“You wished to see me?” she asked.

“Aye. Have a seat, if you would please.” He motioned toward one of the wooden chairs situated not far from the hearth, and she lowered herself into it. “Would you care for some clary?” he asked, pouring wine into a pewter mug.

“No, but I thank you.” Though the sweet ginger scent of the mulled claret did tempt her, she had to keep a clear head around him.

Carrying his mug, he took the chair opposite her. “Glad I am to see you finally wearing the clothes I gave you. You look lovely in them.”

Heat rushed over her and she was thankful for the dim lighting. Dropping her gaze and trying to think of something neutral to say, she studied the exquisite cloth of the dark gray woolen skirts. “I thank you. I wouldn’t want to ruin the fine clothing in the day-to-day running of the household, but for the funerals I needed something better.”

“Aye.” After taking a sip, he leaned forward, propped his elbows on his knees, bare below his kilt, and frowned into his mug. It seemed the weight of all of Scotland rested upon his shoulders. “I’m grateful to you for attending the funerals and consoling the family members of those who died.”

Unexpectedly, her eyes stung—a combination of having seen so many others in pain, Alasdair’s own apparent depth of feeling for his people, and the fact that he appreciated her presence. And she hoped, took some comfort from it.

Though her throat tightened, she forced the words out. “I’ve come to care for your clan. They have treated me far better than mine own.”

“I’m glad.” Alasdair drank another swallow of the clary, and Gwyneth suddenly craved the taste of it. Surely the spicy sweet flavor would be as drugging as the man. But she did not trust herself to drink such an indulgent beverage in Alasdair’s presence. She was certain it would drown her good sense.

“I’m building a case against Donald MacIrwin,” he said. “And I would like you to testify against him if you’re willing, before the Privy Council in Edinburgh.”

Heavens, that could be nerve-wracking, but no question, her cousin and his lawlessness had to be stopped. “I’ll be glad to.”

“Good.” He raised a brow. “You’re willing to testify even if it means some of your cousins are imprisoned or hanged?”

A tremor of revulsion passed through her. “I hate to see anyone hanged. But they are guilty of murder. Mora’s for one. As well as the defenseless people who were not able to escape their burning cottages or who were slain in the street. And I’ve no doubt Donald would’ve killed Rory and me if he’d half a chance.” With great effort, she pushed away the dark suffocation of her memories and focused on the man before her.

“Aye.” Alasdair blinked hard once and glared into the fire for a long moment as if deadly thoughts passed through his mind.

The accusation of the whispering women haunted her, the burden of their words increasing. “Did Donald burn the village because of me?” she asked.

Meeting her eyes, Alasdair frowned. “Nay. Why do you ask?”

“I overheard someone talking about it. I regret that I’ve put your whole clan in danger by coming here. First, young Campbell lost his life, and now six more of your clan. Not to mention, the village burned.”

“Nay, the blame does not rest on you.”

“I know how cruel and bloodthirsty Donald is. When I escaped him, it angered him beyond measure. He wants revenge, does he not?”

“’Tis but an excuse. Donald burned the village nine years past, too. And I suspect you were far from the Highlands then.”

“Yes.” What a monster Donald was.

“Well then. When he’s furious with us, for whatever reason, he does things like this. I escaped his clutches as well, so he could just as easily be angry with me alone. I wish you would tell me who said this.”

She shook her head. Though Alasdair’s rational explanations made much sense, they could not calm her worries. “I also heard that Donald wanted me returned to him.” Her stomach ached with anxiety. “Is this true?”

Alasdair sat back, scowling. She knew the fearsome look was not meant for her, but for her cousin. “He did send a message by one of his men. But I would never, and I do mean never, return you to him. ’Twould mean certain death. Or worse, imprisonment and torture.”

It was as she’d feared. She had to do something. “Your clan would be much safer from Donald if I left.”

“Nonsense,” he muttered in a surly tone.

“How can you say that? He burned the village and killed people. What will he do next? No, it is clear to me that it would be best for everyone—your clan, Rory and me—if Rory and I left the Highlands.”

Maintaining his annoyed expression, Alasdair remained silent.

“I asked Lachlan to inquire while he’s in Edinburgh as to whether anyone he knows might be in need of a governess or tutor for their children,” she said.

“Ah.” Alasdair placed his mug on the small table by his chair, stood and approached the fireplace. After staring into the flames a long moment, he turned back to her. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Though his words said much, his troubled expression told her more. He wanted her to stay because—

The rest of the thought was too outrageous. Too tempting. Exciting. She studied her fingers clutched tightly together on her lap. Heaven help me. “I had best check the kitchen maids.” She sprang from the chair and charged for the door.

“M’lady.”

Though she wanted nothing more than to flee the room and the keen exhilaration of him, she halted, pulse racing.

He approached upon soft footsteps and stopped in front of her. For a moment, he studied her, his dark eyes gleaming. With gentle fingertips, he traced her jaw to her chin.

“I don’t want you to leave.” His raw whisper snatched her breath. Without warning, he ducked his head and kissed her. The spiced wine on his lips intoxicated her, and she curled her fingers into his thick silky hair. She was not the master of her own body when he touched her.

Wanting more of him, she opened her mouth to receive his honey and ginger flavored kisses. She should not partake…but she couldn’t resist. He flicked his tongue over hers, then away in a delicious game.

A low animalistic growl rumbled from his throat, and the kiss became something irreverent and without restraint. She sucked at his tongue, famished for the male taste of him.

Muttering words she did not understand, he kissed a mesmerizing path down her chin and underneath. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back, giving him access to her throat. He trailed his tongue down over the tender skin and pressed kisses lower, the stubble of his chin scratching beneath the neckline of her smock.

He pulled at the ribbon tie and she felt it loosen. He inhaled deeply against her skin, his lips caressing carefully now the upper swells of her breasts. “Mmmm. I could devour you.”

She gasped. Her nipples tingled, yearning for his hot, wet mouth. Though her corset prevented him from moving lower, he rubbed his chin over her nipples beneath the thick material. She was certain he couldn’t feel them, but he stimulated her, made her yearn to tear all the clothing from her body so she might feel the delights he would heap upon it.

A lascivious moan met her ears and she realized it had come from her own mouth.

But she was beyond caring. All that concerned her at the moment was Alasdair, his mouth, his hands.

He moved behind her, and nuzzled her ear with warm lips and tickling breath. She shivered, her body quaking with such a thrill as she’d never felt. He stroked her neck and the upper part of her chest. Upon raising her arm, she threaded her fingers into the silk of his unbound hair and he slipped his downward toward her bodice. Into her bodice, beneath her corset.

His warm fingertips glided over the sensitized, bare skin of her breasts. She had not imagined he could reach such a place. Bowing her chest inward, she invited more. Oh, how much more she wanted! Obliging her with a muffled growl, he moved lower, and his thumb and finger closed gently over her hardened nipple. His tongue circled her ear even as his fingertip circled her nipple. He whispered Gaelic words that meant sweet, beautiful.