And the Bride Wore Plaid (17 page)

“I’m thinking of all the reasons a dalliance with a tall woman can be beneficial. For one, neither of us has to bend so far.” He lifted a hand and drew his fingers down the side of her face.

The soft, simple touch sent a shiver through her, as did the almost somber tone of his words. “I—I have never been glad I was tall,” Kat said breathlessly.

“You should be. You have amazing legs.” His hand returned to her waist, and he was once again holding her before him.

She looked down at her skirts. “How would you know? You can’t even see them.”

He wagged his brows. “Couldn’t I? When you were riding Thunder, your skirts outlined them. Along with other things.”

Her cheeks heated. “Oh.”

“You have legs that could capture a man and never let him go.”

Heavens. He was certainly bold. And handsome. And yet... there was something almost wistful about him. As if he was searching for something.

She managed a small smile. “Fortunately for us both, I don’t intend to use my legs to capture a man.”

“No?”

“No.” She took a deep breath, aware of the slow build of heat that surged between them. “Mr. St. John, I—”

“Devon.”

The name crept into her thoughts and wrapped about her brain as if never to leave. She closed her eyes for a moment but refused to say anything more. She didn’t think she could. The moment lengthened, stirring restless feelings she’d thought she’d forgotten.

She shook herself mentally.
It is just a feeling, and sometimes feelings are not real
. Thank God she was immune to men who bandied soft words and warm hands. Men who declared their love on Monday, only to realize by Tuesday that they’d made a mistake. Yet here she was, with a man who promised nothing more, yearning for his kiss. She put her hands over St. John’s and pulled them off her waist, then moved out of reach. She crossed her arms over her, as if warding off a chill.

For some reason, that tiny moment caught at her, lodged in her chest like a weight. She searched desperately for a safe topic of conversation. “How was Malcolm? Did you see him this morning?”

St. John smiled as if he knew what she was doing, but he turned and gathered the horses and led them to the water. “He was fine. A little distracted, perhaps. But that’s all.”

She followed him to the edge of the stream. “I suppose he and Fiona have been fighting again.” Kat knelt by the bank and picked up a smooth rock.

Devon turned to look at her. “There is a lot of tension at the castle.”

“Aye. Whatever their argument is about, it is very desperate because neither will budge an inch.”

Devon’s brows lowered. “I’ve arrived in the midst of a domestic dispute.”

“That is Malcolm’s entire marriage.” Stormy, violent, and flush with passion. There were indeed times Kat yearned for peace. She hefted the rock in her palm. “I don’t think I believe in marriage anymore.”

“Nor I.” He caught her gaze and shrugged. “Not for me, anyhow. My brothers, however, seem to be rather fond of the arrangement. My sister, as well.”

“Only one sister? Poor woman.”

He grinned, his eyes crinkling in the most disarming manner. “Don’t pity her. Sara more than held her own. When I was eight, I hid a snail in her bed. I waited and waited for her to scream, but she didn’t do anything at all. Two nights later, I found an entire army of ants in mine. She’d poured sugar in the sheets, and it took me weeks to get rid of them.”

Kat chuckled. “Served you right.”

“Indeed it did, though at the grand age of eight, I felt sorely misused.”

“Poor man.” She dropped the rock and stood. “Would you like to ride into town?”

“What’s there?”

“Nothing really. But it’s a beautiful ride.”

He looked directly at her. “It’s beautiful here.”

“Yes, but—you’ll want to eat soon.”

“You’re right.” He turned to Thunder and unbuckled the bag that hung across the horse’s back. “Which is why I brought a luncheon.”

She laughed then, the sound low and musical. “A man of resources.” Devon found himself chuckling with her as he pulled out the picnic lunch.

They sat beneath a tree and ate. Devon tried to keep the conversation light, talking of this and that adventure with his brothers and sister, but it was difficult. Every time Kat opened her lips to take bite of the flaky pasties that he’d filched from the kitchen at Kilkairn, Devon’s mind would burst into flames of heated, sultry imagination. He barely ate himself, but simply watched Kat.

He welcomed the building heat. It was what he’d counted on to save him from the ring. With every breath, every word, Kat was proving herself to be the woman to keep the ring from working its magic.

