Read Online Seducing the Highlander by Emma Wildes - Free Book Online
Authors: Emma Wildes
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how Ian would feel if he heard such an outrageous and blatant offer.
Perhaps he would be jealous. Suddenly remembering Ian’s almost frantic need for her the previous night as he carried her upstairs, she wondered if Robbie’s unconcealed appreciation had not fueled her lover’s sudden overwhelming lust. The rest of the night, too, he had been more insatiable than usual, his lovemaking both tender and intense.
“Perhaps,” she said faintly, “we should go back.”
“As you wish.” Robbie seemed to understand he had confused her, and was amused by it.
This time, when he lifted her onto his horse and swung up behind her, settling his arms around her as he took the reins, she felt a little unease at being so close to him. Robbie had asked her upon their departure if she wanted her own mount, but she was not a rider; her father had only the horse he rode himself in their stables since their poverty was such that he could not afford ladies’ mounts for his daughters. When they rode together through the village on their way back to the castle, the people on the street waved in enthusiastic greeting, and Robbie answered in kind, but their stares were avidly curious as they gazed at her.
She was a hostage, she sharply reminded herself. Surely everyone knew she could not help being there.
And they probably also all knew she graced the laird’s bed, she thought in embarrassed resignation.
But it was better than marrying the odious Frankton.
In the empty room, the large bed was turned back but unoccupied. As Ian stood in the doorway of his bedroom, he felt restless unease. Leanna had been very quiet at dinner, and he had the uncomfortable sensation that something was wrong and he was at fault for her preoccupation. He’d told himself to just leave her alone, but her withdrawn mood bothered him.
He was worried over a woman’s mood. Hell and blast, that had never happened in his life.
It was ridiculous for him to concern himself, of course. She was little more than a pawn, a hostage, a plaything to be used to confound and humiliate the hated Baron Frankton, he reminded himself quickly.
And, looking at his empty bed, he told himself with painful honesty a second later that in such a short time, she had become much more than that. It was true, she warmed his nights, responding to his persuasive lovemaking with honest passion, but she was also sweet and innocently kind, gracious to the servants, and uncomplaining about her circumstances. Young as she was, he admired her courage and the loyalty to her family that had compelled her to accept the untenable proposal of the despised baron in the first place.
In short, he was . . . smitten.
Crossing the hall with long strides, he rapped lightly on Leanna’s door and then pushed it open. To his relief, she was inside, clad in her dressing gown, her loose golden hair a mass of tumbled silken curls down her back. Her expression was unreadable, her long-lashed eyes veiled as she looked at him from across the room.
Ian said evenly, “I thought perhaps you would be waiting for me in my room, lass. I know I was late talking with Angus, but—”
“If I do not have to go back to the baron, I cannot see the point in continuing our . . . intimate activities,” she interrupted in a cool tone, which was unlike her.
For a moment, her statement confounded Ian. Then the picture suddenly came sharply into focus. “Damn Robbie and his loose tongue,” he muttered.
“If you had told me yourself, it would have been better.” Leanna looked at him, composed, but her lovely blue eyes held a shade of accusation.
“But then,” he pointed out in perfect honesty, “you might have no longer come to my bed.”
“So you deceived me?”
He shrugged with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. She was vexed with him and he found he didn’t like it, but then again, he was laird, dammit, and since when was he accountable for not explaining his intentions anyway—much less to an English
Perhaps he would be jealous. Suddenly remembering Ian’s almost frantic need for her the previous night as he carried her upstairs, she wondered if Robbie’s unconcealed appreciation had not fueled her lover’s sudden overwhelming lust. The rest of the night, too, he had been more insatiable than usual, his lovemaking both tender and intense.
“Perhaps,” she said faintly, “we should go back.”
“As you wish.” Robbie seemed to understand he had confused her, and was amused by it.
This time, when he lifted her onto his horse and swung up behind her, settling his arms around her as he took the reins, she felt a little unease at being so close to him. Robbie had asked her upon their departure if she wanted her own mount, but she was not a rider; her father had only the horse he rode himself in their stables since their poverty was such that he could not afford ladies’ mounts for his daughters. When they rode together through the village on their way back to the castle, the people on the street waved in enthusiastic greeting, and Robbie answered in kind, but their stares were avidly curious as they gazed at her.
She was a hostage, she sharply reminded herself. Surely everyone knew she could not help being there.
And they probably also all knew she graced the laird’s bed, she thought in embarrassed resignation.
But it was better than marrying the odious Frankton.
In the empty room, the large bed was turned back but unoccupied. As Ian stood in the doorway of his bedroom, he felt restless unease. Leanna had been very quiet at dinner, and he had the uncomfortable sensation that something was wrong and he was at fault for her preoccupation. He’d told himself to just leave her alone, but her withdrawn mood bothered him.
He was worried over a woman’s mood. Hell and blast, that had never happened in his life.
It was ridiculous for him to concern himself, of course. She was little more than a pawn, a hostage, a plaything to be used to confound and humiliate the hated Baron Frankton, he reminded himself quickly.
And, looking at his empty bed, he told himself with painful honesty a second later that in such a short time, she had become much more than that. It was true, she warmed his nights, responding to his persuasive lovemaking with honest passion, but she was also sweet and innocently kind, gracious to the servants, and uncomplaining about her circumstances. Young as she was, he admired her courage and the loyalty to her family that had compelled her to accept the untenable proposal of the despised baron in the first place.
In short, he was . . . smitten.
Crossing the hall with long strides, he rapped lightly on Leanna’s door and then pushed it open. To his relief, she was inside, clad in her dressing gown, her loose golden hair a mass of tumbled silken curls down her back. Her expression was unreadable, her long-lashed eyes veiled as she looked at him from across the room.
Ian said evenly, “I thought perhaps you would be waiting for me in my room, lass. I know I was late talking with Angus, but—”
“If I do not have to go back to the baron, I cannot see the point in continuing our . . . intimate activities,” she interrupted in a cool tone, which was unlike her.
For a moment, her statement confounded Ian. Then the picture suddenly came sharply into focus. “Damn Robbie and his loose tongue,” he muttered.
“If you had told me yourself, it would have been better.” Leanna looked at him, composed, but her lovely blue eyes held a shade of accusation.
“But then,” he pointed out in perfect honesty, “you might have no longer come to my bed.”
“So you deceived me?”
He shrugged with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. She was vexed with him and he found he didn’t like it, but then again, he was laird, dammit, and since when was he accountable for not explaining his intentions anyway—much less to an English
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