In the Laird's Bed Read Online Free PDF Page A

jars lined the shelves of an open cupboard.
    “Our mead sells for a very good price. In turn, full coffers keep the men paid and attract strong alliances.” She rinsed her hands in a bowl of water kept on the hearthstones and dried them on a linen rag tied to her girdle.
    “Your father has not raised a fighting force in many years,” he observed, pacing the perimeter of the structure to view the contents of the fermenting cauldrons. “His coffers must overflow with the excess. He could have made you a fine marriage long ago.”
    The dowry Duncan was to have received for her five years ago had been more than generous, especially considering his sons would have ruled Domhnaill one day. What would the laird offer to the man who wed Cristiana now?
    “I do not think finding a husband for me is part of his purpose.” Holding back her plaited hair in one hand, she bent over the cauldron in the center of the chamber and sniffed delicately.
    The fabric of her tunic dipped away from her breasts as she leaned forward, presenting him with a view so beguiling he stopped cold in his pacing. A jolt of undeniable interest sparked. To lust after her was foolishness. She was no experienced woman tochoose a man for pleasure’s sake. She was an unwed maid, who must make a good marriage. A highborn one at that.
    And he would suffer the fires of hell before it would be him after the cold way she’d dismissed him.
    But the knowledge did not stop the heat streaking through his veins at the sight of her tempting, creamy flesh. The moment ended too soon as, straightening, she took up a spoon and stirred the concoction. He struggled to recall what they’d been discussing.
    Ah, yes. A husband.
    “Only a fool of a sire would ignore the need to see you wed. And your da is no fool.” A stubborn, hard man perhaps. But other than the misstep with the broken betrothal, the old laird was a keen ruler. Or at least, he had been.
    Perhaps she had sensed his gaze on her because she paused in her stirring to peer up at him. Though they stood many steps distant, he could feel the moment the air between them grew charged. As a virgin untouched, would Cristiana even know the source of such heat?
    “I choose not to marry.” Her words were so at odds with everything he’d been thinking, it took him a long moment to understand what she’d said.
    “Impossible.” He drew closer, telling himself he wished to judge her features and seek out the lie. Yet he knew he was pulled toward her by a power beyond his control. She fascinated him despite their mutualmistrust. “Your father has no sons. He has no choice but to ally himself—his people—with a strong clan who can protect the legacy of his lands.”
    She removed the spoon from the spinning, bubbling brew beside her and hung the instrument from a hook near the pot’s handle.
    “He will choose his successor when the time is right. I do not need to wed to secure our fate.”
    She spoke madness. Her father indulged this? He would question the old man about it when he obtained an audience with him, since it would make Duncan’s work here easier if he did not have to fight off a suitor for control of Domhnaill. For now, he would have answers of a different sort from her.
    She stared up at him with that steady, gray gaze of hers. She had become a practical woman. Efficient. Hardworking. But he remembered another facet of her. A passionate, unrestrained side that she’d locked down like it never existed after that day by the wishing well.
    Suddenly, he had to know if that part of her still existed or if it had been stamped out forever by cool practicality.
    “You would deny yourself a man’s touch for all your days?” He reached toward her, telling himself he did so only to tease her. To make her feel a fraction of the frustration he’d felt years ago.
    Her eyes remained locked on his. Perhaps she did not notice the approach of his fingers until he brusheda lock of her hair just above her temple. The