Free The Striker by Monica Mccarty

now he was wondering what was stopping him.
    â€œI probably should apologize,” Comyn said upon stepping back.
    She shot an anxious glance in Eoin’s direction and quickly turned back to the lad, obviously distracted. “For what?”
    â€œFor taking advantage of your innocence like that.”
    Eoin saw a small frown gather between her brows before she seemed to realize what he meant. “Ah, yes, of course, the kiss.” She bit her lip, and shifted her gaze down. “I think it’s best if you leave now. It would not do for us to be discovered like this.”
    If Eoin heard the slight inflection in her voice, signifying a question, Comyn did not.
    â€œYou’re right.” He smiled. “Although maybe it would be easier if we were.”
    She frowned again, clearly not understanding. But Eoin did. The lad was obviously aware of his father’s sentiments and looking for a way around them. Being caught in a compromising situation could suffice.
    Although Comyn was not yet a knight, he had all the honor and nobility of one. Eoin, on the other hand, wasn’t a knight and had no pretense of wanting to be to keep him in check.
    With a short bow, Comyn left the room. As soon as she closed the door after him, Lady Margaret turned around and folded her arms across her chest. “I know you are there, you might as well come out.”
    She made it sound as if he were a bairn hiding or purposefully lingering in the shadows to spy on them. Neither of which were true, damn it. He’d just been sitting there when she’d come bursting into the room and headed straight for the brandy. But somehow, the lass had managed to put him on the defensive.
    Though she wouldn’t have been able to see his face from where he was seated with his back to the stone wall of the alcove, she didn’t look surprised to see that it was him when he stood.
    â€œHad I known what I would be interrupting, I would have made my presence known sooner.”
    â€œYou speak!” she said with mock surprise. “I wasn’t sure if dark, brooding stares were the extent of your communication skills.”
    Handful .
    His eyes bit into hers unrelentingly. “I didn’t realize we had anything to say.”
    She held his stare for a long moment before turning away. “Perhaps you are right.”
    Her voice held a note of sadness that made something inside him tug. Hard.
    He should have left. He should have taken the opening she’d given him and walked away. Instead, he crossed the distance between them in a few strides. The soft scent of flowers that he’d noticed during their dance taunted his senses. But he was still too angry to heed caution. “Comyn isn’t for you.”
    She lifted her brows, obviously taken aback by the adamancy of his tone. “You sound very certain of that.”
    He was trying to protect her, damn it. Badenoch would never let his son marry her. “I am. And letting him take liberties won’t change anything.”
    â€œLiberties?” Her brows drew together. “You mean that kiss?” She laughed. “Lud, that hardly signifies.”
    He didn’t know whether it was the laugh or the way she dismissed it as nothing that fanned the flames of his anger like a smith’s bellows. “And you are so experienced as to know the difference?”
    Something in his tone made her eyes narrow. “Have you never kissed a woman, my lord?”
    â€œWhat does that have to do with anything?”
    She looked at him for a long moment, as if willing him to see something, and then shook her head. “What I know or don’t know is none of your business.”
    She was right, and yet she was so bloody wrong. “Not all men are pups like Comyn, my lady, to be so easily turned away when you are done with them. Some might see your kiss as an invitation for more.”
    The flush of pink to her cheeks told him she wasn’t unaware of