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Elspeth could scarcely think at all with Cyrus's firm mouth claiming hers. His powerful, masculine presence propelled a staggering craving through her. Good lord! Was he a warlock who had bewitched and paralyzed her?
His taste was a potent combination of virile male with a hint of fiery Scotch. His chin whiskers rasped her, making the kiss ever more relentless. Hard body pressing against hers, he cupped her face in one hand while his hunger dove deep inside her.
In that moment, it seemed he gave her something she didn't even know she'd been missing. Something she'd never believed existed.
With his forceful kisses, he tugged at her, body and soul, demanding something she could not name.
Was it desire? Passion? She had heard of these but never felt their heady allure.
But now she did and could not believe the power they held over her... the power he held over her. How was it possible that Cyrus had awakened such a great and yearning need inside her?
"M'laird!" a guard shouted from below.
Breathing hard, she tore herself away from Cyrus. Though she tried to clear her head and make sense of what had just happened, she couldn't. 'Twas madness. She pushed by him to descend the stone steps.
"Elspeth?" His tone was halfway between a growl and a demand.
Ignoring him, she lifted her skirts off her boots and rushed down. She needed a few moments to breathe and compose herself.
MacNeil moved out of her way as she emerged from the stairwell.
"Are you well, Chief?" he shouted upward.
"Aye!" Cyrus's boots clunked down the steps behind her. "Lady Grey, have the healer look at your wound."
"Aye." She didn't slow down but instead headed toward her chamber. He loved ordering people about, didn't he?
"The lady was wounded?" MacNeil questioned just before she closed the door behind her.
Glancing again at her minor injury, she saw that the blood from the small nick had dried. This was what she should be most concerned about—someone trying to kill them. But the fact that Cyrus had kissed her overshadowed the peril.
Why?
Was it because he was also a danger to her? Not deadly, but if he sought to insinuate himself into her life like the last earl who'd bargained with her to be his mistress... nay, she couldn't think of it. Cyrus was to be married to Lily. He would never make such a proposition to Elspeth.
Or did the kiss make her forget everything else because it had been so astounding? She had never before enjoyed a kiss she'd received and had never understood why songs and poems were written about them.
But with Cyrus... good heavens, even now her lips felt scorched. No man had ever had such a provocative effect on her. What the devil was it? Carnal attraction? She had not known such a thing could be so powerful and enticing to a woman. She had thought kisses and coupling distasteful activities to be endured by women while men obviously enjoyed them. Had she been mistaken? Had she simply been with the wrong men?
She shook her head. Surely these were mere idiotic thoughts that sprang into her mind. But she could not get him out of her head.
What was it about Cyrus? He was handsome, of course, but she had met several handsome men before. 'Twas something more. His demanding attitude? Nay, it rather annoyed her. She had never expected to be drawn to such a man. Mayhap 'twas his tall, brawny warrior frame and his Highland clothing. She was rarely around such men.
That had to be it. She had felt how hard and well-developed his muscles were, how strong his hands. And his extreme concern when she'd been nicked by the deflecting arrow. When the intensity of his darkling gaze bore into her, she could scarcely breathe.
His devilish kiss lured her and caused her to imagine further carnal delights that would prove her undoing and destruction. The physical interactions she had always found distasteful might instead be delicious with him.
As a powerful and fine-looking earl, he probably already had multiple mistresses himself. 'Twas no wonder he saw his potential marriage to Lily as a business arrangement and didn't care about the lass's feelings or his own. She knew Lily to be a sweet girl and would never wish to infringe upon their match.
No matter how repugnant being Dalacroy's mistress had been, she would've done near anything for her family. She knew she'd made the right decision. Her siblings had prosperous lives of their own now, and so did she. Her son was doing well at the academy and had a bright future. Fear prickled through her when she imagined herself and her family being in such dire straits again. She never wanted that to happen.
Being the earl's mistress had not been pleasant, but 'twas no different than being a wife, in her experience. In fact, the earl had been several years younger than her husband, more handsome, and far less stuffy. However, both had been at least twice her age. Dalacroy had been in his forties when she'd met him. Clearly, Cyrus was far younger, perhaps in his mid-thirties and in his prime, she had to admit.
