Kilts and Daggers by Victoria Roberts Page B

response, Grace failed to notice that he had wound a hand into her hair to deepen the kiss. He pressed her up against the wall and his heavy body covered hers. He molded her to himself, his arms wrapping around her like a vise. Her breasts flattened against his chest, and she shuddered with desire. When he wedged his thigh between her legs, she gently leaned back and placed her head on the cool stone wall, breathless.
    â€œFagan, please stop.” She placed her hands on his chest, and he leaned his forehead against hers.
    â€œI donna know why ye make me lose all sense of reason.” His breath fanned her face. “I had absolutely nay intention of kissing ye again.”
    â€œAnd I could say the same to you. I don’t understand. Why does this keep happening to us?”
    He let out a low, hearty chuckle. “I donna know, lass.”
    â€œI know you don’t like me very much.”
    He pulled back, and his smile turned into another chuckle. “Now I wouldnae say that. Donna get me wrong. Ye have a way about ye that drives me completely mad, and your sharp tongue grates on my nerves, but…’tis apparent that I hold something for ye because I havenae yet run my sword through ye.”
    She huffed and pushed him away from her, not that she could move him more than an inch. “How very kind of you, Mister Murray.”
    He moved closer, holding her in place, and his eyes became softer as he brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek. “Donna start, Grace. Ye called me Fagan. I heard it from your lips. I will hear it from now on. I know this is foolish. Ruairi and Ravenna would have my head, but I can’t seem to stop myself. At least all I have stolen is a wee kiss or two from ye.”
    For some ridiculous reason “heart” came to her mind, but all she allowed to surface was the one thought that mattered most. “I’m betrothed to Daniel.”
    * * *
    Fagan knew he had lost all sense of reason some time ago. How could one woman—an English woman moreover—make all his chivalrous behavior fly out the window and not look back? He wasn’t thinking clearly, but when Grace kindly reminded him that she was betrothed, reality crept back in—not necessarily sanity, but the truth penetrated him like a steely blade. Yet he couldn’t dismiss that little voice inside his head and had to ask the question that weighed on his mind.
    â€œDo ye love him?”
    He wasn’t sure why that inner voice prodded him to ask, but for some reason he wanted to hear her answer. He needed to know the truth. Perhaps if he did, he’d stop acting like a besotted fool.
    Grace stepped around him. “You have no right to ask me that.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWhy does it matter? Whether yes or no, it doesn’t change the fact that there is nothing—nor will there ever be something—between us. I’ll be taking my leave in a few weeks, returning to England, and you said so yourself…it’s more than likely best if we don’t speak of this again.”
    When she threw his own words back at him, he felt guilty. The kiss meant something. He just wasn’t sure what. He raked his fingers through his hair. “I donna know—”
    â€œI see you have men on the walls. Are there also guards who ride around Ruairi’s lands to make certain they’re safe?”
    Fagan was taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. “Aye, why?” When she looked like she was deep in thought, he added, “Ye donna have to worry about the guard in the forest. I talked to him.”
    She looked at him in surprise. “You did? When?”
    â€œOnly a moment ago, on the wall.”
    â€œThe man in the forest was there on the wall?” When she gestured with her hand to his men below, he shifted his weight and glanced down.
    â€œAye.”
    For a long moment, Grace looked back at him.

Eight
    For the past two days, Fagan had