“’Haps I will sleep here. ’Tis not as if we haven’t shared a bed afore.”

A pink flush crept over her face and her jaw hardened. “I owe you more than I can ever repay, so if you want me to…warm your bed in exchange for getting Rory back, I will comply.”

How could she think him so low? He had asked her to marry him twice. What more did she require to know he was honorable?

“What are you blathering on about? You saved my life, m’lady! I’m the one who’s owing you, and repaying you. And even if I didn’t, I would still help you recover Rory. Aside from that, you won’t be warming my bed in exchange for anything, except the mutual pleasure between us.”

Damnation, he’d let his anger get the better of him. His tone and glare had surely been harsher than he’d intended. Drawing in a deep breath, he tried to swallow his irritation.

“Well, I have no money,” she said. “I cannot even pay for this room and—”

He stepped before her and tilted up her face, stroking his fingertips over her blushing cheeks. “Listen to me, Gwyneth,” he said in a rough whisper. “I would give you anything I have. Can you not see that?”

Beyond a trace of tears, the blue flame of her eyes burned into his. Her small hand fisted in his doublet, tugging him closer. He lowered his head and brushed his lips across hers. Slowly he tasted her lips, and between. Such female temptation she was. Luscious torment. He wanted to lick her head to toe, devour her in a few hungry bites. Hands at her waist, he pressed her close, against his hard shaft. He could not overcome his obsession to have her. In every way.

Loud pounding on the door startled them. Gwyneth jumped back and pressed a hand to her lips, her darkened eyes filled with guilt.

“Muire Mhàthair,” Alasdair muttered, turned his back to her and sucked in a deep breath. He tried to shut down his arousal and think of something unappealing. Damnation. Nothing was coming to him.

The knock sounded again.

Thankful his doublet was long enough over his trews to hide his erection, he wrested the door open.

Lachlan stood there, grinning like a mouse in a loaf.

“Ciamar a tha sibh, mo bhràthar?” Alasdair clasped his hand.

“Glé mhath.” Lachlan came in and bowed to Gwyneth. “Lady Gwyneth. Don’t be worrying your pretty little head about Rory. We’ll be getting him back afore long. Aye, brother?”

“That we will.” Alasdair wondered at the way Lachlan addressed Gwyneth. Their clansmen must have filled him in on all the latest, including her appropriate title. And, no doubt, that Alasdair had spent a night in her tent. He dreaded the teasing Lachlan was sure to have in store for him.

“Have you any inkling where the scoundrel is what snatched him up?”

“We haven’t seen a sign of Southwick or Rory since we left Kintalon. All we ken for a certainty is that they passed through Aviemore three hours before we did. After that, they must have ridden like the devil. They may be here in town, or proceeded on to England.”

“They may have taken a ship to London. ’Twould be the fastest.”

“Aye, and ’haps we should as well.”

“We’ll go arrange it.” Lachlan faced Gwyneth. “You’ll be happy to know I’ve found you a governess position here in Edinburgh.”

Nay! The feeling of a large stone smashing into Alasdair’s stomach near knocked him flat.

Chapter Fifteen

Gwyneth’s face brightened. “Surely you jest, sir. A position for me? Here in Edinburgh?”

“Aye. Just outside the city.” Lachlan said. “Alasdair, you remember George MacAvoy, Baron Lunsford. He’s on the Privy Council now. He and his wife have three small lads and they’re wanting someone to tutor them.”

Alasdair wanted to punch Lachlan in his smiling mouth.

“They’re right good people, and I’m thinking ’twould be perfect—” Lachlan frowned at Alasdair. “What’s wrong?”

“I would have a word with you downstairs,” Alasdair growled.

“I thank you, Lachlan, for your help,” Gwyneth said.

Lachlan bowed and opened the door.

Alasdair followed him, then turned back. “I will have a hot bath sent up for you. Other than that, don’t open the door for anyone.”

“I thank you.” She smiled—devil take it—because of Lachlan and the position.

Alasdair slammed the door closed behind him.

After speaking to a chamberlain about the bath, he followed his brother to a dim corner of the inn’s sparsely populated public room. Lachlan ordered two tankards of ale for them.

“I ken what you’re snarling about,” Lachlan said. “But let me explain. As I told you afore, ’tis safest for everyone—Gwyneth, Rory, and the entire MacGrath clan—if she leaves the Highlands.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten involved in this,” Alasdair snapped. “I’m having a hard enough time as it is, and you go and make it worse.”

“’Twas because of her the MacIrwins burned the village.”

“She saved your son’s life.” Alasdair wanted to smash his fist onto the thick planks of the oak table but restrained himself.

“Aye, and now I’m showing her my appreciation by helping her get something she wants. ’Twas what she asked of me in repayment.”

Alasdair shook his head and stared into his ale. Hellfire, now what was he going to do? Even if he did recover Rory, Gwyneth would likely never marry him. Damn his lack-witted brother.

“I ken you have seduced her, but you can find another lass to warm your bed. A less dangerous one.”

“You have no inkling what you’re talking about!” All Lachlan knew of women was bedding them. Beyond the physical, he’d never had any feelings for one.

“Sweeney and Boyd told me you stayed in her tent one night.” Lachlan sent him a devilish grin.

“If you were not my brother, I would kick your daft arse all the way back to Kintalon and beyond. Hell, I might anyway.”

Lachlan studied him with narrowed eyes. Then shook his head. “You’ve gone soft-pated over her.”

His muscles tense with restraint, Alasdair hoped his glare would burn a hole through his brother. Lachlan wouldn’t be so damned cheerful if he’d just lost the person who brought his life into sharp, colorful focus and provided fuel to his soul.

“She’s a bonny lass, to be sure. And if not for Donald MacIrwin, I’d want you to bring her back to Kintalon with you. Once Donald is arrested—if that ever happens—then you could come to Edinburgh and ask her to marry you.”

“You’re naught but a lunatic. If she gets settled in Edinburgh with a family, she’ll not be interested in me anymore.”

“Then you’re better off without her. If you must marry, you want a woman who is completely devoted to you.”

“You ken muckle about marriage, so don’t be giving me advice on it.”

Lachlan shrugged. “Very well.”

Alasdair shoved his anger away for the moment and focused on another important issue. “Did you get an audience with the Privy Council yet?”

“Aye.” Lachlan kept his voice low. “They are sending someone out with a message telling Donald MacIrwin and his son to appear before them here a fortnight hence.”

“Good. I must schedule time to give my testimony as well.”

“’Twould strengthen the case against them.”

“As will the testimonies of other members of the clan.”

Alasdair caught Lachlan up on the happenings at Kintalon since he had left, and they discussed the MacIrwin situation for the better part of an hour.

“More ale,” Lachlan called out to the tapster, then turned his attention back to Alasdair. “I’m sorry about the predicament with Gwyneth. ’Haps ’twill work out in the end.”

“No thanks to you.”

“If you keep sending her hot baths, flowers, comfits and such, I’m sure she’ll change her mind.” Lachlan smirked. “You have the sensibilities of a gentleman-husband.”

“She got very wet and muddy in the rain. I wouldn’t want her to catch an ague.”