Still, she needed some gentle wooing. Though she didn’t flinch from his touch, he felt both her hesitation and her yearning, and something in him wanted to change that, to soothe her fears away. So he talked, and better yet, he listened, learning from her every word.

Soon the conversation turned to glasswork. He was amazed at the process and the length of time it all took. He wondered what other skills she possessed. Looking at her pouty mouth, he decided there were one or two that, if she didn’t already know, he’d take great delight in teaching to her.

The shadows grew and lengthened, and before either knew it, the sun was slowly descending. Kat started. “St. George’s dragon, it’s late.” She jumped up, brushing leaves from her skirts.

“Must you go?”

“Aye. The lads will be wondering what has become of me and we’ve an order to fill before—” She colored. “You don’t want to hear this.”

Devon realized with surprise that he did want to hear it. “Please go on.”

“No,” she said, smiling ruefully. “We really should go. The lads will be out looking for me if I don’t return soon. They tend to expect the worst.”

He could see that she was determined, so he rose to his feet as well and began putting away the remnants of their lunch.

As he went to help her onto Thunder, her clear green eyes met his, measuring and seeking. He knew she was thinking of the promised kiss. He wasn’t sure if she was looking for reassurance of some sort or was just curious. He smiled, and took her hand in his.

The touch of her fingers sent a wave of awareness over him. She gathered her skirts, preparing to mount the horse and he wondered again exactly what horrid happenstance had turned her from society, so scared that she hid deep in the woods like a princess asleep, waiting for a prince.

Well, he was no prince. Not even close to one. And charming companion or no, he had no plans for staying at Kilkairn longer than the short time he’d intended. But if nothing else, perhaps he could at least give her something to make the next two weeks memorable. Perhaps he could even get her to lower her defenses, show her that trusting was not always painful.

With that thought in mind, before Devon lifted Kat into the saddle, he tilted her face to his and kissed her.

Devon couldn’t remember all the women he’d kissed. Still, it was novel to kiss someone whose mouth was so tantalizingly close to his. He didn’t have to bend down at all.

But what really sealed the kiss as one of the best he’d ever had was Kat’s reaction. She held nothing back, but threw herself into the embrace with her heart and soul.

Her arms crept about his neck, her body molded to his, and her mouth opened, her tongue running over the edge of his teeth and setting his body aflame.

How long he kissed her, he didn’t know. But every stroke of her tongue, every movement of her hips, threatened to send him over the edge. He finally broke the embrace, his breathing harsh, his mind numbed at a flood of demanding lust.

She met his gaze, her own breath quick between her lips. “That was ... memorable.”

He laughed. “Yes, it was. Memorable indeed.”

She gave him a smile that was touchingly sweet, then turned and let him assist her into the saddle. He wondered at that smile the entire way back to the cottage.

The truth was, Kat Macdonald fascinated him. She offered an uncomplicated friendship tinged with a taste of passion so wild that he found himself unable to stop thinking about her. Of course, he was certain that once he sampled her passion, she would fade from his mind like all the others. But in the meantime, she offered a unique and fresh challenge, one perfectly suited to his rather jaded palate. One designed to protect him from the treachery of the talisman ring.

When they reached the clearing the lads came pouring out of the workshop. Simon was foremost. He planted himself before Devon. “Where have ye been?”

“Riding,” Devon said calmly, though he was irked to be questioned in such a fashion. He pointed to Thunder and then to Trusty. “On horses.”

Simon’s face reddened. “I knew ye were on horses, ye bas—”

“
Simon
.” Kat sent him a warning glance from beneath her lashes.

The huge Scotsman pressed his lips together and said nothing more, though if glares could melt a man, then Devon would be a puddle.

One of the other lads growled, “We’ve been worried about ye, Miss Kat.”

“Why?” she asked coolly, dismounting from Thunder without any help at all. “Because you believe I’m not capable of taking care of myself?”

Silence ensued as well as some uneasy shuffling. More than one uncomfortable glance was exchanged.

Devon had to pretend a sneeze just to hide his amusement. Kat’s cool glance and calm demeanor had cut a swath through the rowdy men and reduced them all to abashed youths.

Simon cleared his throat. “Miss Kat, ye know we weren’t sayin‘ that ye
couldn’t
take care of yerself. Just that we worried about how the Sassenach might—well, ye know.”

