The Highlander's Stolen Touch Read Free Page A

but incredibly beautiful at the same time. Small braids of his dark brown hair hung from his temples and the rest of it hung loose to his shoulders. His tall, muscular form blocked out any light in the hearth behind him as he filled the doorway. Tavis stepped closer to her, glancing behind her and then out on to the path, so close she could feel the heat of his body. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a moment to enjoy the scent of him, before realising that she must look daft standing before him so.
    ‘Is something wrong, Ciara?’ he asked quietly. ‘It is late.’ She took a deep breath and plunged forwards with her plan.
    ‘I would speak to you, Tavis,’ she said, entwining her fingers together to make their shaking less apparent.
    ‘We should speak in the morning...in the keep,’ he said, stepping back and depriving her of his scent and his heat. Then a suspicious glint entered his eyes. ‘Do your parents know you are walking alone through the village in the dark?’
    ‘I am no bairn, Tavis, and have lived here long enough to know every turn of every path and every soul who abides in Lairig Dubh.’
    ‘So your parents have no idea that you run free.’
    Ciara worried her teeth along her bottom lip, not giving him an answer. She did not believe he would turn her away without listening to her first, but the way his face hardened gave her pause that he might do exactly that!
    ‘Best come in out of the chill air,’ he said, relenting. He stepped back, opening the door up and waiting for her to enter. Tavis closed the door and walked across the cottage to the hearth. Pointing to a stool nearby, he offered her a seat.
    Ciara decided to stand and walked closer to the low fire burning in the hearth. She’d thought about the words she wanted to say for days, but now, standing in his house, the one he’d shared with his wife Saraid, all of them scattered, leaving her silent.
    ‘Ciara?’ His voice, low and deep, sent waves of pleasure and anticipation through her, forcing her to gather her thoughts and speak of the matter between them. Rather than mincing words, she sought the candour they always shared and got right to the heart of it.
    ‘I have come to speak to you about the matter of marriage, Tavis,’ she blurted out. Then she sat down on the offered stool, since now her legs trembled as much as her hands did. Quite proud of how she’d been so very forthright with him, the frown that furrowed his brow surprised her.
    ‘Marriage? Does someone seek your hand, then?’ he asked. ‘Does Duncan favour the suit?’
    ‘Nay, no one has offered,’ she said. Not as yet, not a serious offer, though with her age and her dowry, ’twas only a matter of time. She wanted to get this settled before they would begin in earnest.
    ‘Do you fear marriage, then?’ he asked, concern lacing his tone in spite of his own terrible experience in the marital state. ‘Marian would speak candidly to you about that, lass.’
    Ciara closed her eyes for a moment, prayed for courage and then said the words that would damn her or give her her heart’s desire.
    ‘I would marry you, Tavis.’
    The air in the cottage stilled and not a sound could be heard, though Ciara was certain her heart pounding against her chest must be loud. Tavis did not move. His gaze remained on her face, but he gave no sign that he had heard her or, indeed, that he even yet breathed. Moments passed—mayhap hours did, too—while she waited for him to say something to her. Heat flushed in her cheeks and her stomach began to grip. She brushed some loosened hair back away from her face and then repeated her words, for by some chance, he must not have understood them the first time.
    ‘I said I would marry you.’
    ‘Ciara,’ he said—her name on his lips was almost a plea. ‘Do not—’
    ‘I have much to offer,’ she rushed out the words. ‘I can read and write in five languages and know how to cipher. I bring a good dowry to the marriage and I...’