She gasped and snarled as she struggled to crawl off the bed, but her dress hampered her progress.
“Why do women wear such stupid clothing?”
Jemma didn’t realize that she had voiced her thought until she heard Gordon laughing once again. This time it was husky and sweet, sounding far too enticing for her frayed self-control.
“Well now, lass, I admit that the idea of seeing ye in a kilt would be pleasing indeed.” His face became a mask of sensuous intent, shocking her how much she noticed his emotions. “But that would put yer thighs on display to everyone, and I think that I’m not liking that part of it at all.” He plucked at the edge of the rust and orange wool that formed his kilt, lifting it a few inches to show his own thigh that was cut with powerful muscle. Her gaze lowered to it, remaining there until the wool pleats of his plaid fell back down to cover his bare skin.
“No one will disturb ye in this chamber. Ula will knock.”
“So I may feel at ease, is that what you suggest?”
He shrugged. “I could stay and do me best to help ye settle in. We do seem to find things to talk about.” His eyes narrowed. “And do.”
“The chamber is very nice. Thank you for your kindness, but I have all that I require.” She fired off her retort rapidly. “Pray, do not let me keep you from more important matters.”
He chuckled at her, his lips flashing an arrogant grin. “Very well, lass, although I confess to being just a wee bit disappointed in yer choice.”
He considered her with one more long look before turning and quitting the room. Jemma relaxed, her body sagging on her knees in the middle of the bed with her skirts puddled about her. Her heart was beating fast as though she had been running. The night air felt good against her skin because she was warm, just like on a summer day. Her corset felt abnormally tight, and her nipples were still hard behind them. She felt drained now that he was gone, as though her emotions had returned to normal. But she now understood how little she felt during her everyday life.
Jemma gasped at the horror of the moment, raising a hand to cover her mouth. Horror, torment, and longing. Shock held her in its grasp so tightly, all she could do was sit there while the events of the night replayed themselves across her mind. She trembled at the recollection of how close she had come to her own death, but that paled when compared to the way she quivered when she thought about the kiss Gordon Dwyre had pressed against her lips. The darkness around her suddenly became more friend than enemy because it shrouded her and her blush. Try as she might, there was no way to banish Gordon from her mind.
No, there was only the night and the man who had kissed her beneath its velvet curtain.
His cock was hard.
Gordon made his way down the hallway, forcing his feet to carry him away from the woman who had awakened his flesh. Her kiss had been sweet, so much so he felt drunk on it.
“I heard that ye rode back in.” Anyon leaned against the wall with her skirt raised up to show him one long leg. She was a well-shaped woman and knew how to use what nature had blessed her with.
Used it to bring a great deal of pleasure, too. She offered him a sultry look from beneath lowered lashes before sending her hand over her own thigh. One slow rub that normally captivated him. She lifted her eyelashes and stared at him with invitation burning brightly in her eyes. Her breasts swelled temptingly above the edge of her bodice that had always been cut just a small amount lower than the other women who served in his house. He’d never lamented that fact, either.
But tonight it wasn’t holding his attention. Instead he noticed the knowing gleam in her eyes and the practiced slant to her smile.
And almost coy.
“What keeps you from me, lover? Shall I come to you, like a harem girl in the east?” Her skirt fell down to cover her leg, and her hips swayed with just the right amount of motion while she moved to him. She didn’t rush, knowing full well how to draw out the moment to build up the passion.
“Not tonight, Anyon.”
She fluttered her eyelashes and ran a knowledgeable hand along the front of his kilt. Just a light caress, but she sighed when she felt his erection.
“If ye are weary, I’ll ease the stiffness from yer flesh before ye seek yer bed.”
She sent her hand down to the edge of his kilt, her fingertips touching his bare thigh before denial shot through him so hard he jerked away from her. Hurt crossed her face, confusion filling her eyes.
“Ye desire that Englishwoman ye brought back with ye.”
Hurt edged her words, and she pressed her lips into a hard line before backing up. “She’ll not be able to satisfy ye as I can. She’ll cry that ye bruise her. The English are too soft to be good bedsport.” Anyon held out her arms. “Come to me, lover. I’ll give ye what ye crave as I have before.”
“I know ye have, but tonight I have no appetite for ye, Anyon. ’Tis sorry I am to say such to ye.”
He kept his voice low, but her eyes still blinked rapidly as she tried to hold off tears. Anger darkened her complexion. “Fine then. See what sort of sleep ye get with that swollen cock keeping ye company.”
“Anyon—”
She didn’t give him time to try to comfort her. In a swirl of wool she turned and disappeared down the hallway. The night swallowed her up as though she had never been there.
Gordon Dwyre cursed.
Low and deep and he meant every last syllable.
Chapter Four
Jemma fell asleep sometime in the early morning hours. Her body fought against her mind and won, at least for a few hours of much-needed rest. The bed was soft and comfortable, cradling her while her dreams were filled with Gordon Dwyre. Was the man her host? Possibly. She wasn’t sure, but she was equally certain that she did not want to label him her captor for fear that it might be so. That left her tossing and kicking most of the night.
Dawn spread its pink fingers over the horizon, and she opened her eyes because she was sensitive to the change in light. Rubbing at her burning eyes, she looked toward the windows and gasped. Rising from the bed, she walked across the floor to stare at the glass-paned windows. Such was an extreme luxury. Something found in a palace where princes and dukes slept. She reached out and fingered the veins of lead that held the small panes of glass together to fill in the entire window.
“Trade with yer brother has brought many good things to Barras land.”
It was Ula who spoke. Her tone even and just a tiny bit hushed to reflect the early morning hour. Jemma turned to look at her but became engrossed with gazing at the rest of the chamber. Tapestries hung on the wall. Each one was a work of art, the weaving of threads into depictions of legend or biblical stories. The two that hung in the chamber were eight feet by ten and hung on thick wooden beams. One was a soft-colored representation of the baby Moses being placed into the river by his mother. The other was a bright blending of harvest colors depicting plump pumpkins and rich vegetables hanging on vines while two lads sampled them instead of filling their baskets.
“Those were made by the laird’s mother. She had great affection for tapestry weaving.” Ula pointed to the rich shade of orange used to make the pumpkin. “This is Barras orange, and here is the rust, but the boys wear the green and mustard colors of the Seton clan that she came from.”
The housekeeper smiled with the memory. “There are many stories in each one of her tapestries. I am one of the few who recalls them these days, for she never had a daughter to pass her skill along to. Only sons.”
“Many would consider that a blessing and praise her for doing her wifely duty.”
Ula turned to look at her. “All