The Devil of Clan Sinclair by Karen Ranney Page B

wonderful she felt? She was aware of herself in a way she’d never before been. Her breasts were sensitive; she was conscious of the contours of her lips. She remembered every single spot he’d kissed, praised, and worshiped with his fingers, and gloried in all of it.
    Reaching up, she pressed her fingers against his cheek, her thumb tracing the edge of his bottom lip.
    “I would not trade last night and this morning for anything. I want to thank you for it,” she said.
    He grabbed her hand, curving the fingers inward toward the palm, and kissed her knuckles.
    “Virginia,” he said softly. Just her name, spoken with such tenderness that she felt her heart expand.
    How could he nearly bring her to tears with a glance?
    Shame enveloped her, pushed her to confess. The minute she said the words, he’d send her away, she knew that well enough. But she’d already transgressed. What was wrong with another sin, one of omission?
    “Come with me,” he said.
    “Where are we going?”
    “If we’re supposedly ill, I think we should avoid my staff, don’t you? Perhaps we’ll explore the woods or walk in the tide. I’ve so many things I want to show you.”
    With that twinkle in his eye, she would go anywhere with him.
    “Lead on, MacDuff,” she said, smiling brightly at him.
    His laughter warmed her heart. “ Macbeth ?”
    “My father insisted on a varied curriculum. I can even operate a sextant, a compass, and I know how to build the fire.”
    “The perfect companion,” he said, tugging on her hand.
    Where were they going? She wasn’t dressed for exploration. The silk of her skirts would no doubt be torn by the brambles and branches. Her fine leather shoes were polished and would probably be scratched by the undergrowth. Then, too, she was supposed to be a proper widow. She shouldn’t be gamboling about in the woods with Macrath, playing the hoyden.
    A sign of her foolishness, that she didn’t ask. Nor did she care.
    Reaching behind her, he closed the door, grabbed her hand, and they were suddenly away, laughing like children as they raced along the corridor and down the stairs. With each successive footfall the years fell away, and they were boy and girl. She could imagine that they were children of nature with no obligations other than to explore the world outside. They might spy a bird’s nest on an upper branch, watch the wind dance along the moor, or smile at the sight of a squirrel chittering angrily at them.
    But Macrath didn’t lead her out of Drumvagen for the woods or the ocean. Instead, he turned left, strode down a hall and entered a library.
    She only had time for a quick impression of bookcases, fireplace, two chairs, and a large desk before he went to the side of the room and pulled a sconce on the wall. A moment later a crack appeared behind one of the bookcases.
    “A secret passage?” she asked, fascinated. “It’s like something out of a book.”
    “Not just a passage. Something even better.”
    Now was the time to remind him that she wasn’t excessively courageous. But it seemed like she was, especially with him.
    “Would you like to see one of my favorite places at Drumvagen?” he asked.
    She would do anything with him. Didn’t he know that? Hadn’t last night and this morning proved that?
    Her face flushed as she nodded.
    He lit a small lantern, held it aloft with one hand, and, turning back to her, held out his other hand. With no hesitation, she allowed him to pull her into the passage and close the door behind them.
    “You know your way, I hope.”
    “Else we are doomed to spend the rest of eternity wandering through Drumvagen,” he said, humor in his voice.
    In the next moment it felt like the two of them were on a great adventure. As they descended shallow stone steps, a briny smell wafted up from below.
    “Will you tell me where we’re going?” she asked, fervently hoping they weren’t heading toward the ocean.
    “No,” he said. “It would spoil the