Page 50 of The Ruthless Laird's Virgin
He never wanted to get married.
Eleanor sat comfortably in front of the fireplace in the mess hall. The pattern on the pillow resting on her lap was just beginning to take shape as she guided the needle in and out of the thick fabric. The bright pink flowers smiled up at her as she grew more and more lost in her thoughts.
Her chest rose and fell along with the crackling of the fire as she thought of the previous night in the study and the moment they had shared in the cabin. Bran lay peacefully at her feet, snoring softly as he twitched in his dream. His long grey fur frizzed from the constant rain they had been getting, yet he still seemed as peaceful as could be.
Callum had been through so much in his life, much like she had. He no longer believed in marriage or love, yet she did not understand why the fact made her chest clench whenever she thought of him.
Why do I feel this way?
She sat in the unease of her own discomforting thoughts and feelings while Marion sorted a pile of fresh linen at her side. The maid seemed utterly at ease in a world of her own, blissfully unaware of anything going on around her.
“Have ye made any progress in the study, Mistress?” Marion stopped humming for just a second as she asked the question while folding a sheet. Her skilled hands worked without much thought, creating crisp lines in the folded sheets.
It amazed Eleanor just how quickly the young girl had placed the incident in the yard behind her. She carried on with her duties as if nothing had happened at all.
Just like Callum.
He, too, believed in moving forward as if nothing had happened. It was still shocking to her that his father had been killed by someone in his own clan.
“Aye, we are almost done sortin’ the ledgers. Soon, the study will be in alphabetical order, and the Laird will be able to find anythin’ he needs,” she told a half-truth, not wanting to involve Marion in the broader scheme of things. It was not that she felt as if she could not trust Marion, but the girl lived in a world of her own. One slip of her tongue and the rest of the servants would know that a greater plot was afoot.
“That is wonderful that ye can help the Laird in such a manner. I am sure yer father misses ye back home. Ye must have been such a blessin’ to him when ye helped with his ledgers,” Marion continued to hum softly under her breath as she sorted one pile into the next, creating a landscape of linen on the long table beside her.
“Aye, I am sure he misses me.” Eleanor could feel the lump in her throat growing thicker again. She missed her father and Andrew dearly, yet her closeness to Callum was beginning to interfere with her ability to search for and return to them.
I do feel closer to him.
The thought caught her unawares as she stopped sewing and stared into the fire. She had thought of him as gruff and unrefined, especially after he had snapped at her at the stables, yet their conversation in the study had shown her a gentler side of his character. He was not all bark and bite, but deeper and far more complex than she had ever imagined.
There was a wounded aspect to his character that intrigued her and drew her in.
Her pulse quickened at the thought of being drawn in closer. The kiss had made her feel things that she had not even imagined could exist. Things that she had only ever dreamed of while reading her novels. His lips had seared hers, leaving an indelible mark, while the tips of his fingers had massaged her thighs.
Lifting a hand, she placed it against her lips, recalling the feeling that had ignited a long-forgotten fire within her soul.
The doors to the mess hall suddenly clanked open, making Eleanor jump as she quickly returned her focus to the pillow on her lap.
What was I thinkin’?
Her fingers trembled slightly as she looked up to see Callum and Iain crossing the hall. They were deep in discussion, yet she still felt as if she had been caught red-handed.
The men did not seem to notice them as they walked to one end of the hall and stopped, taking their seats.
Marion, on the other hand, seemed acutely aware of their presence as her humming suddenly stopped. She continued folding the linen, yet her arms had stiffened considerably.
Perhaps she is nae as immune as I thought she was.
Eleanor glanced up at Iain, but her eyes quickly moved to Callum, who had placed a scroll flat on the table. They both pored over whatever was in the scroll. Eleanor could not help but watch his every move as his arms flexed when he straightened them, revealing each ripple in his muscles.
She could feel her breath catching again as he gestured to something on the map, and the opening in his shirt revealed asmall section of bare chest. What would it feel like to place her hands on that chest? To run the tips of her fingers over the carved muscles and explore every defined contour and crevice.
What am I thinkin’?
Heat suddenly shot up the back of her neck as Callum looked up and met her gaze. She quickly looked down again, busying herself with embroidered flowers. She felt utterly mortified that she had been thinking of him in such a manner, and even more so that he had caught her staring.
Her breaths became ragged along with her pulse until she eased each one with deliberate calm. There was no possible way that anyone knew what she had been thinking. Looking up, she realized with a start that Marion was blushing as she stared at her.
The maid quickly looked away and busied herself once again with the piles of linen.
