Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

Oh, that’s what you mean.

That thought was followed by a sense of calm even though Emma’s entire body became filled with a hectic energy, all concentrated on her lips. Then, it spread through her chest and up her neck, down her spine and into her belly, making her toes curl. Her eyes fluttered shut as he deepened the kiss and pulled her closer, pressing her against him.

You did want to kiss me.

She smiled at the thought.

She felt Laird Ronson smile back, and then he slid his tongue into her mouth. She gasped, and his grip on her hand tightened. His other hand slid up her back, before wrapping around the nape of her neck. Then, both of his hands cupped her face, and he seemed intent on memorizing her lips with his.

Emma whimpered, her fingers curling into his shirt, and that seemed to shatter the meager restraint he had. He all but snarled into her mouth, one hand catching her jaw and the other sliding down her arm, then her side, then her bum, which he squeezed.

She squeaked, and he made a satisfied sound in the back of his throat. Then, he walked her backward while still kissing her, and she felt dizzy from being desired and tasted like this. With a gasp, he let her go, and they stood there, panting for a moment.

Then, he stepped around her, grabbed the tablecloth, and threw everything to the floor. Emma gasped, before he seized her by the waist and lifted her onto the table.

“I told ye,” Grant murmured as he cradled her face once again, and her entire body hummed with lust. “Now, spread yer legs.”

Emma, drunk on his kisses, did not hesitate to obey, and he stepped between her legs.

A big hand squeezed her thigh, and pleasure shot straight to her core, making her arch her back.

“Mm, that’s it,” Grant murmured. “I kenned ye were a canny thing.”

Emma had never imagined a man with such a hoarse and smoky voice, never known a man with such a voice, or how it would drive her to a delicious distraction. His other hand trailed up one side of her neck, and he pressed his lips to the other.

She all but purred, tilting her head to give him better access, and again, she felt him smile against her. His lips traced the delicate skin there, then up to her ear, and she shivered with unimaginable pleasure. She fisted one hand in her skirts and arched into him again, and he pressed against her then. Her other hand found his face, and they kissed.

This time, their kiss was wilder, hungrier. Even Emma knew that. She felt like she was spinning out of control, reaching for something that her body instinctively knew but she did not. The Laird’s hands roamed over her thighs, her sides, her back. But he did not touch her anywhere else.

Not yet.

Emma opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling, noticing that the light was fading. Grant trailed his lips to her jaw, as though to let her catch her breath. Only, as she gulped in the air, she could not be sure how much time had passed—but it was too much time.

At that moment, his lips trailed over the swell of her breast, and she inhaled sharply. Grant paused and looked up at her.

“Now, where have ye gone?” he asked and made to kiss her again.

Emma almost let him. Instead, she held out her hands and pushed him back. “No.”

He stilled and cocked his head. “What do ye mean? Come here?—”

Tugging at her dress, Emma shook her head and pushed him back again.

This time, Grant stepped back, and Emma hopped off the table. The entire room seemed different—brighter and more real—but a chill was creeping into her veins.

“Emma.”

Her entire body stirred to the sound of her name on his lips.

“You were right, Laird Ronson,” she spoke softly, looking away from him. “You may not need words to seduce a lady, though I admit you are clever with them.” She shook her head. “But either way, I cannot be one of them.”

And with that, she left the room.

Grant panted as he stared at her retreating figure, even long after she was gone. The sun had finally set, shrouding Tarry Hall in a blue shadow, and he turned around. Reaching down to the mess on the floor, he grabbed a glass tumbler and smashed it against the table.

But he did it poorly, and a shard from the handle sliced his palm. Clenching his fist, he watched the blood dribble down and sighed.

Get a hold of yerself, man, a voice suspiciously like that of Laird MacCabe said in his head.

He dropped the tumbler and picked up Emma’s napkin from the floor, clumsily wrapping it around his hand. Then, he strode out, only pausing to apologize to the wide-eyed servant who had rushed to the commotion, and inquired where Emma had gone.

The servant pointed to the left, and Grant moved quickly, his patience running thin. He wasn’t sure what he would say when he found her, but he needed to speak with her—nay, he needed to see her.

