The Ravenscraig Legacy Collection: A World of Magical Highland Romance by Allie Mackay & Sue-Ellen Welfonder

Author:Allie Mackay & Sue-Ellen Welfonder [Mackay, Allie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gruenwald Corporation
Published: 2015-10-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Three

She thought he was feeble-minded.

Hardwick glowered after her, trying hard not to notice the bounce of her full round breasts as she fled the wall-walk. He also ignored the agitated strides of her long, shapely legs. Above all, he pretended not to see the swing of her luscious, well-made bottom.

The kind of bottom he could do all kinds of things to – and would – under different circumstances.

As it was, a muscle twitched in his jaw and vexation, not lust, swept him. Even so, he watched her go, his fists clenching when she darted into the stair tower.

“Thor’s bluidy hammer.” He threw back his head and glared at the roiling clouds, the fast-moving sheets of mist racing across the battlements.

He could scarce breathe for ire.

In nearly a millennium of intimate encounters with the fairer sex, nary a one had ever insulted him so deeply. Most women – of the Otherworld, admittedly, but even those of her realm who’d seen him – swooned and went all weak-kneed at a mere glance from him.

If he flashed a smile, they were his.

Totally beguiled, they freely offered their charms, claiming he was braw and irresistible.

Cilla Swanner clearly felt otherwise.

Crazy, she’d called him.

Not that the word mattered. The meaning was the same. She held him for addled. And he didn’t like it at all.

Unfortunately, the thought of her tearing down the stair tower’s tight, winding steps sat even worse with him. He needn’t exactly traverse them to know how slick they were. Worn smooth by centuries of trudging, tromping feet, the slippery hollows of the stone steps could easily send her tumbling to her death if she tripped.

And she’d looked to be in a very trip-easy mood when she’d dashed through the parapet door. An assessment underscored by the echo of her hasty descent.

Hardwick shoved a hand through his hair and scowled as he listened.

He should amuse himself elsewhere.

Dunroamin boasted at least fifty rooms. Give or take a few, to be sure. A soul could lose hours in the disused wing alone, counting the rats, bats, and roosting doves dwelling there. Great swaths of cobwebs begged examination, several chambers held dust-covered piles of candlesticks and pewter plates, clumps of moth-eaten velvet drapes, and even bolts of ancient tartan. Best of all, some of the walls hosted such a battalion of mold and mildew, the musty damp was a sure guarantee she wouldn’t spend time there.

So there were possibilities.

Places where he could avoid her.

Too bad he’d grown accustomed to spending his days in the warmth and comfort of the castle’s cozier bits.

Either way, he did need to stop mooning over her. Nor was it wise to make his head ache worrying about her. That road led to folly.

It was nothing to him if she fell.

If anything, he’d be spared hearing unholy cackles on the wind. Without her around to tempt him, the hell hags wouldn’t have reason to chortle. He’d be free of the nuisance of trying to scare her away.

Something he wasn’t at all sure he could do.

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