her again.

      Her heavy heartbeat sped faster, anticipation humming in her veins even as she reminded herself that he could play this game far better than she could. Five years ago hadn’t he made her believe he cared about her, then raced away to another woman’s arms without ever acknowledging Edwina had a legitimate complaint against Donegal’s brutish behavior?

      “I suppose it is easier not to miss something you’ve never had.” Her voice was naught but a whisper between them, a quiet confession for his ears only.

      Time dragged out. She wished for some kind of intercession to break the spell he’d cast over her. But perhaps if she indulged this once—if she made a decision to take some small pleasure from him on her own terms—she would not be so plagued with wonder about the attraction she couldn’t deny.

      “No good strategist makes a decision without adequate information.” His gaze tracked hers. He handled her gently despite her fears about the Culcanon brutishness. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten the power of even one simple kiss.”

      His lips covered hers before she could argue the point. And wasn’t it wicked of her that she did not want to argue it? The arrogant young laird could be mounting a takeover of her keep and yet all that concerned her right now was to test her fanciful memories of him against the truth of the flesh-and-blood man.

      Pleasure flooded her faster than strong mead warmed the blood. At the feel of his mouth on hers, her knees wavered. His hand curved about her neck, holding her still for the quick, silken lash of his tongue along the fullness of her lip. She seemed to melt on contact, her whole body swaying until it found the steadying strength of his. Her lips parted, opening to his kiss.

      In for a penny, in for a pound. At least this once.

      Her fingers clutched at his cloak, seeking anything to steady herself. She gripped the fine wool in clenched fists as her body trembled beneath layers of the worn linen gown meant for working in the brew house. Now, that soft, much-washed fabric afforded her little protection from the raw masculine appeal of his muscular form. Her breasts pressed tight to his chest, the pleasant friction making her head spin with carnal thoughts no maid had a right to consider.

      But the feel of her body against his consumed her. This was why she had not wanted to wed. The memory of her last kiss with Duncan had been thus and she feared it would not be the same with any other. For all that she was a maid, she knew deep down this kind of passionate potential did not exist between every man and woman. And—after once having the smallest taste of this soul-stealing excitement—she could not imagine settling for a cold coupling with some man twice her age.

      “Cristiana.” Duncan spoke her name over her lips between kisses. “You were meant to be touched. Kissed. Tasted.”

      Arching up on her toes, she brushed her mouth to his again, luring him back to wreak the skillful magic that made her senseless with desire. She just needed another moment. A last few stolen minutes to feel passion she’d never know again.

      His hands locked about her waist. Holding her against him, yet restraining her from further contact. She blinked, confused.

      “Why did you refuse me?” His voice was harsh, all traces of the silken-tongued suitor gone. “Why punish us both for a sin we did not commit? Was it not enough that Edwina broke her oath to Donegal? You had to break yours to me, as well?”

      Her senses returned so quickly she felt a chill at the loss of passionate heat. She tried to wrench free, regret stinging sharp. His grip did not budge, however. Emerald eyes pierced hers, demanding answers she had already given.

      “Do not pretend to have felt punished when you ran to your leman with the haste of a man who has been at sea for years,” she accused. His defection to another woman’s arms had rubbed salt in a wound since he had murmured sweet words in her ear the day prior about making love to her.

      “You are so coldhearted that you would deny a man all comfort? Perhaps I should have sailed straight into battle afterward to take out my fury on an unsuspecting enemy?” His features were hard. Unforgiving. And bore no trace of the man she’d kissed.

      Which was just as well. She would rather not face that man again anytime soon.

      “The point is that you never gave up your lover when you were pretending to court me. And it was not my sister who broke the oath of the betrothal,” she insisted. “’Twas Donegal who simply took what he wanted without respect to the marriage contract. For my part, I would never wed a man who would take his family’s side so quickly he does not see the truth.”

      “I might say the same of you. Why are you so sure your sister did not find Donegal’s bed willingly, only to regret it later? You have seen how persuasive a man’s touch can be.”

      The sharp bite of his comment sank long teeth in an old wound. Anger erupted, giving her the strength to yank away.

      “How flattering to know you only kiss with a purpose. But I will not defend myself or my sister to you again. You chose long ago to side with your brother who, I’ve since heard, has shown his true nature in your absence by bankrupting your lands and dividing your people. Yet you still believe he acted nobly in his treatment of my sister?” She stalked to the other side of the cook fire beneath the cauldron, needing a barrier between her and any man who could make her so angry.

      She had lost so much, thanks to his need to humiliate her. Her family. And could he be so blind to Donegal’s character still? How could she trust him with her own people if he couldn’t discern clearly?

      “He may have been a poor manager of people and lands. At the time, I could not see how that made him the beast your sister portrayed him as.” He stalked to the cupboard and retrieved a vessel, then plunged it into an open pot of fermenting mead. “Besides, I saw Edwina depart the hall with Donegal myself that night they consummated their relationship. They stole kisses in the courtyard as they left. And I assure you, Edwina did not give those kisses begrudgingly.”

      “Stop.” Cristiana refused to think on that night anymore. She certainly did not want to consider the reckless, headstrong heart her sister had left with, only to return home with bruises and a soreness in her spirit that had never fully recovered. Her anger at Donegal had left Edwina unable to bond with his child, robbing her of the joy she should have felt in motherhood.

      Edwina had begged Cristiana to raise her child. The choice had broken her sister’s heart, but at least the decision had been a selfless one. Edwina had recognized that her exile from home and her broken spirit would not help her nurture the child. She had wanted Leah to have every advantage—a secure home, safety from her brutish father and a mother whose heart had not been frozen by violence.

      So in order to protect the babe from its father and to salvage Edwina’s reputation, Cristiana had vowed not to reveal Leah’s existence until she was a woman grown. Indeed, the secret was not even hers to tell.

      “Stop what? Forcing you to see that an innocent maid may not have understood where teasing kisses lead?” He threw back the contents of the cup and then slammed the empty container on the worktable. “You tossed away your future with both hands because of an incident that was as much Edwina’s fault as anyone else’s.”

      “Out.” She could not muster more words than this. Not until she took a few steadying breaths and braced herself against a tall column supporting the rafters. “You need to leave and never speak of it again if you wish to remain under my roof. Good day, sir.”

      “But it’s not your roof,