A knock sounded at her door. Her heart leapt... with fear or excitement? "Saints." She let out a breath. Mayhap 'twas only the maid... she hoped. "Who is it?"
"Cyrus." His voice was a deep rumble through the thick oak door.
Her heart rate spiked even higher, and she well knew 'twas not fear. She was not afraid of the man, despite his intimidating manner. Would he kiss her again? Tackle her to her bed and have his way with her?
"What is it?" Her voice sounded strangely breathless to her own ears.
"I want to apologize." His tone was a bit contrite, though still commanding.
After taking a deep breath to calm her pulse, she pulled the door open to find him waiting close-by. His obsidian eyes met hers in the dimness of the corridor.
"I should not have... taken advantage of you." Though he sounded sincere, his expression belied his murmured words. He did not look remorseful in the least. In fact, he still appeared almost... impassioned.
"Let's make certain it doesn't happen again. You're to marry the cousin of my good friend. I don't wish to make enemies of Lily and her family."
Cyrus nodded. "I agree. Did Mistress Almsly look at that?" He pointed to her arm.
Surely he knew she hadn't. Elspeth had been in her chamber for only a minute or two. But at least he'd said it in the form of a question this time, instead of ordering her around like he did his guards.
"I'm going now."
Cyrus watched as Elspeth closed the door, bypassed him, and strode down the corridor. He felt like a first-rate imbecile. How could he jeopardize his future by kissing a woman who knew the lass he hoped to marry?
Elspeth was beautiful and fascinating, but she would be a completely inappropriate wife for him. She was nothing like the woman he'd always imagined marrying, the woman he had been searching for. She had no pedigree. Without doubt, her properties were worth a goodly sum, but they would not compare to Lily's dowry or an alliance with the marquess.
Why did he suddenly feel that the dowry and alliance were mundane things, while the thought of kissing Elspeth again made his heart knock about like a wild rabbit in a hutch?
He'd become a raving lunatic! 'Twas the only explanation.
Everyone who knew him would call him the most rational man in Scotland. No woman was capable of rendering him senseless. Had that changed?
Nay. He couldn't let it.
She was right about one thing... a kiss could never happen again. Even though he wanted to protect Elspeth from the madman tormenting her, he had to keep his hands and mouth to himself. And more than that, he had to keep his wits about him, even should she prove a great temptation. Which she did already.
Besides, he had plenty to occupy his time in keeping the whoresons at bay.
MacNeil had slipped up to the tower room and retrieved his bow and quiver, then emerged from the stairwell.
"Did you see the archer out the window?" Cyrus asked.
"Nay, he was gone."
"Bastard." Cyrus ground his teeth. "I need more of the MacKenzie guards and soldiers here. Since the men didn't arrive today, I'll need to talk to Fraser about traveling to Castle Rebbinglen with you and one of the other guards in the morn."
"Aye, Chief."
On second thought, mayhap they should all go. Elspeth would certainly be safer at Castle Rebbinglen than she was here. The only problem was... what if the outlaws saw them leave and attacked on the road with a larger force of men?
***
'TWAS DARK AS PITCH while Cyrus and Fraser watched, hidden behind the stone steps in the courtyard to see if the archers climbed their ladders to the top of the wall again. The other four guards were posted in various places. All had their bows strung, with arrows in hand. If the interloper tried his trick now, he might well resemble a pincushion when he toppled to the ground.
But naught was happening, and all was silent. Cyrus itched to charge beyond the walls and hunt down the mangy curs. He certainly would if he didn't have to protect Elspeth. But young Dalacroy could've easily split his forces into two factions, one to lure them away while another entered the manor house. Cyrus could not risk any of them getting near Elspeth.
He loathed the defenselessness of this home. 'Twas one of the most vulnerable places he had ever spent any time. The walls were to keep out minor thieves, not to ward off armies. Aside from that, he could kick himself for not bringing at least a dozen soldiers with him on this journey. Preferably two dozen. This situation had taught him a lesson.
