Ghosts of Culloden Moor 20 - Connor by L.L. Muir

Author:L.L. Muir [Muir, L.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-05-13T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Connor found solace in the orchard where neither man nor ghost moved between the crooked trunks and leafy branches. It would make a fine place to pass the time while he waited for Soni to summon him back. If he slept a day away, what would it matter?

“Lord Gray!” Was it a voice, or had he imagined it? “Lord Gray?”

His gut clenched at the distinct sound of Mercy Kellaway’s voice. He was suddenly an embarrassed youth, hurt, vulnerable, and hating his loss of control where she was concerned. If he kept silent, would she leave him in peace?

The pale yellow of her gown flashed between leafy branches. “Lord Gray!”

He turned his back wishing to blend into the trees if he held quite still. But he could hear her panting, coming nearer.

“Forgive me, my lord. I beg you.”

He turned to face her, ready to assure her he’d taken no offense, but she obviously read something different in his eyes. At the look of abject pity on her face, he turned away again. Lord help him, what had become of his acting skills?

She wrapped her hands around his arm and circled to face him. “It was unforgivable to treat you so callously. You, who seem to know me better than anyone still left on this earth.”

There were real tears on her cheeks, which he could not bear, so he reached up and dashed them away with his thumbs. His hands lingered along the sides of her face, but she didn’t pull away. And bending to place his mouth upon hers seemed an economic thing to do—a way to exact punishment and accept her apology all in a go.

It took the pair of them a good ten seconds to catch their breath afterward, but he couldn’t seem to release her. In fact, he didn’t try.

“I don’t even know your name,” she said, content to remain where she was.

“Connor.” He leaned forward a little and paused, giving her a chance to pull away, kissing her again when she didn’t. It was if those soft bits of flesh were meant to be pressed together there, in the orchard, with the fragrant fruits adding a bit of sweetness to their embrace.

“Connor,” she breathed against his lips. “In the carriage, on the way here from Broxdale Park, Lady Russell thought your name was Miles or Mitchell. Something with an M.”

Auch, so, the jig was up, was it?

He dropped his hands away, expecting her to react badly to the truth. “I am Connor Gray, not Lord Miles Gray, as Lady Grant believes me to be. I am no Scottish noble. In fact, there is little about my life that is noble.” He bobbed his head. “There you have it. Reason enough to flee.”

Instead, she smiled as if he’d just pulled a coin from her ear, or a certain playing card from his pocket.

“Well, you certainly play the part well enough.”

She missed the point, obviously, so he thought to warn her again. “And here ye are, standing alone in a secluded orchard with a common man.

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