Chapter 4

Marcus knew Erin was embarrassed by his suggestions and his actions. He knew she was uncomfortable and feeling defensive. Even so, he wasn’t expecting her to slap him, especially when he was trying to give her an honest compliment. She was a pretty and well-formed lass, and would be even more eye-catching if she simply permitted her feminine side to show.

For a long second, he stood there, the echoes of her words stinging nearly as much as the blow she’d delivered to his cheek. Her rejection wasn’t unexpected, but it still made his stomach clench to take such a rebuff when he was trying to help her.

He forced the thoughts away, pushing down his emotional turmoil until he could give her a cool, focused look of vague disapproval. “And why should I be?” He tipped his head. “I can say ye’re a comely lass and mean the words, Erin MacDougall, but that disnae mean I’ve any interest in wooing ye, nor any interest in bedding ye. Ye’re nae me type.”

The anger fled from her face, leaving behind embarrassment and hurt. “What are ye…?”

“Ye’re nae me type. Ye’re pretty enough, but I like a lass with a bit o’ softness and sweetness about her. Ye’re tae stern and sharp-tongued fer me, and I’ve kent that since ye turned me down years ago.”

She looked away, and Marcus bent to pick up the dress he’d been marking alterations on. “I can have one o’ the seamstress maids alter this fer ye, tae wear in meeting me brother. We’ll find an excuse for ye tae speak tae him alone, or as alone as ye can be.”

She looked too mortified to contradict him again, so he set the dress aside to take with him. “Now then, there’s more tae seduction than looking pretty. Ye have tae have the right words, and offer the right sorts o’ enticement and encouragement.”

Erin blinked. “I... what dae ye mean?”

He decided to start with something simple. “Offer tae pour me a drink.”

She looked skeptical, but picked up the pitcher of water on the bedside table, and a cup. “Would ye like a drink?”

Marcus nearly groaned. The tone she used, the way she stood... she was acting like a warrior on the battlements offering a sip of something to his watch partner. “Och, Erin. Make an effort. Try tae be coy.”

She gave him a bewildered look. “I was trying.” She saw his disbelieving expression, and a renewed blush stained her cheeks. “I was making an effort last night at dinner, but I ken I was doing it wrong.”

“Fair folk have mercy…” he sighed. Then he stepped closer. “Both hands on the pitcher, and cradle it, like this.” He showed her. “Lean slightly toward whoever ye’re speaking tae, like this.” He tipped her shoulders forward a bit, without letting them hunch inward. “’Twill show off yer assets.”

Next, he touched her head. “Tuck yer chin a little, lower yer eyes so yer looking at him through yer lashes.”

She grumbled, but did as he directed. “I feel a fool.”

“Ye’re doing fine. But relax, or people will ken ye’re uncomfortable, and ‘twill make them uncomfortable as well.” He could tell she was making an effort, but she still looked stiff. They could only hope that practice would make the movements more natural.

“When ye speak, keep yer voice soft. Coaxing, like ye’re trying tae tame a wild horse, or bring a half-feral cat tae yer hands.” He gestured. “Try it.”

“Would ye... like a drink?”

He shook his head. “Relax. And try different words.”

“Like what?”

He bent close to her, mirroring her posture. “May I pour ye a drink, me lady?”

He pitched his voice low, using the easy, seductive purr he’d often used to draw the attention of his bed partners. He was gratified to see her cheeks and the back of her neck redden.

“I cannae say that.”

“Well, nae, ye’d say me laird tae Darren, I’m hoping.” He grinned at her, and she glowered back. “Just practice speaking like that, and ye’ll get yer point across.”

She nodded reluctantly. He could see how uncomfortable she was, so he took the pitcher from her. “It takes practice, lass. Let’s try something else.”

He moved to the other side of the room. “Walk toward me.”

Erin did, with straightforward, quick strides. Marcus grimaced. “Nae like that. Step light, on the balls o’ yer feet. And sway yer hips tae draw his eye.”

