look on his face, but it made her heart beat faster. The first word that came to her mind was
hunger
. As one moment passed in silence, and then another, Ana sensed it was not the inches that kept them apart, but the sheer strength of Niall’s will.
Her gaze, unbidden, dropped to his lips. They were the finest she’d ever seen on a man—firm and wide, with just a dash of sinful curve in the upper one.
Would he kiss her again? And if he did, how should she respond?
The first kiss had been a simple press of flesh. Definitely intriguing, but the full impact had been lost to the shock of the moment—the curious crowd, his dramatic claim, her choking fear. By the time her wits settled, it was over.
She lifted her gaze, hoping the primitive burn of desire in his eyes had faded.
It had not. If anything, her study of his lips had fueled it to a white-hot blaze.
Ana swallowed thickly. An odd feeling of melting from the inside besieged her. Her belly grew warm, and her chest insisted on drawing inadequate, shallow breaths. Conveniently forgetting the bevy of heartrending mistakes she’d made in the past, her body was urging her to make one more.
And it was all too tempting to yield.
Fortunately, Niall’s willpower exceeded her own. He did not kiss her. With a sight more composure than she would have guessed, he reached out and pulled a small piece of bark from her hair.
She watched the wood chip float to the ground. This outcome was better.
Absolutely.
There was no room in her life for a man, handsome as the devil or not. She gave him a wide berth as she set sail toward the door. Grabbing her healer’s pouch, she gave him the barest of nods. “I’ll return anon.”
“Ana.”
Her pulse skittered at the husky timbre of his voice. An unfair weapon, that. She paused, hand on the door latch. Slowly, she swiveled to face him. “Aye?”
All suggestion of barely contained passion had been wiped from his expression. His eyes were once again polished, flat stones. “Wait for me at the manor. I’ll accompany you home.”
“That’s a needless courtesy,” she said, shaking her head. “I travel hither and yon every day without an escort.”
“You were a widow then. Now you’re a wife.”
Although principle demanded she remind him that their marriage was a ruse, Ana erred on the side of caution. The danger had passed. Why poke a slumbering badger? There would be plenty of time to test his temper when next they blew out the candle.
She nodded. “I’ll wait.”
Then she turned tail and ran.
• • •
Morning prayers were over when Niall reached the village square, but the last stragglers had yet to depart the chapel. He lingered outside for a few moments, but the wait swiftly grew tiresome. Spying a pair of hands working in the nearby stables and knowing the quickest way into their good regards was to ease their lot, he picked up a shovel and mucked out a stall. Once the smiles broke out and the joking began, he carefully guided the conversation to the weeks following Lochurkie’s death.
Unfortunately, his efforts were wasted. The lads could not recall any visitors to the manor prior to the Yule festivities, save for a caravan of traveling merchants.
The sun crept higher in the sky, and Niall glanced toward the kirk. No one had come or gone from the small stone building in some time. The friar was finally alone. He hung up his shovel, nodded his farewells to the stable hands, and stepped inside.
The thin-faced friar was seated at a small pine desk close to the door, a quill in hand and a sheaf of parchment on the table before him. As the village record keeper, he was responsible for noting all events of consequence including marriages, births, and deaths. Head down, seemingly engrossed in his task, the holy man failed to acknowledge Niall’s arrival.
After the long wait outside, Niall’s patience had run thin. He nudged the leg of the table with his boot, rattling the ink pot.
“Brother Colban,
hunger
. As one moment passed in silence, and then another, Ana sensed it was not the inches that kept them apart, but the sheer strength of Niall’s will.
Her gaze, unbidden, dropped to his lips. They were the finest she’d ever seen on a man—firm and wide, with just a dash of sinful curve in the upper one.
Would he kiss her again? And if he did, how should she respond?
The first kiss had been a simple press of flesh. Definitely intriguing, but the full impact had been lost to the shock of the moment—the curious crowd, his dramatic claim, her choking fear. By the time her wits settled, it was over.
She lifted her gaze, hoping the primitive burn of desire in his eyes had faded.
It had not. If anything, her study of his lips had fueled it to a white-hot blaze.
Ana swallowed thickly. An odd feeling of melting from the inside besieged her. Her belly grew warm, and her chest insisted on drawing inadequate, shallow breaths. Conveniently forgetting the bevy of heartrending mistakes she’d made in the past, her body was urging her to make one more.
And it was all too tempting to yield.
Fortunately, Niall’s willpower exceeded her own. He did not kiss her. With a sight more composure than she would have guessed, he reached out and pulled a small piece of bark from her hair.
She watched the wood chip float to the ground. This outcome was better.
Absolutely.
There was no room in her life for a man, handsome as the devil or not. She gave him a wide berth as she set sail toward the door. Grabbing her healer’s pouch, she gave him the barest of nods. “I’ll return anon.”
“Ana.”
Her pulse skittered at the husky timbre of his voice. An unfair weapon, that. She paused, hand on the door latch. Slowly, she swiveled to face him. “Aye?”
All suggestion of barely contained passion had been wiped from his expression. His eyes were once again polished, flat stones. “Wait for me at the manor. I’ll accompany you home.”
“That’s a needless courtesy,” she said, shaking her head. “I travel hither and yon every day without an escort.”
“You were a widow then. Now you’re a wife.”
Although principle demanded she remind him that their marriage was a ruse, Ana erred on the side of caution. The danger had passed. Why poke a slumbering badger? There would be plenty of time to test his temper when next they blew out the candle.
She nodded. “I’ll wait.”
Then she turned tail and ran.
• • •
Morning prayers were over when Niall reached the village square, but the last stragglers had yet to depart the chapel. He lingered outside for a few moments, but the wait swiftly grew tiresome. Spying a pair of hands working in the nearby stables and knowing the quickest way into their good regards was to ease their lot, he picked up a shovel and mucked out a stall. Once the smiles broke out and the joking began, he carefully guided the conversation to the weeks following Lochurkie’s death.
Unfortunately, his efforts were wasted. The lads could not recall any visitors to the manor prior to the Yule festivities, save for a caravan of traveling merchants.
The sun crept higher in the sky, and Niall glanced toward the kirk. No one had come or gone from the small stone building in some time. The friar was finally alone. He hung up his shovel, nodded his farewells to the stable hands, and stepped inside.
The thin-faced friar was seated at a small pine desk close to the door, a quill in hand and a sheaf of parchment on the table before him. As the village record keeper, he was responsible for noting all events of consequence including marriages, births, and deaths. Head down, seemingly engrossed in his task, the holy man failed to acknowledge Niall’s arrival.
After the long wait outside, Niall’s patience had run thin. He nudged the leg of the table with his boot, rattling the ink pot.
“Brother Colban,
Similar Books