“No, I don’t know,” she answered. “You were worried about how the Sassenach might
what
?”

Simon rubbed his neck, clearly miserable. “Och, lassie. Don’t ye look like that. Ye know what I mean.”

She crossed her arms. “Simon, I am disappointed in you. How can you think such rubbish?”

Simon scuffed his toe on the ground, his face so red, Devon thought the man likely to burst into flames. “Miss Kat, I didn’t mean to suggest—it’s just that the man’s a Sassenach, and ye were gone fer so long—then Hamish suggested that perhaps the Sassenach had—”

“
I
suggested?” one of the largest lads said. “‘Twasn’t me.”

Simon gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “ ‘Twas Neal then.”

“No,” returned one of the other lads in a huge rumbling voice.

Simon gave an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know which of ye said it, but one of ye did!”

No one volunteered a word.

Kat gave an impatient gesture. “It doesn’t matter. Simon, you owe Mr. St. John an apology.”

“I owe him a
what
?” Simon shook his head as if to shake something clear from his ears.

“You owe Mr. St. John an apology.” Kat’s green gaze narrowed. “You owe me one, as well.”

“What fer?”

“For having such indecent thoughts.”

“Ye can’t apologize fer yer thoughts,” Simon protested.

Devon had to agree with the man there. Certainly had Devon been forced to do penance for every indecent thought he’d had while being with Kat, he’d have to spend a fortnight in a confessional talking nonstop.

Simon sighed, then mumbled an apology, though he glared the entire time. Devon nodded curtly. Simon had best get used to Devon’s presence, for this would not be his last appearance at the little clearing in the woods.

Devon turned to Kat. “Thank you for a lovely day.”

She shrugged, though her color was a bit high. “Thank you for a pleasant ride. And for allowing me to use your mount.” She reached up to stroke Thunder’s neck. “He’s a lovely animal.”

And she was a lovely person, both inside and out—a fact Devon was just beginning to realize and appreciate. He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, her fingers trembling against his lips. Ignoring Simon’s muttered curse, Devon kept Kat’s hand in his as he smiled at her. “Tomorrow?”

“No. I must work.”

“The next day then?”

She pulled ever so slightly on her fingers and he released her. “The next day,” she agreed.

With a final smile, he mounted Thunder. A short time later, Devon was riding toward Kilkairn, dreading his upcoming dinner with the warring Malcolm and Fiona, and the wily Murien. Perhaps he could slip in unnoticed.

With that in mind, he took the back stairs. As he rounded the corner to his room, he came to a halt.

“Mr. St. John!” Murien appeared from the shadows.

That gave him pause; her room was not on this level. He glanced around uneasily, then bowed. “Miss Spalding. Forgive my clothing. I just returned from my ride.”

“How delightful for you.” She smiled at him, the picture of a lovely, gracious, well-bred lady of fashion. “I daresay Miss Macdonald has worn you out. She is quite a ... robust woman.”

Though Murien’s expression didn’t change at all, Devon felt the contempt beneath her voice. His mouth tightened. “She is a
lovely
woman,” he corrected softly. Dangerously.

Murien knew a threat when she heard one. Her heart contracted at the realization. Yet her pride would not let it go. “Did you have a good ride?”

He looked at her for a long moment, then said in a deliberate tone, “Yes. I had a delightful time.”

Murien’s jaw ached where she clenched it. She was not used to doing all the pursuing. He
should
have made a comment about being sorry he had not been home, that he wished he’d spent more time with her. That he’d thought of her, at least once.

This was not going well. How could she captivate him if he was gone all the time?

Frustrated and uncertain of how to proceed, she toyed with her handkerchief, a gesture she’d adopted after a lovesick swain mentioned that it drew his gaze to her graceful hands. “Mr. St. John, you aren’t from here... I don’t mean to pry, but Strathmore’s sister is—” She broke off as if embarrassed to go on.

“What?” St. John prompted her.

“You should ask Malcolm what happened in Edinburgh. I’m certain he’ll tell you even though it was quite embarrassing at the time.”

St. John leaned a shoulder against the wall, a smile on his handsome face. “Is that what you think I should do? Collect information from Malcolm about his sister?”