Slowly, his lips curled into a lazy grin.
“I have time to myself now,” he drawled, lowering his chin.
She hummed, dragging her hands up his arms until they were looped around his neck. “And what will ye do with all this free time, milord?” she murmured.
“This…”
His lips brushed against hers, whisper-soft. She sighed against his skin and pushed herself up on her toes, pulling him closer. He loved the way she didn’t hesitate to go after what she wanted. With a grin, he brushed his lips against hers again.
This kiss was deeper, but just as gentle. They took their time exploring one another, and he reveled in her soft sighs.
His cock let him know these sweet and innocent kisses were not at all sufficient, but Alistair swallowed down his arousal. He wanted to growl, to take her, to press her against the nearest building and plunge into her. A woman who kissed him in public like this, a woman who’d commanded him to stroke his own cock was no virgin, but a lass who would meet him thrust for thrust.
But…she was also Lara. Lara, whom he’d watched grow from a gangly lassie to this handful of perfect curves. As much as he wanted her, for now, he would be gentle.
And who knows what might’ve happened, had a shout not broken them apart. They were both smiling when he dropped a kiss on her forehead. Then she turned and acknowledged the greeting with a cheerful wave, as if he weren’t still reeling from her taste.
As first kisses went, theirs had been perfect.
And ‘twas even more perfect because—despite the bothersome hardness pressing against his kilt, and despite the way he saw her pulse flutter in the hollow of her throat and knew she was equally on edge—she didn’t hesitate to loop her arm through his and smile as if they were just a couple out enjoying a stroll.
He found he very much liked that.
He liked the idea of being able to stroll with her without the threat of hours of work looming over his head. He liked being able to kiss her in the middle of the street. He liked just being with her.
“So, will ye tell me about the pig?”
“The one I want to buy?”
Nay, he’d already accepted she’d tell him about that when the time comes. “The one with the three legs.”
“Hero?” She shot him a surprised glance. “Ye really havenae heard of him?”
“Nay.” He smiled, nodding toward the tavern. “If I promise ye some luncheon, will ye tell me?”
Laughing, she tossed her blonde braid over her shoulder. “Of course!”
“The pig, then? Spill yer secrets, lass”
“All my secrets? Nay!” she gasped theatrically. But then she smiled and began, “His name is Hero. I cannae believe ye havenae heard of him. The Hero Pig of the Oliphants.”
The Ghostly Drummer. The Hero Pig. What is it with the Oliphants and their titles?
“Why is he a hero?”
Her eyes sparkled animatedly as she told the story. “John and his family are living in the back of his shop as their croft is being rebuilt. There was a fire—no’ a terrible one, it didnae destroy it, but it did spread some while they were sleeping.”
Alistair had heard about the fire when it happened. “Aye, I recall diverting some men and materials to help with the rebuilding.”
She nodded eagerly. “Well, all of the children made it out, except for the youngest. John and his wife were frantically looking for the wee lassie…when here comes this pig, trotting around from behind the house, with the wee bairn dangling from its snout by her nappy.”
“The pig rescued the girl?”
Lara shrugged, her lips curled upward, and her eyes twinkling as she told the story. He wasn’t sure if she believed it, or if she just liked the gossip.
“It certainly looked as if that’s how it happened. And ‘twasnae the first time! On another occasion, that pig—Hero—stood between John and a wolf!”
Alistair scoffed. “A wolf? Ye expect me to believe ‘twas where the pig lost its leg, but not his life, eh?” It only had the three legs, after all.
“Nay.” Her grin turned mischievous. “That is no’ how he lost a leg.”
“The fire then?” Alistair lifted his brows. “But ye said the pig was outside when the house burned.”
“Nay, Hero didnae lose his leg in the fire either.” She looked as if she were having trouble containing her laughter.
They were almost to the tavern when, in exasperation, he tugged her to a stop. “How then? How did the damn pig lose a leg?”
“John is a butcher, Alistair, and must make a profit.”
Grinning, she lifted one hand and gently laid her fingertips against his cheek. ‘Twas a quick, soft touch, over before he could really enjoy it, but it made him yearn for more. He wanted this freedom, this softness, all the time.
What had they been speaking of? Oh, aye, the pig and profits. “And?”
“And a pig that special, even the butcher cannae eat all at once.”
It took him a moment to process her quip, and when he did, Alistair blinked. Then he threw back his head and roared with laughter.
And when she joined in, he couldn’t ever recall being so damnably happy.
There was still a spring in his step late the next afternoon, when Alistair went searching for his twin brother. In the last few days, he’d been spending more and more time with Lara. Ostentatiously, ‘twas because they needed to plan Da’s celebration. But in reality, ‘twas more than that.
When he wasn’t with her, he was wishing he were, which was an interesting revelation to come to terms with.
For a lassie whom he’d watched grow up, Lara wasn’t the knock-kneed, gangly girl he remembered. Nay, that adventure in his solar had showed him she was all woman, and spending all this time with her—and that kiss, as brief and wonderful as it had been—had shown Alistair he liked her.
As a woman.
And as a friend.
She was witty and creative when it came to cooking—and other things, I’d wager—and he found he valued her insights. While planning the celebrations or just strolling together, they’d discussed life in the castle, the future of the clan, his father’s ultimatum, the upcoming celebration, and any number of things.
Aye, they made a good team, and Alistair was still surprised to discover that knowledge.
But right now, he was intending to implement one of her ideas. Just where in damnation was that brother of his?
Alistair had been glad to put away the ledgers and join Rocque and the other warriors for a sparring session earlier that afternoon. Kiergan hadn’t been there, nor at the lake when Alistair had gone to bathe. He also hadn’t found his twin anywhere on the castle grounds, and he’d been searching for hours.
The priest was ambling across the great hall when he got back to the castle that evening, and Alistair called out to him. “Father! Have ye seen Kiergan?”
The bearded man shook his head. “Nay, laddie, my apologies. But I’ve gotten the impression yer brother’s a man who kens more than one way around a castle, if ye catch my drift.”
Alistair rolled his eyes. “Kiergan and I both took our first steps across this floor, Father Ambrose. He kens his way around better than anyone, I believe.”