“… need nae lie to me, lass. I willnae judge ye.”

Grant paused when he heard his mother’s voice and then moved closer to a bend in the hallway, listening hard.

“Truly, Lady Ronson,” Emma replied, her voice higher than he’d heard it. He grinned. “I know not what you speak of.”

“Oh?” Brenda murmured. Grant could almost see the look on his mother’s face, detached yet scrutinizing. “Perhaps the servants meant to call me to a different room where there was a commotion like a table had been upended.”

Grant winced. What had he been thinking?

“I saw the tension between the two of ye last night when ye arrived, lass.”

“What?” Emma asked, echoing Grant’s thoughts.

“I’d received word that me son was returnin’ home, and here he rode, with ye on Balfire. If I didnae see such a thing with me own eyes, I wouldnae have believed it.” Brenda’s voice softened. “He cares for ye, but that cannae last forever, lass.”

“I—no. I’m just… I’m here to help him in return for saving my life. Help him win over his bride.”

“Are ye? Is that his plan?” Brenda asked, and Grant thought he heard a trace of amusement in her voice, until she continued. “And ye dinnae fear the trouble it might bring?”

“It’s for seven nights,” Emma said.

Grant wanted to scoff. It almost sounded as though she were trying to convince herself.

“Aye, and in that time, ye must keep yer distance.” He heard some shuffling. “Lady Emma, I apologize for being so forward, but I beg ye to hear me. The Queen doesnae look fondly upon any Scottish laird, least of all me son. She has chosen whom he will marry, and defyin’ those orders will only bring more trouble to our clan.”

“I-I did not even want to come.”

“Well, ye are here,” Brenda pointed out, and her voice was so sad that Grant leaned against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut. “And we must reckon with that, but I cannae lose him again, lass. I cannae.”

“Again?” Emma echoed, her voice sharp and fearful. “What do you mean?”

Grant pushed off the wall and stepped around the corner. His mother had Emma’s hands in her own, and they were both gazing at each other.

“Does it have anything to do with his hoarse voice?” Emma asked quietly.

“I—oh.” Brenda’s eyes went wide when she spotted Grant.

“If ye are so curious, Emma,” Grant drawled, and Emma whirled around. “The polite thing would be to ask me, I believe.” He prowled forward and glared down at her. “Rather than runnin’ like a coward. I’m nae sure if I care for this habit of yers.”

Emma flushed with outrage and made to leave, but Grant caught her arm. He looked at his mother and waved his hand, then shook his head.

I ken that ye are tryin’ to help, but this is me business, he told her with his eyes.

Brenda nodded, then hurried away.

“That is no way to treat your mother,” Emma scoffed. “She cares for you.”

“Aye, more than ye ken,” Grant returned.

“So,” Emma said, her eyes narrowing. “If I asked, would you tell me?”

Grant sighed and went to run his hand through his hair, only to be hampered by Emma’s discarded napkin. “Probably nae.”

“I—oh.” Her eyes flicked to his hand. “Your hand. The blood.” Emma took a step back, bumping her back against the wall, and shook her head. “I did not realize you were hurt, My Laird. We s-should…”

“Shite,” Grant cursed and moved quickly to keep her from falling to the floor. “Ye are unwell again. Kyla said?—”

“No, you must go see Kyla,” she whispered. “Please.”

“Ye must lie down,” Grant retorted and tried to steady her.

Her fingers made a weak attempt to curl into his sleeves. “No, I can… and you…”

“Enough.” Grant scooped her up into his arms.

Emma curled against him, shivering and murmuring soft protests, which he ignored as he all but ran through the halls. In the back of his head, he knew he should take her to her rooms, but his were closer.

When they got there, he kicked the door open and strode inside, before he gently laid her on the bed. Then he called for a maid, who appeared in the room a second later.

“Call for Kyla.”

The maid gasped and twisted a rag between her hands, lifting it to her chin. “Oh, Me Laird, all the healers are down at the village. They are checkin’ on the children during the evenin’ feast. Ye arranged it, do ye nae recall?”

Grant cursed, and her eyes went wide. He felt a gentle touch on his arm and saw that Emma had sat up.