Her next effort looked like she was dodging arrows on a battlefield. “Nae so extreme.”

He sighed. “Did ye never watch the way yer sisters walk?”

“Why would I?” She blinked at him.

“Because I’ve seen yer sister walk, and she kens how tae draw the eye and make it look effortless.” He moved close to her once more. “Sidle, Erin, and let yer hips relax and move with the rest of ye.”

“I dinnae ken…”

“Sure ye dae. If ye’re any kind o’ warrior, ye’ve learned how tae smooth out yer steps fer yer sword forms. ‘Tis only a different style o’ the same. And did ye never learn tae dance?”

She glared at him. “Mayhap a lesson or two, outside o’ the group dances.”

“Right.” He thought about stepping behind her, and guiding her through the steps with his hands on her hips, but he wasn’t sure she’d allow it. More to the point, from the way his gut shivered and the pressure trying to build in his groin, he’d definitely make a fool out of himself.

And this time, she might not settle for slapping him.

He walked across her room with smooth steps, imitating the steps and movements of the sultrier maids he’d dallied with. It wasn’t comfortable, but he managed. “Walk something like that.”

Her steps were slow and hesitant, and it was obvious the movements were unfamiliar to her. Marcus had her repeat the walk several times, correcting little errors, such as when she swayed her hips too much, or her steps became too exaggerated. Finally, when the first light of dawn began to tint the window gray, he decided to stop.

“That’s enough for now. Ye’ll need tae practice on yer own, until yer comfortable with the movements.” He gathered the dress in hand. “I’ll see this tae the seamstress fer ye. In the meantime, ye’ll need tae get some rest as well.”

He was tempted to say more, but his cheek still ached slightly, a reminder of what he’d received the last time he tried to give her any sort of compliment. He finally sighed and took his leave without another word, wondering why he’d agreed to help her with her mad plans in the first place.

Erin watched the door shut behind Marcus MacLean, then slumped onto the bed and wondered if the heat in her cheeks would ever subside.

She was ashamed of how she’d reacted to what had clearly been meant as a compliment, and embarrassed by how clear it was that she was a complete novice in the art of seduction. Somehow, it was worse to know that he wasn’t interested in her. As little as she liked the idea of having a dalliance with Marcus, it stung her pride to know that she was unable to entice him, even if she wanted to.

Then there were the lessons he’d given her. They felt awkward and unnatural.

How the devil does Lyla manage with all this flirting and kenning when tae look at a man through her lashes and play coy, and when tae be more direct? Nae tae mention the walking and the way tae pitch her voice, and choosing the right words tae say. ‘Tis worse than learning sword forms and combat maneuvers!

She’d never wanted to be anything other than a warrior and had often scorned the softer ladies of her father’s keep for being too gentle. She was beginning to realize that being a gentle-woman was harder than it looked.

Erin also realized she had no idea if Marcus was steering her awry or not. He was a man, even with his reputation and supposed skills in seduction and bedsport. What could he really know of how it worked from the woman’s side? How could she be sure he wasn’t just giving her instructions on what he liked in a woman, rather than how to seduce men in general.

She wished, wholeheartedly, that she’d listened more to her mother, and to Rowan, when they’d tried to coax her into more lady-like behavior. She hated feeling unprepared for any situation, and it was now clear she’d ignored a large facet of her education as a woman.

Even worse, her ignorance might end up costing her clan much-needed allies.

After a moment, she got to her feet. She knew she’d not sleep any more, and Marcus was right. She needed to practice if she was to learn the art of seduction. Every warrior knew that countless hours of training were required to master any new set of movements. This was no different.

She could combine the exercises. A seductive walk to the table, and an offering of food or drink, then walk back. Again and again, until she felt as if she’d been doing it her whole life, the way she now felt when she was in sparring drills.

I can dae this. I ken the steps, and there was never a challenge I couldnae meet. This will be nae different, nae matter how foolish I feel.

With a deep breath, Erin picked up the nearby pitcher, and began to walk.