“I want ye to kiss MacGregor.”
“What?”
They both spoke the word together, but Juliana recovered first.
“That would be most improper, especially with my English upbringing.”
Neal shrugged. “Ye are in Scotland now.”
“True enough,” his father said.
MacLean nodded. “A true handfasting is sealed with a kiss.”
Juliana’s face paled, and for a moment, Rory thought he saw something akin to fear in her eyes, but that would be ridiculous. She might not like him, but she certainly wasn’t afraid of him. Was she afraid to be kissed? That didn’t make sense, either. The lass was past eight and ten. Surely she’d had suitors who’d at least attempted to steal a kiss? Or made a sloppy job of it? Had some idiot been that inept?
Rory felt his cock stir at the thought of showing Juliana how good a kiss could be. He moved a bit closer, and she stiffened. He sensed her fear again, somewhat like a trapped animal with nowhere to run. He took her hand, which now felt like ice. Shewasafraid. But if they expected to leave here without trouble, the easiest way was to simply do what Neal demanded.
Rory looked into her eyes, imploring her silently to understand as he took another step closer. Her eyes widened briefly, then she closed them tightly and lifted her chin. As he lowered his head and brushed his lips across her closed mouth, he had the strangest feeling she was offering herself up like some sacrifice. And it certainly was not going to look believable if she didn’t respond to him.
He brought her hands to his shoulders, then cradled her head in his palms as he pressed his lips gently against hers, angling his position to better claim them with light brushing. He nibbled at the side of her mouth, his tongue barely stroking the crease, and she gasped, her lips parting. His cock hardened at the unintentional invitation, and he wanted nothing more than to plunge deep into her mouth and plunder her sweet taste, but somehow he managed to control his base urge and pulled away.
Juliana looked dazed and, for once, speechless. He felt a little that way himself. He hadn’t expected to… Well, kissing Juliana was quite a pleasant surprise.
Rory glanced at Neal. “I hope ye are satisfied, because I will continue the rest of this in private.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but his father nodded. “Go.”
Rory didn’t wait for any more sentiments. He took Juliana’s hand and propelled her toward the door. The movement seemed to revive her. In another moment she was keeping stride with him.
Margaret met them by the door. “Ye are leaving?”
“Yes,” Juliana answered, not pausing to stop. “Thank you for everything.”
“I’ve only one horse,” he said as they reached the courtyard and he unhitched Baron from a rail.
“As long as he will carry both of us, I do not care,” Juliana answered. Pulling her cloak tighter, she hiked up her skirts and clambered onto a mounting block, hoisting herself into the saddle before he could assist. “Just get us out of here.”
He sighed and mounted behind her. It seemed the Juliana he knew was back. They had just cleared the gate when a shout came from behind them. Several shouts.
“You might want to go faster,” Juliana said.
The hairs at his nape rose. “Why?”
“I think Margaret just told them we are not betrothed.”
“How would she know that?” His question was met by silence. “Juliana? How would she know?”
She hesitated. “I might have told her I had no intention of getting married. Ever.”
Damnation. The Camerons would no doubt be giving chase as soon as they were mounted, which meant he couldn’t head straight home. Riding double on a tired horse, they’d be overtaken. Rory turned in the opposite direction and spurred Baron on.
It seemed the faeries had decided to intervene after all.
Chapter Four
Perhaps it was just as well that the galloping horse was making Juliana concentrate on staying astride, else she would be thinking about Rory’s kiss. She swayed dangerously to one side and felt Rory’s arm slip around her waist, tucking her firmly against him. While that did help her secure her balance, it also made her aware of his hard, muscled body, which, of course, led back to recalling the kiss.
She hadn’t known how gentle a man’s hands could be cradling her head. The man who’d taken her virtue had been anything but. His kisses—if they could be called that—had been foul and brutal, and she’d had a cut lip and bruised mouth for a week. She’d vowed never to let another man touch her that way.