Amanda Scott by Highland Secrets Read Free Book Online

leather waistcoat. Staring at it, she moistened her lips again. “Do ye mean tae let me pass, sir? I canna fill the goblet if I canna reach yon tappit hen.”
    “I would first exact a price for your impertinence, Mab MacKissock.”
    She looked up then and saw a new glint in his eyes. The firelight reflected in their gray depths warmed them, stirring again the odd fancy that she played with the devil. She could not seem to look away. She feared him, feared the power he held over her both with his rank and his knowledge of what she had done in Edinburgh. Yet she wanted to touch him, and she found the danger of her position exhilarating. He had not unmasked her, so he did not want her to die for her sins, and apparently he was willing to believe that she had not helped Allan escape.
    “Well?” he said.
    “What price?” But she knew. She knew perfectly well, and when he held her chin in one warm hand and tilted her face up, she did not resist. He surprised her by pulling off her mobcap with his other hand, freeing her dark curls to spread over her shoulders. His expression warmed with appreciation as he bent toward her.
    His lips were warm, too, and soft against hers. Then they firmed and pressed harder, and she felt a stirring in her body, a tingling deep within unlike anything she had felt before. Shocked by her feelings, she pulled back.
    Calder smiled. “So you did not lie about being inexperienced,” he said. His hand still held her chin, his fingers warm and strong.
    “I do not lie!” The words came unbidden, spoken more fiercely than she had intended. Indeed, she had not meant to speak them at all, for in view of her present position, the declaration was ludicrous. Yet his suggestion that she might lie had offended her as much as such a charge ever had. Even in her recent activities, she had tried never to tell an outright falsehood. She was not a good liar, for one thing. She had too much tendency to say what she thought. For another, it was a matter of honor. The Campbells and the English authorities had none. Far better to defeat them without employing their own wicked methods. Hoodwinking them was one thing, outright wickedness another.
    “I find it hard to believe that you have not deceived Patrick,” he said wryly. He released her chin but still regarded her with sardonic suspicion.
    Remembering her role, she said more calmly, choosing her words with care, “Misfortune ha’ come upon me, sir, but I try tae do what’s richt.”
    He stood aside. “Fetch the flagon then, Mab MacKissock, though I think you need the brandy more than I do. I’ll give you a sip or two to relax you, and then you can warm my bed.” His smile made it impossible to mistake his meaning.
    Her hand shook when she picked up the pewter flagon, and she nearly spilled the brandy when he held out his goblet. It was one thing to slap away the hand of an impudent young soldier but quite another to resist the attentions of a noble guest in her master’s house. Remembering Calder’s threat to complain about her made her hand shake even more. Patrick Campbell would not hesitate, she knew, to order her whipped for insolence or obstinacy.
    “You may put that down now,” Calder said gently.
    She did not want to step past him again, though she would have given much for a breath of fresh air from the open window to clear her head. But since it was not the smoke that had made her dizzy, the cool, clean air would doubtless do little to steady her. She felt a pulse beating in her throat, and her chest felt tight.
    The last thing she wanted was to be ravished by this, or any, man. Neither did she wish to be beaten, however, and above all, she did not want to anger him into revealing what he knew of her to Patrick. If they began to ask questions about her, the maidservant and soldier whose illicit activities had allowed her to slip up to the tower might well admit their sin. Then the ferryman would own that she had begged him to take her across