My Lady Captor. Hannah HowellЧитать онлайн книгу.
babble and I rarely speak of these things. I but felt ye deserved the truth since ye are caught up in our trouble through no choice of your own. And I think seeing ghosties isnae truly something that would rouse people’s fears to a deadly height. It does make them uneasy. That can stir up some verra dark gossip and much unpleasantness.”
“Then cease talking such muck.”
“’Tisnae muck, sir. ’Tis the simple truth. I cannae change that. I am what I am.”
Ruari stared into her huge brown eyes. He saw no glint of madness or amusement that would prove she was playing some jest. The girl truly believed what she said. After what had just happened, he discovered there was a part of him that believed her and he swiftly subdued it. He had often heard of those who could peer into the shadows so many people feared and see what lurked there, but he had always scoffed at such tales. Ruari sternly refused to relinquish his skepticism.
He grew strongly aware of how alluring her small, heart-shaped face was and allowed that fascination to take hold. Being tempted by Sorcha was preferable to hearing her speak of ghosts and ill spirits. He decided the wisest thing to do was to ignore her talk, neither to ridicule nor accept it. He wished she was as easily ignored.
“Mayhap ye think ye speak to the spirits because ye are lonely,” he said, his voice quiet and soft as he moved his hand just enough to stroke her thick braid.
“Lonely? Dunweare swarms with my kinsmen.”
Sorcha found herself all too aware of their closeness, but she was unable to pull away. Her gaze was fixed upon his mouth, each movement of his lips causing her pulse to race. Men were scarce at Dunweare, and thus far she had escaped all knowledge of how tempting some of them could be, both physically and emotionally. She heartily wished she had remained so blissfully ignorant. Ruari Kerr’s allure reached so deeply inside of her it was frightening.
“Ye are lonely for a mon, sweet Sorcha. How old are ye?”
“Twenty,” she whispered, knowing she was being seduced by the soft caress of his deep, rich voice, but unable to fight him.
“Long past marrying age. Mayhap, my bonny brown lass, ye are pining so for a mon ye have conjured one up in your mind.”
“And ye claim that I speak nonsense,” she muttered, but her brief flash of irritation was swiftly smoothed away by his sudden smile. The man looked so good when he smiled Sorcha was sure it was a sin.
“Lasses can grow as lonely as any mon. Your wee cousin Euphemia is proof of that.”
“My wee cousin needs a sound cuff offside her empty little head.”
“And what do ye need, Sorcha Hay?” Moving carefully to avoid any pain, he reached up to follow the fine lines of her face with his fingers. “Ye need something. I can see it in your eyes. They are huge, dark pools of longing.”
It was hard for Sorcha to subdue a blush. The man saw too much. She prayed he did not see that her longing was not for just any man, but for him alone. The intense feelings swirling inside of her were exciting, frightening, and confusing. His touch, the way his lightly callused fingers moved over her face, made her want to lean closer and pull away at the same time. She was indeed filled with longing, but it pulled her two ways. She ached to find out just how good Ruari Kerr could make her feel, but she also longed to flee from him, to forget him and all the new confusing emotions he stirred up.
“I need ye to release me ere I reopen a few of your wounds,” she said, but knew her threat lacked strength. Her voice was low and husky, robbed of the steel needed to relay a warning.
“Nay, I think ye but try to flee from what ye truly need. Ye hide in tales and imagination, locked away from the touch of a mon.” He threaded his fingers into her thick, soft hair and tugged her mouth down to his. “Ye need the heat of passion in your blood to burn away all the delusions besetting ye.”
Before Sorcha could reply to his arrogant statement, he brushed his lips across hers. All thought fled from her mind. She doubted she could put two sensible words together upon pain of death. A shudder tore through her when he gently nibbled at her mouth. She put her palms upon the bed to push herself away from him but lacked the strength to complete the move.
“Ye are a strange lass,” he whispered as he teased her lips with small kisses. “Boyish in some ways, quite mad in others, yet thoroughly tempting. Enough play, I think,” he growled and kissed her.
Sorcha uttered a soft, low moan as he ceased his teasing and began to kiss her thoroughly. She greedily opened her mouth when he prodded her lips with his tongue. The slow, heated strokes of his tongue inside her mouth caused her to tremble from the strength of the desire racing through her.
Suddenly Sorcha panicked. She tore her mouth from his, stared at him in open-mouthed shock for a moment, then scrambled off the bed. Without another word, she fled the room. Ruari Kerr had certainly shown her how good he could make her feel. If one small kiss could so enflame her, she was not sure she wanted to discover any more. Even as she ran away, however, she fought the urge to return to him, to his kisses and his touch.
Ruari eyed the door closing behind Sorcha with speculation. He idly touched his lips, still warm and damp from their kiss. He savored how her sweet taste lingered on his tongue. Sorcha Hay was all that he considered unsuitable in a bride, despite her good birth, and he had a few hard questions concerning her sanity. It had been a long time, however, since any woman had fired his blood with one short kiss the way Sorcha did. He decided his stay at Dunweare could prove to have some benefits.
Chapter Five
“Ye told him what?”
Sorcha grimaced at Robert’s bellow. She had run straight from Ruari’s room to the armory shed and Robert. For a few minutes she had fidgeted about, babbled aimlessly, and paced the room pretending to watch Robert put the finishing touches on a scabbard for Dougal’s sword. Robert had finally cursed and demanded to know why she was plaguing him. She could not tell the man she was upset because one kiss from Ruari Kerr had her aching to crawl between the sheets with the man. Instead she explained how she had told Ruari the secrets of Dunweare and allowed Robert to believe she was upset about such disclosures.
“I told him all our secrets. Weel, the ones concerning the spirits leastwise. Euphemia went to his room, and he got a verra good look at the worst of our curse. I couldnae even get the door open. The spirits held it closed.”
“Ye could have told him the door was stuck.”
“Robert, we have spent the past three days mouthing such lies. He has heard the complaints, the crashes, the thuds, and all the noises that plague us all through the night. We have all twisted our tongues into knots trying to explain away those things. When Effie decided to creep into his room and play the budding whore, her ill-tempered spirits became quite enraged.” Sorcha sighed and sat down on a stool made from a thick old log. “I fear there was no lie big enough or clever enough to explain away all he saw.”
“Mayhap, but I am not sure ’twas wise to tell him the truth.” Robert moved to stoke up the fire in his forge.
“He didnae believe me.”
“That cannae be a surprise to you.”
“Nay, yet I wish he had. I fear he now thinks we are all quite mad. Effie telling him all about being a changeling, a fairy caught in a mortal life, certainly didnae help.” She smiled faintly when Robert leaned against the wattle-and-daub wall of the armory and started to laugh, although she was not sure what he found so amusing. “I am not sure I see the humor in all of this.”
“Ah, weel, ye would, lass, if ye werenae so heartsore for the lad.”
“I am not heartsore for Ruari Kerr,” she snapped, jumping to her feet, but Robert just smiled.
“Oh, ye are. ’Tis why ye have been hiding from the mon since ye first brought him here. ’Tis also why ye came running in here to hide now and looking like a weel-kissed lass. If he is behaving