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Authors: Cathy MacRae
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leaves and formed intricate patterns on the ground. A thousand stars sparkled against a velvet night sky, but he had eyes only for Gilda.
Her hair, bound by a narrow silver band at her crown, spilled across her shoulders and down her back, sparking fire and gold where the filtered moonlight touched it. Heavy curls swayed like a living thing with each step and Ryan’s skin tingled with the desire to run his hands through the molten strands.
Crossing to a low wooden bench encircling an ancient oak tree, Gilda at last came to a stop and faced him, her expression unreadable. Ryan wondered if she regretted the knowledge of who they were as much as he did.
“Ryan.” Gilda laid a flattened palm against his chest to halt his advance. Unexplainable sparks flew between them, and she dropped her hand to press it against her skirt, casting a startled gaze at him. Ryan stifled the urge to rub the stinging sensation lingering on his skin.
Gilda cleared her throat. “Ryan. We cannae meet again. I dinnae know who ye were, but even so, ’twas wrong for us to expect to see each other again.” Her forthright gaze challenged him.
“Did ye expect to see me again? It seemed to me ye had no intention of it.”
Even in the moonlight, Ryan saw the deepening shade on her cheeks and knew she blushed.
She lifted her chin. “Ye ogled my legs!”
Ryan nodded his head in agreement. “Ye have verra pretty legs.”
Gilda drew back with a hiss of breath. “Ye are a rogue, Ryan Macraig!”
“We have already agreed on this, aye?”
“This meeting tonight ’twas for the clansmen to decide what to do about the pirates, not for ye to seek me out in my home.” Gilda crossed her arms beneath her breasts, shoving them to the squared neckline.
Ryan mumbled the first response that came to his suddenly awkward tongue. “I dinnae know ye would be here.” His tone remained reasonable even as he fought the dryness in his mouth.
“Dinnae stare at me like that.” Gilda dropped her hands as she spun away, and Ryan’s concentration returned with a snap.
“I dinnae know how to act around ye, Gilda Macrory. I know our parents are nae likely to agree for us to meet, but I am willing to ask. To do this right.”
Gilda slowly turned, lifting her gaze to his. “To do what right?”
“To talk to ye. Listen to ye laugh. Watch yer eyes change color when I vex ye.”
Gilda’s quick grin told him he’d scored a point and he smiled. “I am good at vexing ye, aye?”
“Aye.” Her expression remained puzzled. “Do ye like to be around me? Not just to ogle my legs?”
This time Ryan laughed. “I will ogle yer legs any chance I get. I cannae lie to ye. But, aye. I like being around ye.”
Gilda gave him a thoughtful look before strolling to the circular wooden bench, lifting her skirts slightly as she climbed onto its wooden seat. Offering a look from beneath her lashes, she dropped the midnight fabric over her ankles and stepped along the boards, hands outstretched for balance. At the curve of the bench, she grabbed a low limb in a practiced move and swung about.
The maneuver caught Ryan off-guard and, thinking she fell, he lunged forward only to draw to an abrupt halt as she gracefully recovered her footing, and he realized she was quite at home climbing the ancient oak.
Ryan leaned a shoulder against a slender rowan tree and crossed his arms over his chest. “Ye are naught but a well-dressed hoyden.”
Gilda tossed a lofty glare over her shoulder and continued her circuit of the tree. “I am quite unlikely to fall, so ye can stop looking at me so fiercely.”
He lost sight of her on the far side of the enormous tree trunk, but refused to rise to the bait. He would wait for her.
A thump and muffled cry startled him.
“Damn!”
With a start, Ryan pushed away from the rowan tree and was at Gilda’s side in an instant. She half-crouched on the ground, her slippered heel caught in the hem of her gown. Shooting him a quick glance, she
Her hair, bound by a narrow silver band at her crown, spilled across her shoulders and down her back, sparking fire and gold where the filtered moonlight touched it. Heavy curls swayed like a living thing with each step and Ryan’s skin tingled with the desire to run his hands through the molten strands.
Crossing to a low wooden bench encircling an ancient oak tree, Gilda at last came to a stop and faced him, her expression unreadable. Ryan wondered if she regretted the knowledge of who they were as much as he did.
“Ryan.” Gilda laid a flattened palm against his chest to halt his advance. Unexplainable sparks flew between them, and she dropped her hand to press it against her skirt, casting a startled gaze at him. Ryan stifled the urge to rub the stinging sensation lingering on his skin.
Gilda cleared her throat. “Ryan. We cannae meet again. I dinnae know who ye were, but even so, ’twas wrong for us to expect to see each other again.” Her forthright gaze challenged him.
“Did ye expect to see me again? It seemed to me ye had no intention of it.”
Even in the moonlight, Ryan saw the deepening shade on her cheeks and knew she blushed.
She lifted her chin. “Ye ogled my legs!”
Ryan nodded his head in agreement. “Ye have verra pretty legs.”
Gilda drew back with a hiss of breath. “Ye are a rogue, Ryan Macraig!”
“We have already agreed on this, aye?”
“This meeting tonight ’twas for the clansmen to decide what to do about the pirates, not for ye to seek me out in my home.” Gilda crossed her arms beneath her breasts, shoving them to the squared neckline.
Ryan mumbled the first response that came to his suddenly awkward tongue. “I dinnae know ye would be here.” His tone remained reasonable even as he fought the dryness in his mouth.
“Dinnae stare at me like that.” Gilda dropped her hands as she spun away, and Ryan’s concentration returned with a snap.
“I dinnae know how to act around ye, Gilda Macrory. I know our parents are nae likely to agree for us to meet, but I am willing to ask. To do this right.”
Gilda slowly turned, lifting her gaze to his. “To do what right?”
“To talk to ye. Listen to ye laugh. Watch yer eyes change color when I vex ye.”
Gilda’s quick grin told him he’d scored a point and he smiled. “I am good at vexing ye, aye?”
“Aye.” Her expression remained puzzled. “Do ye like to be around me? Not just to ogle my legs?”
This time Ryan laughed. “I will ogle yer legs any chance I get. I cannae lie to ye. But, aye. I like being around ye.”
Gilda gave him a thoughtful look before strolling to the circular wooden bench, lifting her skirts slightly as she climbed onto its wooden seat. Offering a look from beneath her lashes, she dropped the midnight fabric over her ankles and stepped along the boards, hands outstretched for balance. At the curve of the bench, she grabbed a low limb in a practiced move and swung about.
The maneuver caught Ryan off-guard and, thinking she fell, he lunged forward only to draw to an abrupt halt as she gracefully recovered her footing, and he realized she was quite at home climbing the ancient oak.
Ryan leaned a shoulder against a slender rowan tree and crossed his arms over his chest. “Ye are naught but a well-dressed hoyden.”
Gilda tossed a lofty glare over her shoulder and continued her circuit of the tree. “I am quite unlikely to fall, so ye can stop looking at me so fiercely.”
He lost sight of her on the far side of the enormous tree trunk, but refused to rise to the bait. He would wait for her.
A thump and muffled cry startled him.
“Damn!”
With a start, Ryan pushed away from the rowan tree and was at Gilda’s side in an instant. She half-crouched on the ground, her slippered heel caught in the hem of her gown. Shooting him a quick glance, she
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