“Och! Ye ken very well it’s different for men than for women.”
She glared at him. “Oh, I ken it, for certain. It’s hardly fair. And nae that it’s any of yer concern, but my mother told me afore she passed what happened between a man and a woman once they were married.”
The knots in his shoulders loosened, and he smiled. “Well then, that’s good.” When she started to climb the hill, a rip showed in the shoulder of her gown and he remembered his original question. “So were ye crying over yer lost innocence, lass?” he asked in the most delicate tone he could manage.
“Och, nay,” she replied, waving a hand at him. “I’d have carved out Hugh’s heart myself if he’d taken my innocence.” She quirked her mouth. “Though Alex may well decide to carve it out anyway when he hears of this.” She gave a parting glance toward where they had left the man tied and continued on.
The last of what troubled him eased away, yet he was confused. “Then why the tears? Were ye scairt?”
“Of course nae, ye eedjit!” she snapped and faced him. The tears that had dried up filled her large eyes once again. She blinked and her russet lashes fanned her cheeks, causing tears to leak out of her eyes and slide down her face.
Lachlan watched as they trailed over the slope of her high cheekbones, fighting the urge to wipe them away. They trickled to her chin, and he could resist no longer. He brushed a finger over one cheek and then the other, meaning only to comfort her, yet when he touched her, desire stirred within him. He jerked his hand away, cursing his body for responding to his friend’s sister like that. Bridgette was not a willing and experienced lass with whom to dally. Beyond that, she was too young.
He folded his arms across his chest, where he’d keep them no matter what. “If ye were nae scairt and yer innocence was nae stolen, then why are ye crying?”
She raised her gaze to his, her brows dipping together and a frown coming to her face. “I hardly ken why,” she mumbled. They stood in silence for a short time and then she spoke again. “I suppose ’tis because I never imagined my first kiss—and certainly nae like this. I presumed it would happen only when I married.”
“Why nae till then? Ye’re certainly bonny.” It had always been his habit to speak plainly, but he saw by the widening of her eyes and the parting of her mouth that he likely should have kept his thoughts to himself.
Pink infused her cheeks, but her gaze held his. “Because I am odd. I wish to fight in battles.”
He nodded. Her brother had often lamented Bridgette’s desire to be treated as a man, and giving it thought now, Lachlan could recall her pleading to be trained to use a sword and her brother refusing her. “So,” he said, choosing his words with care, “ye believe that a woman who wishes to fight battles is undesirable to men?”
Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink and traveled swiftly to her neck. “Aye.”
“Ye’re desirable,” he assured her, though it was surely foolish for him to do so.
She stared at him as if he’d just sprouted wings, and then a smile twitched at her lips. “Ye’re verra kind,” she murmured and started to look away.
He caught her chin, then cursed himself for breaking his promise not to touch her, yet he did not release her. “I’m nae being kind. I’m being truthful.” God’s bones, his tongue was spouting words his brain knew better than to release.
Her eyes widened again, and her tongue darted out to lick her full upper lip and then lower lip. “I feel foolish,” she blurted, her blush turning the tips of her ears red. “I’d nae dreamed of being kissed, but now that I have been, I’m sore that my first kiss was so awful, and that will be a memory I keep always. And that is why I was blubbering. I dunnae usually cry. ’Tis weak.”
“I vow to ye,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than he’d meant it to. The desire coursing through him was affecting every part of him. “Ye will receive a kiss someday that will destroy the memory of the one just forced upon ye.”
“I dunnae see how. I’ll nae have a great love. I’ll marry because the men will clamor for my hand so as to make an alliance with my brother.”
He stared at her in wonder. She truly had no notion of her loveliness, nor how enticing her spirited behavior.
“I can taste his sourness,” she continued as she started walking ahead, her hips gently swaying and making his desire grow hotter. She let out a disgruntled sigh. “His kiss was rough,” she said with a shiver.
Ah, God above! The thought in his head now was one that he was certain he should ignore, yet how could he let her only memory of being kissed be such a terrible one when God alone knew when she’d make the next memory. He could not. One simple kiss would harm neither of them. One kiss, done well, would show her what she had to look forward to with a good and honorable man.
“Bridgette.” He clenched his jaw on his husky tone and strove harder to beat back the desire that was battering him. He cleared his throat. “Bridgette,” he tried again, pleased with his now-strong tone. “I’d like to kiss ye to give ye a better memory.”
She stopped and turned to him, doubt flickering in her gaze. She was going to need some convincing, which made him want to laugh. His thoughts were normally sinfully wicked for the lasses, and they all responded eagerly; now that his intentions were pure, he was met with resistance. Determination hardened his resolve. He had to sway her. He was certain it would help her.
Bridgette blinked and stared into Lachlan’s green eyes as they held hers. She had often dreamed of battles but never of being kissed. But she had fancied herself in love with Lachlan for near a sennight when she was but eight summers and he had rescued her dog after it had fallen into a ravine. The infatuation had been quickly forgotten when Lachlan’s family had departed from their visit and she had taken it into her head to become a warrior. All her thoughts had been for that, and no man had caused her to ponder anything different—nothing more intimate and female—until now.
She had to admit, now that she was presented with the opportunity to kiss Lachlan, she found herself eager. Lachlan was, after all, a fierce, honorable Scot, whom she had long admired and who also happened to be very pleasing to look upon. Muscle carved every part of his powerful body, but the easy smile he often wore tempered the ferocious picture he presented. Even so, she had doubts that a kiss from him—or any man—could wipe away the memory replaying in her mind.
“I dunnae think—”
Lachlan set a calloused finger gently to Bridgette’s lips, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Let me be the one to do the thinking for a spell.”
She snorted at that, even as her heart pounded. “How many lasses have ye said that to?”
To her dismay, he cocked his head and appeared to be thinking, but then a chuckle rumbled from him. “Nae a one. Ye’re the first lass who’s ever hesitated when I asked to kiss them.”