“Stop it, you are frightening her,” she protested. “It’s alright. I’m fine.”

“Ye are nae fine,” Grant hissed.

“Let me take care of your hand,” Emma demanded, and then she smiled at the maid. “You may go.”

“What?” Grant sputtered as she stood up and shook her head. She moved toward his vanity, and he followed. “What are ye doin’?”

“I always meant to face my fear at some point,” she replied. “Please sit, you are far too tall.”

Any other time, Grant might have leaped on that, but instead, he scowled and threw himself into a chair. “Ye are the most foolish and stubborn person I have ever met.”

“I might say the same about you,” Emma murmured, and he narrowed his eyes at her. “I jest, Sir.”

She found a cloth and held it up, as though seeking his permission, and he nodded. Then, she found a bowl of fresh water and brought it over.

“Do you have any medicine?”

“Aye, in that cabinet over there,” Grant said, curious to see if she was bold enough to go open it.

Emma did so without pause, only glancing back when she took in all the bottles. “Which one?”

“The deep brown bottle—nae the one on yer left. Aye, that one.”

She came back, turning the bottle over in her hands. “What is it?”

“One of Kyla’s concoctions,” Granted replied. He then blinked, realizing that Kyla’s absence was the reason why she didn’t send the drink he’d asked for. Ah, just as well. “Wet the cloth, then add a bit of that to it.”

Emma did so, wrinkling her nose at the strong smell of herbs, and then motioned for him to undo the bandage. He slowly did so, watching her all the while, and reached for her when he finally let it drop to the floor.

She’d gone pale and swayed, but then squared her shoulders and nodded at him. “I can do this.”

Indeed, she took his fingers and began to dab the cloth at the wound. Soon, she became a bit more confident and cleaned it with precision. It wasn’t until she drew back and reached for the fresh bandage that she paled again.

“I can do this,” Grant offered.

“Please,” Emma insisted in a soft voice. “Let me do this.”

“If ye insist,” Grant sighed.

Emma’s hands, though trembling slightly, did good work. He grimaced a bit when she tied the fresh bandage, though he made sure to hide it from her. Satisfied with her handiwork, she smiled and stepped back, and swayed again.

“Hey now.” Leaping up, Grant spun them around and sat her down. “D’ye need a drink?”

“No, no, it will pass.” Emma cradled her head and pulled in deep breaths. “It’s so foolish.”

“It isnae,” Grant countered. “Havin’ a strong stomach takes practice, even for a hardened warrior. Ask McWirthe.” He paused. “Actually, dinnae. He willnae tell ye anythin’ a lady should hear.”

“Oh, no?” Emma asked with amusement.

Grant nodded, then crouched down and looked up at her as she wobbled into a steadier position. “Why are ye so afraid of blood?”

“Once, when I was a child,” she mumbled, “I took a foolish risk while riding my horse. I’d been a decent rider up till then, but I was still learning.” She sighed. “But I wanted to try and jump over a low stone wall. The horse made it. I did not.” Grant winced. “Since then, I have never been able to ride a horse again. I only travel by carriage.”

“Ye rode Balfire well.”

“Well, I had you to hold onto,” Emma reminded him.

Their eyes met, and Grant recalled the sweet taste of her lips, the way she’d gasped when he’d pulled her close, and?—

Stop.

“Are ye feelin’ better?” he asked and slowly rose to his feet, hoping that he appeared unaffected. When she nodded, he said, “I think ye should leave, then.”

“Oh,” Emma murmured. “Yes, yes, you are right. I shouldn’t…” She glanced around his room, her eyes wide. She opened her mouth to speak, but then she closed it like a fish. Grant felt laughter bubble up his throat, but he pushed it down. “Thank you.”

For what?

He offered her a hand and helped her up, then led her to the door. “I admit,” he said in a low voice, “it is difficult bein’ a gentleman around ye.”

Emma gave him a shocked look, and he smirked. “I-I shall see you tomorrow at dinner, I suppose,” she got out.

“Nay, we’re nae havin’ dinner tomorrow. Be in me study at three. And wear somethin’ comfortable.”