“It is lovely.” Jemma forced her feet to move toward the table and felt her heart rate accelerating with every hesitant step. Gordon sat down across the table from her, but the small piece of furniture caused their knees to feel no more than a whisper from one another. His lack of doublet suddenly drew her attention, her gaze moving over the light fabric.

“We Scots are a bit more accustomed to the weather, lass. I don’t need a doublet inside this time of year.”

Her cheeks heated because he’d noticed where her eyes had settled. Well, in all truth she shouldn’t be surprised, the man was facing her, but most men wouldn’t have mentioned it out loud. She drew in a deep breath and reminded herself that Gordon was very far removed from the men she knew. Her brother was controlled and pensive, always weighing his thoughts before allowing anyone else to share them.

Gordon picked her up and carried her where he pleased if she refused.

“I believe that the idea is for us to have a conversation, lass.”

She jumped. “Ah . . . well . . . I suppose so.”

Maids were carrying in food now, but they didn’t stay long. They left two large platters, removing the tops to reveal beautifully arranged plates. There were summer vegetables, roasted chicken, and even baked apples.

“Ye sound unsure? Does that mean we may dispense with the English tradition and go back to the Scottish ones?”

Jemma offered a roll of her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling at him. “You are a boy.” She pointed her knife at his chest. “Right there inside you is a boy no more than ten.”

He chuckled and speared a piece of chicken with the point of his eating knife. “Well now, that’s just the playful side of me nature. Ye have one, too.”

Jemma shook her head. “I have matured, sir.”

His face turned pensive for a moment while he chewed. “Nae, lass, ye just pushed yer own desires aside to take care of yer father. It’s time for ye to allow them freedom from that chest ye have them locked inside of.”

“I see, and does that mean you would have to wife a woman who was busy coddling her heart’s desires?” Jemma shook her head. “Marriage is duty, and it is best met with maturity.”

He frowned. “Now that is just plain pitiful. I swear I don’t know if I need to put ye out of yer misery or”—his lips parted to show her his teeth—“chase ye around this table.”

One of the musicians struck a wrong note, proving that they were listening intently to every word.

“Both would defeat your effort to court me gently.” Jemma had to bite her lip to keep from smiling at the idea because it was so absurd. It was also quite exciting, because she had no doubt that he would capture her.

“Ah, but I think we might enjoy chasing more.” He pressed his hand flat on the tabletop, rising partially from his chair. Jemma gasped and dropped her knife.

“You wouldn’t dare.” The words had barely left her mouth before she recalled his words from that morning.

“I’ll show ye how much daring I have inside of me . . .”

He growled and his chair flew backward. The musicians stopped, but there were several smothered sounds that were anything but horrified. Jemma was grateful for her plain dress because it allowed her to slip out of her chair and make it around the table before Gordon gained the upper hand.

“This is absurd.” But she was breathless and far from outraged.

“Aye, but ’tis fun.” He lunged for her, and she danced away from his grasping hands.

“Stop it, Gordon, you are going to ruin all this fine table dressing.”

“I employ good laundresses, and I know a competent silversmith.”

This time he thrust his hand over the table, using his large body to bend over the table and catch her skirt.

She let out a shriek, but no fear crossed her mind. It was simply too ridiculous to become frightened over. Gordon growled with victory and pulled her into his embrace. He ended up behind her, crossing his arms over her body to cage her.

“My prize!”

“I believe the idea was to court me, not capture me, you brute.”

“’Tis the same thing in Scotland.”

Jemma wiggled, but he held her firmly in place. It was an oddly comfortable position, one that didn’t overwhelm her but allowed her to feel him against her without triggering the need to fight him off.

“Ask any Highlander and they will tell ye that stealing women is a time-honored tradition. In fact, I’m nae sure they get their wives any other way.”

“I heard that one of your kings married his mistress.”

“Ah . . .” He released her, keeping only one wrist clasped in his hand, and she turned to face him.

“Now that is seduction and I like that, too.” He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against the tender skin of her inner wrist. Sensation raced down her arm, raising gooseflesh as it went. The excitement that burned in her belly began spreading through her, touching off a desire that made her breathless. He lifted his lips away and rubbed over the same spot with his thumb, clearly feeling the accelerated throb of her heart.

