Heat Of The Knight. Jackie Ivie

nearly rolled her eyes, except she knew it would hurt too much. The expense of keeping guards here had to be offset by the need for them. That was the only reason for such a waste of gold. What enemy could possibly find a way in here, long enough, and far enough, in order to be a threat to their liege? Monteith had guards posted outside his chambers? Ridiculous. The only reason had to be because he must feel he needed them.

      Then the door was opened for her, and everything she was thinking went straight out of her head as the Monteith laird stood from a position in a very large, leather chair and took over her entire vision.

      She’d already proven that the men she’d seen so far, wearing outlawed Highland garb, were enough to make her jaw drop. The laird was every bit of that and more. Lisle kept her teeth clenched to prevent it from happening again as he moved around his desk and walked toward her, an unreadable expression on his handsome face.

      Lisle looked down. She didn’t have a choice. It was self-preservation and instinct in their most pure form. Little needles of sensation were hitting at the tips of her fingers and even at her scalp, almost like she’d had the areas asleep. She didn’t know hatred and disgust felt like that. Then he spoke, and the reaction went right to the peaks of her breasts, hardening them, to her absolute dismay. She gasped and almost covered herself, except that would make him look. And make him think.

      “You…came.”

      Wonder colored the words that were said in a deep pitch no man should be able to wield so easily. Lisle scolded herself, gulped, took a deep breath, and then looked up, promising herself that she was going to meet his eyes this time.

      She reached his chest. He was breathing hard. That seemed fair to her. She made her eyes move higher, past the lace that was cascading from his neck, heaving with each of his breaths. She dared herself to look higher…his chin…. It wasn’t possible. She dropped her gaze again.

      He cleared his throat, making it worse.

      Lisle tipped her foot, putting the scuffed toe of one boot against the wood grain of his floor, and chided herself for being an idiot.

      “Can I offer you some refreshment? A chair? Take your wrap?”

      She shook her head to each query.

      He chuckled. Softly. At her. Lisle’s back felt the insult first. Then, it penetrated her mind. Culloden widows didn’t act like startled rabbits. Her head snapped back and she glared up at him, although she had to take a step back before it worked, and then she was using everything at her disposal to keep every response hidden. She couldn’t prevent her lips when they parted, however. She had to let the gasp in.

      Monteith was wearing a kilt of his clan colors, topped by a black leather jacket. He had more lace at the cuffs of his sleeves, cascading onto the hands he had perched to his hips. There were gold-trimmed epaulets on the shoulders of his doublet, a double row of gold buttons, and his sporran was hung with gold fringe. Even the tassels on his socks were of gold.

      Sunlight was streaming in the floor-to-ceiling window, turning his black hair into shined ebony…wet, shined ebony. He was wet? Her eyes narrowed. The light was also causing a shadow to dust where his eyelashes reached his cheeks and the cleft of his chin. She pulled back farther, moving her neck this time, and wished heartily that he was a spindly, weak, and pale sort. It was a forlorn wish. Nothing about the man in front of her fit the definition of weak or spindly, or anything save large, strong, and innately raw. He was every definition of big, brawny, and beautiful…the kind of man women swooned over. He knew it, too. The smile playing about his lips betrayed it. She detested him. Completely.

      There wasn’t a drop of moisture anywhere in her mouth with which to swallow, so she didn’t try. Lisle kept her eyes on him as she moved two steps sideways into the room, listening for the shutting of the door behind her, and yet dreading it at the same time.

      She got both, and the resultant silence felt like they were in their own, encapsulated, luxurious world. Lisle had to force herself to do something other than stare at him. She blinked, and pretended to look over the books lining the walls to the right of where he stood. Then she moved her gaze to the fireplace that was of a size a royal palace could claim, and from there to the magnificence of the dark green lion passant-emblazoned shield above it, stretching clear up into the wooden rafters crossing the ceiling two stories above her.

      She lowered her head from studying it, caught his gaze for more time than she dared admit to, while her heart hammered faster, stronger, and with a hum to it that was every bit as loud as anything the clan armies could drum out. Then she moved her gaze to the window, and to the picture beside it, and on the left. It was obviously a relative, one hand resting on a hunting dog, while his other lay across the chair that had to be the exact one Monteith had just risen from.

      There was nothing left, save to do what she’d come to do, and somehow find her way back out of this maze of rooms and riches and furniture. Lisle cleared her throat. It sounded like Aunt Fanny’s coughing had, and about as confident. She tried again, wincing a bit at how it pained her dry throat.

      He was probably smiling; anyone with such a complete win over a MacHugh would. She avoided looking. The floor was safest…again. She concentrated on the slatted wood of the floor beneath them, covered with enough overlapping rugs that she could leap across from rug to rug and never touch wood if she didn’t want to.

      “I’m gratified I was on hand to welcome you to my humble home,” he said.

      That time she did roll her eyes, gaining every bit of the ache she knew it would cause. It wasn’t worth it. He hadn’t even seen it.

      “To what do I owe this surprise…visit?” he continued.

      “Let’s na’ waste time with words. You know why I’m here,” Lisle said.

      “Agreed. You’ve acceded to my offer,” he replied softly, and with a mesmerizing tone that could lull a beast into submission.

      She lifted her head and looked at him, hoping disdain was the expression on her face, but she couldn’t do a thing about the flush. She felt it clear to the roots of her hair beneath the bun, and all the way to the toes in her socks, but she didn’t blink, or make any other sign of any kind. It took every bit of her determination, too.

      “I’ve na’ even read it,” she answered, finally.

      His eyebrows rose. She had to gulp and move her gaze away. There was no way to continue watching him, unless there was a scar, or at the very least a pockmark, somewhere on his face, to focus on.

      “Would you like another one?” he asked.

      She glanced over, caught a glimpse of pursed lips—unscarred, perfectly formed, pursed lips—and moved quickly away. The mantelpiece looked safe, and since it was over his right shoulder, she could pretend she was looking at him.

      “I won’t sell any land cheaply,” she answered the mantel.

      “It’s na’ land I want.”

      She frowned, but didn’t move her gaze. “I’ll na’ sell the loch without the land.”

      “I doona’ wish any land or any water from you, Mistress MacHugh.”

      “Why na’?”

      “Because I have enough, I think. And what I already own is of better quality. I can raise better cattle, and better sheep.”

      The flush went hotter at the insult. Her upper lip curled. “What is it you do want, then?” she asked. She moved her eyes directly to his, and kept every bit of what was happening to her very own body at the locking of his gaze deep down, where she could hide it. It wasn’t easy. Her heart felt like it shut down, skipping several beats before restarting, and her breath clogged her chest with how it went missing as she held it.

      In reply, he started unbuttoning his vest. Lisle watched, only the widening of her eyes betraying her. Then he was reaching inside and pulling out yet another wax-sealed tri-folded piece of parchment. This time he waited, holding it toward her, and not even blinking through