He turned to Fraser, crouching next to him, and kept his voice just above a whisper. "I've decided we should all return to Castle Rebbinglen in the morn."
Fraser scowled. "Including Elspeth?"
"Aye, she would be far safer there than here."
"But what if we should run into a large force of enemies on the road. I would hate for Elspeth to be present during a battle or skirmish."
Cyrus's stomach ached as he imagined that situation. "Aye, 'tis a hellish risk."
"I wish we knew who these bastards were and their intent."
"Aye." Well, Cyrus and Elspeth had a pretty solid idea of who was causing the trouble. He needed to inform Fraser, but felt he would be betraying Elspeth's trust if he did. He would have to tell her that Fraser deserved to know the identity of the suspected enemy. "I'll go in and talk to Elspeth about my decision and the risks of travel. Come in and get me if the whoresons show up again."
"Aye."
Cyrus went inside and upstairs. With each step, the anticipation of seeing Elspeth again spiked his heart rate. Their stunning kiss of a short while ago burned through his memory. 'Twas delicious and astonishing. What had she thought about it? Of course, they both knew it shouldn't have happened, but it had. And he couldn't forget about it so easily. He wanted to regret it, but if he were truly honest with himself, he held no remorse. Would she pretend it hadn't happened?
Seeing no servants about, he lightly tapped a knuckle against the oak door of Elspeth's bedchamber. He hoped she wasn't yet sleeping. 'Haps she would find it objectionable that he was here, intruding on her privacy, but he had to discuss his decision with her, especially since it might put her at risk.
"Who is it?" From inside the room, her voice sounded muffled behind the thick wood.
"Cyrus."
The door opened slowly and, holding a single white candle, Elspeth stood in the foot-wide crack with her unbound hair loose upon her shoulders.
He drank in the lovely sight of her honey-cream skin. "I hope you weren't asleep."
"Nay."
Her lips were the color of rose petals, and her eyes gleamed like Scotch in the firelight. His fingers itched to comb through her thick, flame-red curls. Were they as soft and silky as they appeared, or would they scorch his fingers? He almost chuckled in derision at his own daft and fanciful thoughts. He was certainly no bard.
He glanced down at her clothing. The belt of her velvety, wine-colored wrap was tied at her slender waist. The inviting lacings of her white smock showed at the upper part of her chest.
He forced his attention further downward to the bandage peeping out from her sleeve. "How is your arm?"
"'Tis fine. I have no pain." Her eyes held a guarded awareness that played havoc with his peace of mind.
"Good." He glanced away, toward the door frame, so he could think more clearly. "I regret that I didn't bring enough men to hunt down these knaves while protecting you at the same time. This manor house is not fortified as a castle would be. So, I've decided that, in the morn, I'm taking you back to Castle Rebbinglen."
Elspeth gasped. "Nay, I cannot go back there."
Irked that she would nay-say him, he glowered at her. "Why? Don't you wish to be safe?"
"Of course, but I don't want to put the Earl of Rebbinglen, his wife, his children, or any of their guests in danger. The culprit could follow us there. I don't know how many men are in his guard. Besides, if it is Henry, how would we explain his motives to the marquess? I don't wish everyone to know I was the former Earl of Dalacroy's mistress."
She made two good points. And he couldn't argue with them. Surely, if he could defeat whole clans with the help of a few dozen men, he could protect one woman himself. But he would have to send more of the men to Rebbinglen to garner reinforcements. Likely, Dalacroy the younger would not give up without a fight.
Cyrus nodded. "I'll send Fraser and two guards for the MacKenzie clansmen who traveled with me to Rebbinglen. There are over two dozen in total. I didn't yet tell Fraser about your association with the senior Dalacroy, but I need to. He deserves to have all the facts about who we're fighting."
Her cheeks darkened. "If you must. I simply didn't wish everyone at Rebbinglen to know of it. If my reputation is damaged among the aristocracy, it could be detrimental to my dressmaking business."
Cyrus could understand that. "I'll tell him not to say anything. He's trustworthy."
Her worried gaze softened upon him. "I appreciate that."
