In the Laird's Bed Read Free

reminding Cristiana of her first duty as hostess.
    Duncan must have remembered, as well, for he leaned close again, not bothering to hide his nearness from her guests.
    “Perhaps you will recall some of the old warmth when you must serve me?” He eased away from her, but masked his callousness with a low bow over her hand.
    Fearing he might kiss her fingers in the courtier’s way, she snatched her hand back at once. But Duncan only smiled and took his seat at the high table.
    Cursing him roundly under her breath, she accepted the pitcher of mead and approached the dais. The lady of Domhnaill had always served her guest personally to begin meals in this ancient hall, and Cristiana had no intention of straying from the tradition when she had fought so long and hard to show the world everything ran smoothly here.
    “To your health, my lord,” she intoned, even managing to dip her head slightly in his direction as she did so. Thankfully, the forced curtsy helped to hide her burning cheeks.
    With hands that hardly quivered, she approached Duncan the Brave and poured him a cup of her finest mead as if her world wasn’t falling apart. As if her father wasn’t dying. As if her beloved sister hadn’t been exiled.
    And almost as if Cristiana wasn’t raising her sister’s illegitimate babe in secret.

Chapter Two
    T he sweetness remained. Yet there was more to it than that.
    Duncan rolled the honey mead on his tongue hours later, after the meal had ended and the dancing commenced, trying to identify what was different about Lady Cristiana’s famed brew from the last time he’d had a taste. He watched the lady herself as she bowed serenely to her dancing partner, an elder of her clan who served as a close adviser to her father. Like her mead, Cristiana was more complex than he recalled. Time had erased the softness of girlhood from her face, leaving a more elegant and refined beauty. She moved with grace and ease as she danced, though her serious expression made him think she was more apt to be discussing war strategy than holiday celebrations.
    Neither she nor her smooth libation were as simple as a sum of their parts. No single facet could be clearly defined. But the effect of the whole was intriguing. Potent. He could feel the sweet sting of the wine in the pleasing stir of his blood.
    Then again, he might be confusing the effect of the woman with her beverage.
    “You promised me a dance, my lord.”
    The husky feminine voice in his ear was not the one he wished to hear just then. Turning, he was abruptly placed at eye level with Lady Beatrice’s considerable cleavage. She batted her lashes and extended her hand, forcing him to either dance or refuse her publicly.
    Or…neither.
    “Lady Beatrice.” Replacing his empty cup upon the table, he rose to his feet. “I regret that I cannot, for I must act on a New Year’s tradition right now. But I trust you will not be disappointed in the game.” The custom of a New Year’s game or challenge aided the second part of his plan.
    “My dear sirs and gentlewomen.” Duncan raised his voice over the dying strains of music from the last dance. Accustomed to ruling over a hall, he did not mind stepping into the laird’s shoes. “I wish to thank your good lady for sharing the richness of her hospitality and the merry mood of her hall.”
    His words were echoed round the room, though not very heartily by Lady Beatrice, who appeared disgruntled about the lack of a dance. Over near theminstrels, Cristiana accepted the praise with a demure nod, but Duncan spied her discomfort over having him here.
    But she did not deserve an easy heart after the way she had severed all ties to him on the basis of her sister’s fickle moods.
    “And in the spirit of the season,” he continued, hiding bitterness beneath a hearty tone, “I ask your lady’s indulgence of a boon.”
    Cristiana’s head whipped up, instantly alert. Her gaze swept the hall, perhaps searching for aid among her