In a near daze, Lara nodded. She could do this. “I think…we’ll stick with the celebration and whatnot and leave out the cocks.”
Although, now that she considered it, there was one foolproof way to get him to relax.
Nessa shrugged happily. “Cocks might actually be a fine topic of conversation. They’re far more interesting than food, I believe, and just as much fun to put in yer mouth.” She shooed Lara again. “Just go!”
So Lara went. She slipped out of Nessa’s chambers and hurried down the hall to the laird’s solar, pleased no one else saw her on the way. It allowed her the time to smooth back the hair at her temples, pinch some color into her cheeks, and take a deep breath.
Then she knocked.
“Come in,” came his growl from the other side of the door, and Lara’s knees went weak.
She pushed open the door to discover—thank the Virgin—Alistair was alone. He sat frowning down at a scroll in his hands, but when he glanced up and saw her, he slowly stood.
“Lara?” There was a hint in his tone which made her think he was nervous. Around her?
That, more than anything, gave her the courage to push the door closed behind her and step into the room. “I…I came to talk to ye about the celebration.”
There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?
With a sigh, Alistair sank back down into his chair and dropped the scroll onto the table. “Aye, the celebration. Da wants something special.”
“ ’Tis no’ every day a man reaches fifty years,” she offered, her steps cautious as she crossed toward his desk.
She’d been in this room before of course. And she’d also spent an abundance of hours in the secret passageway hidden behind the blue-and-green tapestry, spying on Alistair. But this was her first time alone with him…when he knew she was there at least.
Surreptitiously, she glanced around the room. His cot was spartan, his belongings neat. But there was naught of the man here, and she ached for him to know how fully he’d given of himself, and all he’d given up, for the clan.
As if agreeing with her, Alistair hummed, then planted his elbows on his desk and dropped his head into his hands. The heels of his palms dug into his eye sockets as he sighed. “I finally got ahead of my duties, and now this.”
“Let me help.”
His smile flashed as he began to massage his own temples. “Gladly. I’ll be glad for anything ye can offer.”
Anything?
A wicked thought came to her.
An absolutely wicked, yet absolutely wonderful, thought.
Touch him.
“Nay,” she began quietly, slipping around the desk to stand beside him. “I meant, let me help now.”
She wasn’t certain who was more surprised, him or her, when she reached up to cover his fingers with her own.
But the way he groaned and dropped his head back to allow her easier access told her everything she needed to know.
So she didn’t bother hiding the desperate little noise of need her body had unintentionally made and moved closer. Her breath ruffled his lovely dark hair, and she focused on the strands as she rubbed his temples, then stroked her fingers toward his forehead. His father—as well as Nessa and Malcolm and Rocque—had auburn hair, and his twin brother Kiergan’s hair was tinged red as well. But Alistair’s hair must’ve come from his mother, because it was a brown shade streaked with lighter strands.
“St. Elzear’s sacred beard, lass, but that feels good,” he rasped, his eyes closed.
She shifted her stance and tugged at him until he’d turned enough to get what she wanted: his head, pillowed against her chest. She stroked and rubbed and listened to him groan, and beneath the wool of her kirtle, her nipples hardened.
“Ye’re under so much pressure, Alistair,” she murmured, the position making her bold. Here, he wasn’t her best friend’s big brother. Here, he wasn’t the laird’s son. Here, he was just a man who needed her help, help she was happy to give. “Ye need to learn to relax.”
He snorted softly but didn’t open his eyes. Instead, he tilted his head forward so she could reach the muscles at the base of his skull.
“ ’Tis true. Ye’ll work yerself into an early grave. And for what?”
“For my father,” he murmured. “For the clan.”
“Is it worth it?’
‘Twas the wrong question to ask, because he frowned and opened one lovely blue eye to peer up at her. “Of course. I would give up my life for the clan.”
“But would ye give up yer happiness?”
The other eye joined the first, and she felt his muscles tighten under her hands, all her work instantly gone. “What do ye mean, lass?”
With a slight smile, she pulled him back against her breasts and brushed a hand across his brow, forcing his eyes closed once more. When she took a deep breath, he did as well, and she felt him relax slightly.
“I mean,” she continued in a soft voice, “that ye sacrifice so much and dinnae take time for yerself. I will be happy to help ye plan the laird’s celebration and ‘twould be my honor. But I would help ye find happiness too if I can.”
He was silent for a long moment, and she thought mayhap he was enjoying her ministrations. But then he shifted in the chair, and for the first time, she looked down.
Looked down, straight down, past his face and chest…straight to his lap.
His kilt was tented.
And she smiled.
“How—how could ye help me find happiness, lass?” He’d imbued the word with some scorn, but she could hear something else underneath. Need? Longing?
Mayhap he was as lonely as she was.
Well, she could help him there.
“Ye need to relax, Alistair. Release this tension.”
Her hand skimmed across the back of his neck when she’d deliberately used the word “release.” From the way he shuddered, he liked her touch. Or mayhap, he’d liked
