Page 7 of The Laird's Masked Passion

The words had scarcely entered the air before Colin turned to her. Elspeth knew what came next. Even in her ignorance of the marriage bed, she knew enough of ceremonies to understand the public seal of a kiss.

She turned her head slightly and hissed. “If ye dare kiss me, I will kill ye.”

For the first time since she had seen him, Colin MacKenzie laughed. The sound brushed over her skin in a way that made her furious with him, and still more furious with herself.

“Will ye?” he murmured.

“With great satisfaction.”

His hand rose, not to seize her, but to cup the side of her face. The contact was shocking. His palm was warm, and his fingers callused, but his touch was gentler than she had expected and therefore more alarming than force would have been.

“Then I shall count meself warned.”

He kissed her anyway. Elspeth had no time to turn away. His mouth came down on hers with a certainty that robbed her of thought. It wasn’t the soft, ceremonial brush she might have expected before witnesses. It was brief, yes, but it was no timid thing. His lips were firm and warm, tasting faintly of wine and winter air, and for one treacherous instant something low in her belly tightened with a startled, unfamiliar pleasure.

Horrified by herself, she bit him…hard. Blood touched her tongue.

Colin drew back. A gasp moved through the nearest witnesses. The priest made a strangled sound. Elspeth braced herself for the cruel lash she had learned to expect from men who did not enjoy being opposed.

But Colin only looked at her. A line of red marked his lower lip. Slowly, he touched it with his thumb, looked at the blood, thenlooked back at her. Then he smiled, as if she had amused him, as if she had interested him… as if he hadlikedit.

The smile transformed him into a colder, darker kind of handsome, the sort of man a sensible woman would flee, if she had not already been married to him before an audience and a terrified priest.

At that moment, the cathedral doors burst inward. Screams tore through the church. Men in black surged through the entrance like a spill of night, bearing weapons. For one stunned heartbeat, no one seemed to understand that violence had entered the house of God. Then the first man fell near the doors, with blood dark against the rushes, and the whole church broke.

People scattered. Women screamed. Steel rang against steel. Colin seized her hand and dragged her sideways just as something hissed through the air where she had stood. A dagger struck the wooden rail behind them.

Elspeth stared at it.

“That was meant fer?—”

“Me,” Colin said.

He pulled her behind him. The three men who had stood as witnesses were already fighting. The polished one had drawn his blade with lethal grace. The iron-built man struck like a breaking door. The wolfish one moved so quickly Elspeth could hardly follow him, his sword flashing through the grey light.

Colin shoved her toward the side aisle.

“Run.”

She gathered her skirts and ran. The gown, which had been an insult before, now became an enemy. Silk tangled around her legs. The embroidered hem caught beneath her shoe. She stumbled once, regained herself, and heard Colin curse behind her with admirable restraint.

Another attacker appeared ahead. Colin’s arm shot around her waist, hauling her back against him as his sword came up. He pushed her behind him, met the man’s attack, and dispatched him with a brutal efficiency that made Elspeth’s stomach twist. Then, his eyes swept over her as if counting every breath.

“We have tae keep moving.”

He took her hand again, and Elspeth ran. They reached a side passage where the noise of the nave became muffled but no less dreadful. Her slipper skidded on the worn floor. The cursed gown twisted about her legs once more.

“I cannae?—”

Before she could finish, Colin turned, swept her up into his arms, and continued running.

Elspeth gasped. “Put me down!”

“Nay.”

“If we survive this, I shall hate ye with great dedication.”

“Ye may begin now if it helps.”