After placing her feet on the bed, he lowered himself over her and whispered in her ear. “How does that feel?”

He expected her to describe it? There were no words. “Wondrous.” It was the only word that came to mind.

“Aye.” He took her mouth in a devouring kiss that touched her deepest level. She feared he would taste and feel her adoration—something she wished she could hide. But he lured it from her so effortlessly.

He pounded himself into her with primal male power, his wet hair brushing her face. His chest hair rasped her nipples, stimulating them to hard pebbles. His harsh breathing and rough Gaelic murmurs in her ear were an arousing accompaniment. She reveled in each moment, each second his body worshiped hers.

With a growl, he slowed and lifted up slightly. She was surprised when he slipped his hand between their bodies and stroked her. Sparks seemed to jump from his fingertips, igniting that obsessed fire within her. It flamed higher and again consumed her. He took her mouth in a deep kiss before she could cry out at the burst of pleasure.

Finally, her breathing resumed and she opened her eyes. His were closed, seemingly in bliss. He hardened his jaw, drove to the hilt and, with a loud groan, shot his seed deep within her.

Watching him, experiencing him, sent joy bubbling up inside her. Never had she met or imagined a man such as him.

“By the saints,” Alasdair gasped and drew in a chest-full of much-needed air after his explosive and maddening climax. Gwyneth’s soft, wet woman’s body astounded him. The power she held over him—damnation! He might well give his soul to lie with her every night.

He collapsed beside her, let his breathing calm and cradled her against his chest. She slipped an arm around his waist and caressed his back with her fingertips. Mmm, she fit into his arms perfectly, and felt just right. He had not experienced such satisfaction or contentment in many a year. Her presence soothed him, made him feel peace and happiness might be attainable. When he found his release with her, it seemed he released all the worrisome, painful things inside him as well.

“Gwyneth, I don’t think I can get enough of you,” he said, already craving her again.

“I know I shouldn’t say so, but I feel the same,” she confessed in a whisper.

He smiled, gratified and elated. He loved it when she told the truth. It was so much more refreshing than the lies she told herself and him when trying to be good and ignore what she truly wanted.

She threw herself onto her back away from him. “Oh, what am I doing? I should not have done that.”

In a rare moment, he let dangerous, vulnerable emotion wash over him. “To appease your conscience, there is but one solution, then.” His heartbeat thumped like a drum.

“What?”

“Marry me.” There, he’d said it. He grinned.

She jerked back and stared at him with a wide-eyed frown, as if he’d suggested she kill him.

“Or we could hand-fast in the Highland way if you prefer,” he rushed to say. Though he had no idea why he’d thought in that moment of madness hand-fasting would be more appealing. A legal marriage was far more secure.

She leapt from the bed, found her smock and yanked it on.

He sat up. “What’s wrong?”

“It is cruel to jest with me so.”

“’Tis no jest. I wish to marry you, Lady Gwyneth. Would you do me the honor of becoming my bride?” She would say no, he knew, somehow. Despite the impending disappointment, he could not help but make his wishes known.

Her eyes searched his. “Alasdair, you cannot mean it. You’re a laird, an earl for heaven’s sake, and I’m…” She covered her mouth.

“A lovely, sweet lady who happens to be a widow and mother. This would be a good arrangement, I’m thinking. ’Tis beyond clear we enjoy each other in bed. I would provide you with anything you should want or need, including protection. You would provide me with an heir. You’ve already admitted to being an earl’s daughter, which means we are of the same social station.”

She pressed her eyes closed. “I cannot.”

“Why?” He wanted to shout the word, but managed to restrain himself.

She opened her eyes and observed him with a stricken look. “What about Rory?”

“I would treat him as mine own.”

She shook her head vehemently. “You said yourself, you make sure all the lads are trained for battle. I cannot allow Rory to be trained to such barbaric violence. I must take him from the Highlands to some place safe where he’ll never have a chance to fight and get killed.”

Had she gone daft? He frowned. “That’s your reason for refusing me?”

Her hands turned to fists. “It’s important to me. Rory is the most precious person in my life. When I had nothing else, I had him. He was all I had to live for. And if he were to die…” Tears sparkling in her eyes, she pressed a fist to her mouth.

“Och, I would protect Rory with my life, as I would you. How can you doubt it?” Did she have absolutely no confidence in him?

“That’s not going to stop him from fighting alongside your men one day,” she said. “You know how he is drawn to the sword.”

“If that is the case, it won’t matter where you take him. When he’s old enough, he will join the king’s army.”

“He will not!” She looked determined enough to take on the king’s army herself.

Alasdair wanted to seal her mouth and make her understand. “M’lady—”

“No, I will not hear it. I could not live with myself if he rode out and got himself killed like that young boy, Campbell, when first I arrived. What a waste of precious life. He had not even begun to live. I cannot withstand that nightmare.”

Trying his best to reason with her, he softened his voice. “Gwyneth, at the very least you must realize I’ve compromised you. And that you may be already carrying my bairn.”

Her face reddened. She touched a hand to her flat belly, and he wanted to do the same, for he hoped it was so. More than anything, he yearned for her to have his child.

“But I may not be.” Her look of defiance raised his ire.

He shoved himself from the bed. “Very well then. Do what you must.” Damnable woman. He snatched up his long shirt, yanked it on and flung his plaid and belt over his shoulder. “But if you’re carrying my bairn, you won’t be leaving!” He stalked out, slamming the door in his wake.

Chapter Eleven

Dear God in Heaven, what had Alasdair meant? Gwyneth trod a path from the bed to the door and back again. He wouldn’t let her leave if she was already carrying his child. She would be trapped again. Because of her thoughtless, wanton actions she would again have a man telling her where she could or could not go.

“I’m a widow, free to do as I wish,” she muttered. “I do not have to stay here and be ordered about by him. If I but had a position….” Could I find one myself? Maybe she wouldn’t need Alasdair’s nor any man’s help in becoming a governess.

She would swallow her fears and write to her eldest sister. Margaret might be persuaded to inquire in Cornwall, near her and her husband’s summer estate.

I’ll be an embarrassment to her.

Especially if Gwyneth now carried Alasdair’s babe. If that was the case, she’d raise it on her own, the way she had Rory. It would be possible if she could move to an area which was both peaceful and no one knew her, save her sister. None of them need know how long she’d been a widow. She would earn wages and support her child or children that way. They wouldn’t have much, but they could survive as they had for the last six years.

If she could leave soon, Alasdair would never learn whether she carried his child or not. Unless he searched her out. Then he’d surely take the babe from her.

Goodness, why am I thinking this way? I am not with child.