Page 46 of Kidnapping Cordelia

“A castrated male sheep.”

She laughed at his pleased expression, her cheeks pink. “I’m not pretending I know much more than that yet, but I’m enjoying learning about it, and I intend to learn more. Perhaps… Perhaps you would teach me yourself?” she added cautiously, looking away from him and plucking at a loose thread on the rug she sat on. “You could teach me far more than a book after all, about sheep, and how the farm runs.”

Muir disliked her hesitation, knowing it stemmed for his earlier refusal to allow her to help him. “Aye, reckon I will at that, if ye would like to,” he said, earning himself a dazzling smile that left him feeling quite winded.

“Thank you,” she said, and Muir could only wonder at the happiness that filled his chest at the idea of doing so, and the anticipation of having her here with him, and teaching her about the life he led.

They ate in companionable silence, with Delia pressing more and more food upon him until he put up his hands in defeat. “Nae, I couldnae eat another morsel, I swear it. I’ll burst.”

“Very well, then,” she relented, sitting back against the stooks. Giving him a slightly shy look, she patted her lap. “Lay your head down here.”

Muir glanced at her, a little surprised. He had kissed her every afternoon during their picnics, but he had been careful to keep himself in line and treat her respectfully. She was always warm and willing in his arms, but never again had she instigated any deeper intimacy between them. Not wishing to deny her or make her uncomfortable, Muir hastened to obey, laying himself down and wondering what she had in mind.

“Now close your eyes,” she said, stroking his hair.

“I ought to get back to work,” he mumbled, but his eyes were closing of their own accord as her hand moved over his hair, her touch so peaceful and soothing it felt as though a weight was being lifted from his shoulders.

“You will. It’s just a little nap,” she assured him. “I’ll wake you again, don’t worry.”

“Aye,” he murmured as her fingers smoothed over his forehead, and he drifted into a deep sleep.

Delia watched as Muir’s eyes closed, as the lines she had noticed around his eyes eased and softened and his breathing deepened. Tenderness filled her heart as he fell asleep in seconds, proving to her just how tired he was. She understood now that Luella had been right. Muir was not only a good man, but one who felt things deeply, more than he liked people to know. Yet it had taken little persuasion to encourage him to open up once he understood her reasons. He had listened to her, had troubled himself to understand what she was telling him, and had admitted the wisdom of it too. She suspected there were few men who would do so, and that she had found a man who was not only protective and kind but fair-minded was quite the most wonderful realisation. That it had happened in such odd circumstances made her wonder about fate and whether perhaps they had been destined to meet that day. She had thought him fanciful for suggesting she belonged in this place because she had lived there in another lifetime, but she liked how he had shared the idea with her.

Delia was used to being the only one with whimsical or peculiar notions, and it was a delight to discover Muir had his own quirks that somewhat mirrored her own. It was certainly a romantic notion, but she found now it was easier to believe than she might have imagined. Though she did not have his understanding or knowledge of the land around them, she felt the pull of it, the weight of history in every vista she looked upon, a peaceful sense of being part of a story that had begun long, long ago, and would continue long after she had gone.

Muir gave a soft snore, and she smiled, accepting the feeling that pushed at her heart, expanding in her chest and filling her up. Like it or not, she was falling for this man, and if he still wished to marry her, she would say yes.

Muir stirred, aware of the scent of chamomile and a profound sense of peace. Sleepily, he registered the feel of Delia’s hand toying with his hair and slitted his eyes open. She had laid back against the stooks, her eyes closed and a smile at her lips that really ought to be kissed. He watched her for a while longer, allowing himself a moment to wake fully, before he shifted to his knees, so quickly she exclaimed with alarm, but the sound was lost in the kiss he gave her as she relaxed into his embrace. She sighed, and he broke the kiss, looking down at her with a smile.

“You startled me, you wicked man, and I was having a lovely daydream too,” she scolded him.

“About me, I hope?”

“You might have been in it,” she teased him, then squealed as he tickled her.

Having discovered her waist was extremely sensitive, Muir took full advantage of the fact, and she shrieked and wriggled delightfully.

“Yes! Yes, you were in it!” she cried, trying to fend his hands off.

“Ah, now yer sure, aye?”

“I am sure. Very sure,” she said, breathing hard now.

His gaze drifted to the bodice of her gown, to the way her breasts rose and fell beneath the confines of the material.

“Yer laced very tightly, lassie. I reckon ye will do yerself an injury, getting all het up and squealing when Yer so confined.” Saying so, he reached for the buttons on her bodice, undoing each one deftly.

“It’s not particularly tight, and you were the one making me squeal,” she pointed out indignantly, though he noticed with satisfaction that she did not stop him. Indeed, she helped him remove the jacket and turned obligingly so he might loosen her stays.

“Yer skin is the finest thing I ever touched,” he murmured, stroking his fingers over the swell of her breasts. “Ye dinnae mind me touching ye so?”

She shook her head. “You know I like it. I like you. There’s little point in denying it. You said as much yourself.”

“Aye, and ye told me I was an arrogant lummox.”

“So you are, but you’re right. Kiss me,” she said, reaching for him.

Muir did not need asking twice, pressing her back down into the straw, delighting in the feel of her body close to his.