Once Upon a Highland Christmas(53)

Despite it all, he stayed within the bounds allowed him, craftily avoiding royal wrath.

By comparison, Sorley wasn’t half as skilled at self-preservation.

He rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortably aware that he couldn’t possibly keep hiding how appealing he found Lady Mirabelle.

He wanted to despise her.

As if she sensed his approaching capitulation, she came forward, her bewitching perfume floating with her. The fragrance swirled about him, teasing and tempting him, the delicate rose scent forming a trap more inescapable than bars of hot-forged iron.

“So you agree?” She stopped right before him, so near he couldn’t breathe.

“I share your opinion of Sinclair.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

She pounced, the flare of hope in her eyes almost persuading him. “If he believes I am no longer—”

“Sweet lass, I regret spoiling your plans, but they won’t work. No’ with Sinclair.” His voice hardened just thinking of the man. “A woman’s purity matters naught to him. He isn’t a fastidious man. No’ in that regard.”

“Perhaps not,” she agreed. “But he is fiercely proud.”

“No’ that proud.” Sorley let his gaze again dip to her breasts. Looking up again, he smoothed the backs of his fingers down her cheek, brushed his thumb over the corner of her lips. “If he wants you, which isn’t surprising, he’ll no’ leave you be until he’s had you.

“And there’ll be hell to pay if you resist him.” Sorley knew it well. “John Sinclair is no’ a man you’d wish to rile, my lady.”

“If you help me, that won’t be necessary.”

“Have you Highland bog cotton in your ears, lass? Sinclair won’t care a whit if you’re soiled or pure. Not that lecherous bastard.”

To Sorley’s surprise, she glanced aside, color once again blooming on her cheeks. When she looked back at him, he could almost feel the embarrassment rolling off her. But she stood tall, her shoulders straight and her head raised. Whatever her faults—and he knew she had them—her courage delighted and fascinated him.

She moistened her lips. “My servant also asked around about you.”

Sorley’s brow went up. “Is that so?”

“It was necessary.” She held his gaze, her voice strong. “I learned there’s bad blood between you and Sir John. If you help me, you’d benefit as well.”

Sorley almost choked. “Any man would enjoy taking you to his bed.”

He just wasn’t that man.

“Aside from the obvious”—he gripped her chin, his gaze fierce—“how would such an association favor me?”

“It is known at court that Sir John reviles you as much as you dislike him.” She spoke as if she’d rehearsed her arguments. “He considers any woman touched by you as tainted goods. They are no longer worth his esteem.

“You’ve never been in a position to challenge him before his peers.” She looked at him with those sparkling eyes, speaking easily of his lowly birth. “Now you have the chance to thwart him, spoiling his plans.”

For a heartbeat, Sorley was tempted.

Greatly so.

But he knew Sinclair too well.

So he went to the door, setting his hand on the latch. “Sir John’s fury would be terrible, my lady. I dinnae care for myself, but he would—”

“He won’t lay a hand on me.” She joined him at the door, touched his elbow. “I’ll be home to Knocking Tower before he’d have the chance. Besides”—she gave him a smile that went straight to his heart, almost convincing him—“the Highlands are no place for a Lowland noble. He wouldn’t find me there even if he tried.

“So, please…” She squeezed his arm. “Will you not agree to help me?”

“I will consider it.” He wouldn’t, but she needn’t know that. “Meet me in the castle chapel tomorrow e’en and I’ll give you my answer. If anyone questions you, you can say you’re hoping to catch a glimpse of the Pink Lady. That’s where she is most frequently seen.”

“I will be there.” She lifted on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

“I’ve no’ yet agreed.” He was determined to say no.

Placing a hand on the small of her back, he urged her out the door. Once it was closed again, he leaned his back against the wood, a smile curving his lips. Perhaps there was a way he could assist her and scratch an itch that had plagued him for years.

Sometimes the gods did favor a man.

Who was he to refuse their gifts?

Pushing away from the door, he went to the window and braced his hands on the cold, damp stone of the ledge. As if the fates truly were tempting him, he was in time to see Lady Mirabelle crossing the bailey. A thin drizzle still fell and an enormous moon drifted in and out of the clouds. Wind blew sheets of mist across the courtyard, but Mirabelle strode through the rain as if she was made for such weather.