The Highlander's Return. Marguerite Kaye
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‘Not married!’ It had not occurred to him that she would still be single. It was a disturbing notion and not one he wanted to think about. ‘Wed or betrothed, long-standing or recent, it makes no difference,’ he said, more to himself than Ailsa. ‘You are spoken for and I should not have taken such a liberty.’
‘Nor I granted it to you,’ Ailsa said unhappily. She had never had any difficulty in refusing such liberties to others. Not even Donald had been permitted such intimacy, but kissing Alasdhair had seemed the most natural thing in the world. And the most delightful. She had forgotten it could be delightful, a kiss. Like a promise. Except this one, like the last one Alasdhair made, would remain for ever unfulfilled. ‘What about you, Alasdhair?’
‘What about me?’
‘Are you married?’
‘Of course not,’ he snapped. ‘Do you think me the sort of man to go about kissing women if I were?
Anyway, I have no need of a wife. I have no need of anyone.’
He wasn’t married. He didn’t want to be married and it was probably her fault that he was set against it. She couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t married. This thought above all buzzed around in her head, as impossible to ignore and as useless as an angry blue bottle, and it was all too much. Far too much. She didn’t want to think any more. She wanted nothing so much as to be safe under the covers of her bed. Weariness assaulted her.
Noticing her pallor, Alasdhair felt a twinge of regret. He, too, felt as if he had been pummelled relentlessly, reeling from the onslaught the day had made on his emotions. ‘Come,’ he said, picking up her gloves from the ground and handing them to her, ‘I should get you back to the castle. You look exhausted.’
Ailsa tried valiantly for a smile. ‘It’s all been a bit—overwhelming.’
‘That’s one way of putting it.’ Alasdhair took her hand. ‘We belonged to each other once, before you were pledged to Donald McNair. We did not get to say our farewells six years ago. We were long overdue that kiss. I won’t feel guilty about it, and nor should you.’
Through the starkly handsome face of the man, the boy peered out. She answered him with the sweet smile of the girl she had been.
He would have kissed her again, seeing that smile he remembered so well. She would not refuse him. It was with immense difficulty that he chose honour over desire. Even as he tucked her hand into his arm, he was regretting it. Ailsa stumbled against him as the path grew rocky. Alasdhair tightened his grip on her arm. He could help her home. That much at least he could do with a clear conscience.
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