Suddenly there was but a hair’s breadth between their lips.
His voice caught as he laughed again but, this time, there was a sensuous quality, as if he were but playing a game with her, and she was the little rabbit caught in his snare.
“Ye may not be the best at milking cows, fair Florrie, but ye must have other talents.” His fingers found a stray curl worked loose beneath her ear and she felt their touch upon her neck.
Swallowing, she attempted to lean back but his other hand held strong against her waist, preventing her escape. “I’m only here tae help with the milk. I've nae other talents tae speak of.”
“I’m sure that’s nae true.”
For a moment, Flora’s heart seemed to stop.
“Everyone knows dairy maids make the best kissers, after all.” The laird moistened his lips. “Will ye nae show me?”
“Certainly not!” Putting her palms to his chest, she attempted to push him off again but Ragnall Dalreagh’s feet were too firmly planted on either side to give her any leverage.
“Ye’re nae afraid tae find out ye cannae kiss?” As he said it, the tip of his nose, just as warm as the rest of him, bumped hers.
Truly, the man was audacious. She gave another push. “O' course I can kiss, just as well as anyone, but ye won’t be finding out.”
The low, rumbling laugh came again and, for the briefest moment, she felt Ragnall’s soft lower lip and his chin, rough with stubble.
In shock, she made to protest, realizing only too late that he was likely to view her parted lips as an invitation.
However, the next moment, he was on his feet. “I can see ye be shy, and there’s naught wrong with that, but I will find out yer other talents, Mistress Florrie.” Standing above her, he gave a slight wink. “When ye’ve done practising yer technique on those soft teats, bring some o’ the milk tae add tae ma bathing water.”
Nodding to Maggie, who’d come round to see what the fussing was, he turned on his heel, leaving the two women alone again with the cattle.
“Och, Florrie!” Maggie shook her head, tutting gravely. “This means only one thing, ye ken.”
Flora was also in little doubt.
As she’d anticipated, the laird was used to having his way with any woman who took his fancy and, today, it happened to be her. A strange thrill passed through her, shivering the hairs on her arms and causing a disturbing ache deep within her belly.
Had the time truly come?
Would she now get close enough to take her revenge?
Chapter 5
Later that day…
Flora stood outside Ragnall’s private chamber with two pails of milk. The dirk, retrieved from her bedding, hung heavy in her pocket. In his bath, the laird would be defenceless. She had only to catch him unawares and revenge would be hers.
Unfortunately, Ragnall was not alone.
She leaned closer. The laird’s voice, low and rumbling, was distinctive. Of the other two she wasn’t sure. The door was open but a crack.
It seemed prudent to listen.
She’d never witnessed her father’s private audiences with clan members, but it might be beneficial to understand the state of things within the Dalreagh clan. Away on the croft, they’d rarely heard of castle matters.
She caught only snatches but the discussion was heated.
“The cur seduced ma sister and now asks tae marry her!” declared the most churlish of the voices.
“And what is yer sister’s mind?” asked the laird.
“Like a fool, she loves him, but ’tis by the by, for the match was nae of ma choosing. ’Twas Domnall here who contracted tae marry the wench some six months past, and noo we find she’s quickening.”
“Aye!” The third, Domnall, spoke. “And makes ma blood hot tae think of her deflowered and carrying the bastard’s child. I seek yer blessing, laird, tae draw swords against him and take Mhairi tae wife.”
“And what of this child?” asked the laird again.
“The bairn can be raised tae tend the sheep and work with the rest. At least I ken Mhairi’s able tae bear childer. Once I’ve wedded her, there’ll be plenty more bairns tae offer comfort,” reasoned Domnall.
There was a pause.
Flora pressed her ear closer still. It wasn’t uncommon for such things to occur but she was interested to hear what the laird would say on the matter.
“A man’s honour isnae tae be trifled with,” mused the laird. “But nae more is a woman’s. If the lass loves him and he has the means tae support her, it may be wiser tae let her go, Finlay.”
There were murmurs of dissent before the room fell quiet again.
“If ye take her against her will, Domnall, she’ll resent ye for the rest of yer days. ’Tis nae a marriage I’d encourage.”
Flora found herself nodding. There were few women who had the privilege of marrying exactly where they pleased. Alliances were vital. Her own betrothals had been example enough of that—first to Calder and then to Ragnall. Her duty had been to obey her father, regardless of her personal feelings.
Nevertheless, the men seemed to be accepting the laird’s advice.
There was a scraping of chairs and Flora stepped back from the door just as it was pulled open. The two men looked her over briefly, then passed by, disappearing into the gloom of the passageway.
Within the room, a well-stoked fire danced bright flames in the hearth. Ragnall stood beside, dressed in a loose robe, belted at the waist, a great wolfhound at his feet.
“Ah, ’tis ye at last, Florrie.” Glancing up from his petting of the dog, he gave a weary smile. “And I’ve fond want, lass. Ye’d think men would have a care nae tae bring their disputes on the eve o' the festivities, but there’s nae rest for Murdo and I.”
The hound looked up at him with adoring eyes and gave his master’s hand an affectionate lick.
Flora frowned. How easily he spoke of his duties, as if they were fairly gotten rather than by black deed.
She crossed the room with her pails, emptying the milk into the waiting copper tub. “Ye wish me tae help ye wash, ma lord.” Though he appeared nonchalant, his blue eyes followed her intently.
A strange sensation passed through her. As Flora Dalreagh, no man had dared look with such obvious interest; at least, none but Calder. On the croft, she’d been treated as one of the family. To find herself made such a study of was unnerving. Nervously, she tucked her hair behind her ear, glad once more for the scarf.
“Aye, lass. That I do.” In one swift motion, Ragnall shrugged off the robe, revealing himself quite naked beneath.
A flush rose to her cheeks. She’d anticipated his nakedness but to bare himself so blatantly! Her inclination was to turn away but she refused to let him think her timid. He might think it amusing to flaunt himself before her but she wouldnae give him the pleasure of seeing her put out! Meaning to keep her eyes upon his face, she held her ground, staring straight back at him, but the rest of Ragnall Dalreagh proved too distracting to ignore.
She’d seen Maggie’s brothers bathe in the stream. A good ten years Ragnall’s junior, their slender bodies bore no resemblance to the man before her.
The hair which descended over his abdomen grew thicker at his groin and continued on his great thighs. As for what sprung between them, she’d had no idea a man’s member could be so thick, nor that it could be that ruddy colour. The bulging tip, glistening wet, was almost purple.