“I think ye may be liking it as well, Jemma Ramsden.”

He folded her gently into his arms, moving slowly enough for her to evade him if she chose. Jemma was too intrigued to do anything but comply. This was a side of him that threatened to undermine her resistance. His hand threaded through her hair, lifting the stands and drawing a handful up to his cheek. He rubbed against it for a moment.

“Silk. Rare and coveted and worth every bit of effort it takes to get yer hands on it.”

She suddenly stiffened, recalling the musicians. Jemma turned to look across the room to where they had been. Gordon turned her face back to him with a hand on the back of her head.

“They’re gone and not a moment too soon. I need to kiss ye.”

Yes . . .

It was the only thought in her head. Her lips parted and her chin lifted, even without the hand on the back of her head guiding her. The first touch of his mouth against hers sent a shiver down her back. Just a brief touch, a mere whisper of a kiss that teased her more than it satisfied.

“I needed to kiss ye the moment ye entered this room with yer hair down.”

His mouth returned to hers, this time lingering longer. He pressed a light kiss onto her lips, slipping his along hers and filling her with delight. A soft murmur escaped her mouth, and he pressed her lips farther apart to deepen the kiss. Now his mouth demanded, gentle at first and then increasing pressure. The hand cradling her head was tilting it so that their lips fit together even more. The tip of his tongue slipped along her lower lip before it thrust smoothly into her mouth, teasing her tongue in a long thrust. She shivered again, her entire body quivering in his arms.

“Aye, lass, now that is courting at its best.”

She was suddenly free, Gordon stepping away from her. Frustration burned through her, but she clamped down the urge to demand that he return when she looked into his eyes.

Desire burned there. It was no mere flicker but a roaring blaze that she witnessed testing his control.

“I’ll bid ye good night, lass.”

“Yes, good night.”

The church bell tolled at dawn, bringing an end to her dreams of Gordon. For everyone it was another day to struggle to finish all the tasks that needed doing before winter arrived. Jemma followed them to church and then into the hall for her morning meal.

But her temper turned her cheeks pink when she watched the same maid push the others aside so that she might serve Gordon.

How could she dream of the man?

How could she not?

Jemma rubbed her head before going to find Ula and something to take her mind away from the man occupying too much of her time.

“He is mine.”

Jemma jerked her head up to find the girl she’d watched serving Gordon standing around the corner of where the hallways crossed. Jemma had to look around the stack of newly ironed sheets to see her. What she saw was a close-up view of the scowl that the girl had sent toward her fellow maids that morning.

“So keep yer English hands off him or I’ll make ye sorry ye ever set eyes on him.” There was venom edging each word and the girl inching closer with each one.

“What are you talking about?”

She laughed. “I’m Anyon and ye’d better dispense with yer innocent airs. The laird might believe such, but I know the truth.”

“Which is what?” Jemma felt her temper rising. She was not going to suffer Anyon’s wrath meekly.

Anyon propped her hand on her hip and sneered. “That ye are nothing but a doxy at heart. Ye dangle yer chastity in front of men, hoping to get them to bid against one another for the right to plow ye. But beneath it all, ye’re selling yer flesh just like the rest of us.”

“What do you suggest? That I refrain from polite behavior while you press your breasts into the man’s face during his meal?”

Anyon snickered and actually rocked her bosom back and forth. “The laird likes me tits good and well. You wouldn’t know the first thing about pleasing a man like him, nor would ye ever learn. He’d plow ye to keep yer dowry, and then come to my bed where he might gain true satisfaction.”

“Well, I have no intention of wedding the man, so you may take comfort in that truth.” What did a man like Gordon need to be satisfied? Her gaze swept the Scottish girl from head to toe, trying to judge what it was that she knew about pleasing men. Anyon smiled with glee.

“Ye know that I am right. I can read yer horse face very well. Don’t be swayed by that display he put on for you last night. He is nae a gentleman, but a wild Scot who likes his women knowing how to please.”

“Fine then. Be content.” Jemma took a step away from the nasty creature. If that was what pleased Gordon, well, Anyon was welcome to him. She stiffened and refused to show the disappointment that surged through her. Instead she forced herself to look at the girl and see that she was not lying about knowing her way around Gordon’s body.