The Scottish Rogue by Heather McCollum

Author:Heather McCollum
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Entangled, Amara, Historical Romance, Historical Romances, Scottish Historical Romance, Historical Scottish Fiction, Historical European Fiction, Historical Fiction, Women’s Historical Fiction, Romantic Heroes Highlanders, Highlander, Scotland, Castle, Scottish Highlands, Scottish Clans
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Published: 2019-05-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Evelyn rested her hand on the door that separated her room and Grey’s. Wrapped in her robe over a dry smock, her mind raced. Had he already gone to bed? She’d heard the light tread of his boots in the hall moments earlier. Evelyn sniffed, touching the handkerchief in her other hand to her nose.

Maybe she would catch an ague and stay in bed for the next week, not that hiding away from Grey would stop her from envisioning him. He practically commanded her mind.

The feel of his fingers raking her head, rubbing along her scalp to wash down her hair. Good Lord. The press of his hard chest against her and his powerful arms around her as he held her in the rain. The awareness of his hard member rising up between them against her rain-flattened skirts. The warmth of his skin and breath upon her lips.

She’d been certain he would kiss her there in the darkness, shielded by the rain and night. He’d held her as she thought a man would to kiss, sliding his hand along her back and lowering his face to hers. But he hadn’t met her lips. Perhaps she should have leaned in, offered him her kiss… Enticing Grey to tup ye would be far easier than convincing these people to come learn how to read. Scarlet’s words were either wise or horrendously improper. And she surely wouldn’t use Grey to get out of marrying Philip. But what if she wanted to lie with Grey, not for any reason save that he made her blood rush with frantic heat.

Evelyn dropped her hand from the door and turned to pace back to her small bed in the far corner. She perched on the edge, her fingers curling into the quilt on top. Grey had been aroused. Although perhaps it was a reaction to the sounds of the couple in the barn. Evelyn rested her cool palms on her heated face. Just the memory of the woman’s moans and heated words shot fire through her blood.

“Bloody hell,” she whispered, using the Scottish curse that was so prevalent in Killin. “Bloody hell,” she repeated, taking strength from it. Maybe she should take up the raucous art of cursing.

She huffed, knowing, as she glared at her empty pillow, that she wouldn’t be falling asleep soon with such heat in her blood and passionate thoughts swirling in her mind. Feeling the cold wood floor with her toes, she located her slippers and jammed her feet into them.

She would go to the library. Whenever she was troubled at Hollings, surviving the tongue-lashing from her father when she tried to argue for the rights of her sex or comforting her mother from one of her weeping fits, Evelyn had retreated to the library. Surrounded by her books, information and wise words never failed to calm her.

Evelyn lit a tallow candle from the fire, grabbed an extra blanket from the end of her bed, and opened her door to the dark corridor.

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