“Very good,” he said gruffly, trying not to watch her too closely as she crossed the floor and laid her dress in front of the stove to dry. “Would you like an oatcake?” he asked her, holding one out.
“An oatcake?” she asked, her eyes widening.
“Aye,” he said. “Please dinna tell me ye’ve never before had an oatcake.”
“All right,” she said, smiling. “I will not tell you that.”
“Good heavens,” he responded. “I grew up on these things. We’d never sit still at the table, so when my father sent us to bed without finishing supper, my mother would stuff these in our pockets to eat later on. Here, try one. Trust me, they’re not as bad as they look.”
She raised her eyebrows, but took it from his hand. He watched as her small, perfect teeth bit into it, and the rather surprised look crossed her face.
“It’s not bad,” she said, and he let out a bit of a laugh.
“No, not bad at all.”
“Tell me more of your family,” she said, sitting in one of the two roughly hewn wooden chairs around the small table.
“My family? I believe you came to know them fairly well,” he said, taking the chair across from her.
“Yes, but I’m curious of the roles you each have. What do you do most of the day? I know Finlay is the chieftain, but what of Roderick? Your father?”
He nodded contemplatively then told her about the affable Callum, who had traveled and stayed in the Northwest Territories, of Finlay and Kyla’s marriage, which brought the clans together, and of the great Duncan McDougall, who all respected. He told her of Roderick, his charm and free spirit, and what their various roles were in their home and the community.
“It’s changed somewhat, now that we have tourists,” he said. “We never had the Lowlanders or the English on these lands before, but we do what we must to survive.”
“That’s why you begrudge us,” she said. “Because you would prefer we were not here at all. These are your lands, and you invite us here not out of welcome, but desperation.”
“I suppose you could look at it like that,” he replied.
“You’re not at all like I thought you would be,” she said, looking down at her hands, which twisted the plaid she wore round in her fingers.
“Oh? You had thought I would be something else?”
“Not you specifically, but Highlanders in general,” she said. “Scotland is becoming more and more… fashionable, I suppose you could say. In England, what with the Queen’s interest in Balmoral and your traditions. And yet, the Highlanders are still often romanticized, if you will. You are still seen as the people you likely once were centuries ago, and not who you are today. Does that make sense?”
“Indeed it does,” he responded with a sigh. “Some are content with that. But not me. We’re proud of our traditions, but we also want to be recognized for who we truly are.”
“That makes sense to me,” she said, standing and walking over to him, before surprising him by kneeling in front of him.
“I shall forever be glad to have met you and your family,” she said. “I never thought… I never truly understood, I suppose, how a family should and could behave. I will always remember you and your support of one another, and I shall strive to emulate it for as long as I live.”
She looked up at him, her eyes earnest, and he wondered if she knew what she was doing to him. He could see each and every freckle on her nose, and he longed to trace them with his fingertips.
Leave her be, he told himself, and he leaned back, away from her. She persisted, however, and the next thing he knew, she stood up and leaned against him, her lips on his, his hands on her waist, and his thoughts were swept away by the softness of the woman in his arms.
15
Rachel could barely breathe, could hardly think straight, as her senses were so overwhelmed by the man who held her against him. She could feel every inch of hard, thick muscle pressed against her body beneath the fabric of the plaid wrapped around her.
He pulled back from her for a moment, and she felt his absence keenly. He looked at her searchingly, as if trying to read what she was thinking. “You’re not much experienced in the way of kissing, are ye, lass?”
Heat flushed her cheeks as she was overcome by embarrassment, and she tried to pull away, out of his arms.
“I — no, but I thought — I mean, you kissed me before, and I — if it’s not what you want, then… then I—”
“Rachel,” he said softly, putting a hand on her arm gently. “’Tis not it at all. In fact, I rather appreciate you putting so much trust in me. You simply don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
She raised her eyes to his.
“What do you mean?”
“You make me feel things with an intensity that I would not have thought possible with any woman, let alone an Englishwoman,” he said, lifting a palm to gently cup her cheek. “I want to kiss ye again, but I’m afraid to do so.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Of what it might lead to. This shouldn’t be. You and I can never be, really. And yet… I dinna want to think of any other man showing you how to kiss.”
He pulled her close once more, his long fingers running up and down her spine, his gaze dropping to her lips. She closed her eyes and tilted her face toward him, her body sinking into his. Her hands moved of their own accord, over his bare biceps and up his shoulders until her fingers were twined in his dark straight