"We could simply say you purchased Darby Hall from Dalacroy and now his son wants it back."
"Mayhap, but I don't like to create fabrications. There are many rumors about me. 'Tis simply that no one can prove them."
Cyrus wondered why he was so intent on protecting the former mistress of a peer—both her reputation and her person. What was it about her that caused him to care? Of course, he always protected women and tried to keep them as safe as possible. But why should he care if everyone knew of her past? Mayhap because she seemed the opposite of a loose woman, or because she hadn't agreed to the arrangement for pleasure, but for survival. A roguish part of him wondered if she had ever experienced any sexual pleasure. What the hell business did he have thinking about that?
None.
"Don't feel you have to stay. I wouldn't want you—a chief and earl—to put your life in danger because of me. You're an important man who shouldn't take such risks."
He scowled, genuinely annoyed this time. "Do you truly think I would leave you or any woman alone here, unprotected?" Too late, he noticed that his tone was biting.
She shrugged and looked up at him sheepishly.
"I wouldn't."
"Well, then, you're a better man than most."
Feeling an unexpected rush of pleasure, he gave a deep nod of gratitude for her compliment. "I appreciate that." He turned his mind back to the pressing issue. "In the morn, I'll send Fraser back to Rebbinglen with two of the guards."
Her arched auburn brows furrowed. "I hope they will be most careful."
"Fraser does not ken the meaning of that word, but I'll be sure to warn him of the dangers."
She nodded. "I know it isn't as important as Fraser's safety, but I'm concerned about my shops. I wish I could let my employees know what's going on. My seamstresses will wonder if something has happened to me. And what if Henry breaks in and destroys my merchandise?"
"We could send one of your male servants to inform them. The main thing now is to keep you safe."
"And you." The fierce and defiant look in her eyes amazed him yet again and inspired a glowing warmth in his chest.
"Have no worries over me, m'lady. I've been taking care of myself for a long time." He gave a wry smile.
"As have I."
He wanted to ask her how long but was afraid the question would be too prying. Humph, was he finally developing some tact? He would like to learn more about what her life had been like before he'd met her. Was it tough growing up as a merchant's daughter?
Damnation, why should he care about that? He didn't ken what was going on here. He certainly didn't want to form an attachment to her. Best to escape her captivating presence now, before he bungled things by kissing her again.
"I bid you goodnight, Lady Grey." He gave a deep nod of respect.
She curtsied. "M'laird."
As he walked away, he found that he craved hearing his given name upon her lips, whispered into his ear in the dark of night. A quickening of excitement shot through his groin.
"'Slud," he muttered. He'd become a madman of late, unable to understand how he could be so drawn to her. Nothing about that made sense. And yet, he felt more comfortable around her than he had any other woman in many years.
Cyrus found Fraser in the hall, drinking ale with Irving. "I need to speak to you."
"Very well." Fraser arose and followed him into the study.
Cyrus closed the door. "Are you up for taking two guards and riding back to Rebbinglen in the morn to retrieve the rest of the MacKenzies and hopefully some MacKays as well?"
"Aye, I'll be glad to." Fraser's pale blue eyes gleamed with eagerness. "Did you decide not to take Elspeth back there?"
"Aye, 'tis too dangerous on the road." Cyrus thought of the guards he'd sent two days ago. "I have no inkling if James and Sean reached Castle Rebbinglen. I hope they're well."
"Mayhap they were delayed in returning because the carriage is not repaired."
"I hope that's the reason. You could meet them on the road. But I cannot risk waiting longer. We need more men here as soon as possible."
Fraser nodded.
"Take Norval and MacNeil with you and be extra cautious as you're leaving this area. No doubt the gate is being watched and maybe the road."
"I ken well how to be stealthy. Any notion who's doing this?"
"Aye, we have a suspicion."
"We?"
Cyrus felt a pang of discomfort. "Elspeth and I."
Fraser lifted an inquiring brow.
"'Tis what I wished to speak to you about in private. The likely culprit is Henry Crawford, the new Earl of Dalacroy."
"I've never heard of him. What does he have against Elspeth?"