Aware that Aulay was staring down at her, waiting for a response, she sighed and shook her head. “I just thought I should go inside before me father started to worry.”
“Ah. I will no’ keep ye, then.” Nodding, he straightened and stepped to the side, but then added, “Howbeit if those lasses trouble ye again, ye’ve but to tell me. I’ve warned them to behave else I’ll send them on their way, and will no’ hesitate to do so do they bother ye again.”
“Oh.” Dwyn stared up at him wide-eyed. “That’s . . . er . . . Thank ye, m’laird, but ye needn’t . . . I mean, I would no’ want ye sending them away on me account. What if one o’ yer brothers desire them to wife?”
“If they do, they’re no’ the men I think they are,” he assured her. “In fact, I suspect the two women are doing naught but taking up space here. I’d send them away altogether except I did no’ wish to humiliate them that way. But I will if they ignore me warning and continue to harass yerself or any o’ the other women.”
“Thank ye, m’laird.” Tipping her head, she smiled faintly and said, “Ye’re a kind man, m’laird.”
Aulay Buchanan snorted at that. “Away with ye, lass. I’m no’ kind. Have ye no’ heard? I’m a monster, more like to make women and children weep and scream than anything else.”
Dwyn’s eyes widened in surprise, but then she recalled the tales she’d heard of the fierce warrior and his ruined face. The tales were all exaggerated, she’d decided when she saw him. While the man had a scar that almost divided his face in half, it wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d been led to believe, and she thought he was still an attractive man. That being the case, Dwyn snorted right back at his claim, and said, “Oh, aye, m’laird. Why, just look at yer wife. Lady Jetta is obviously terrified o’ ye.”
Aulay grinned at her teasing. “Me wife does no’ have the sense to be afraid.”
“Then we should get along well,” she assured him. “Because I do no’ fear ye either.”
“And I hope ye never have reason to, lass,” he said solemnly, and before she could think too hard on that, he added, “Now, ye’d best go in, Dwyn. Yer father and sisters will be looking fer ye.”
Dwyn clucked with irritation at that, and moved around him muttering, “You Buchanan men, ye do like to order me inside.”
She was so exasperated Dwyn didn’t notice the way his eyebrows rose or that his gaze then slid to search the depths of the gardens as she walked away.
Geordie turned from watching Dwyn disappear down the garden path and let a small sigh slide from his lips. She was a tempting little bundle. He could still see her lying back across the branch, her bare breasts arched upward invitingly, her pale skin glowing in the darkness. He could feel her soft skin under his fingers, taste her on his tongue, and again felt the urge he’d had then to drag her to the ground, throw her skirts up and plant himself in her eager body.
Dwyn would have been eager, Geordie had no doubt. There was no subterfuge with this woman. She’d admitted she’d liked his kisses, and had responded honestly to his every caress, shuddering, sighing and moaning in his arms, her nails digging into his shoulders and urging him on, unintentionally stirring his own desires to a fever pitch.
Aye, Geordie thought, Dwyn would have opened eagerly to him, spreading her legs and taking his hard shaft into her body, welcoming it and openly enjoying the passion he could show her. He had no doubt he could make her beg with her need and then scream when he gave her the satisfaction her body cried for. It was the after, when her need was slaked and her passion cooled, that the problems would begin. She would be full of regret and shame then, he was sure, and he hadn’t been able to do that to her. But she would never know how close he came to taking her anyway. It had required determination and grit to set her back on her branch and cover those lovely breasts. And then when she’d climbed down the tree . . .
Geordie opened his eyes and peered up the tree again, recalling the view he’d had of her legs all the way to her knees before the shadows had hidden the rest of her naked legs and the spot where they met under her gown. He’d only grabbed her ankle to help direct her on her climb down, but once he’d touched her, he hadn’t been able to make himself let go. He’d let his hand glide up that smooth, pale skin as she’d descended, and had even stepped under her skirts, his head lifting, eyes trying to pierce the darkness and his mouth filling with saliva as he contemplated kissing her inner knees, and then her thighs, and then tasting her . . .
Dwyn’s shaky “m’laird” had startled him out of his dark fantasies, and he’d released her with a groan, and then had caught her by the waist and lifted her down to end his torment. Geordie hadn’t been able to resist kissing her then though, but had allowed himself only a brief hard kiss before setting her away, knowing that if she’d responded even the least little bit, he’d have her on the ground with her skirts over her head in no time.
Geordie turned away from the tree, his hand rising to run over his face where her hair had flown up and caught in the stubble when she’d turned away. It had been strands of gold silk against his skin, and he’d instinctively caught it, briefly contemplating pulling her back to him, before his good sense had made him release the golden tresses.
His uncle’s words returned to him. “With those breasts against his chest and that glorious hair wrapped around him, a man would be in heaven.” As much as he resented the man even thinking about that when it came to Dwyn, his uncle was right. He couldn’t imagine anything more heavenly than having a naked Dwyn astride him, her long golden hair hanging around them like a curtain and feathering across his skin as she rode him, her hot, tight body squeezing his cock and her generous breasts hanging above his mouth for him to suckle and lathe as she moved against him. But he’d also like to have her on her hands and knees before him, so he could tangle his hands in that long hair and use the golden strands as reins as he plunged into her from behind.
A painful aching drew Geordie’s attention down to where an erection was pressing against the cloth of his plaid and he grimaced at how he was tormenting himself with his own thoughts. He briefly considered finding Katie or one of the other maids to ease his condition, but the idea held no appeal. He knew he’d close his eyes and want to pretend it was Dwyn he was thrusting into, and they’d talk and spoil the delusion. Of course, he could let them ease his discomfort with their mouth, Geordie thought. They couldn’t talk then, and he could close his eyes and imagine it was Dwyn on her knees before him, her long golden hair curling around her breasts and her beautiful blue eyes peering up at him as she took him into her mouth and sucked, and licked, and—
“I’m glad to see ye obviously did no’ use that on Dwyn, but ye might wish to find a more private spot for such sport.”
Geordie stiffened at those words, his head jerking around to see Aulay approaching through the dark. It took a moment though for his mind to process his words, and then he glanced down and tore his hand away from the erection he hadn’t realized he’d been pumping and let his plaid fall back into place. Christ, he’d been pleasuring himself like an untried lad as he’d enjoyed his imaginings. He hadn’t done that in years. A lot of years. There was little need when there were always so many willing lasses around to tend to it.