Her thirst for him turned unquenchable when he drew her flush against him, the friction from the contact of their bodies sending a wave of desire swirling in her breasts. Every inch of her flesh inflamed while his hands slid down and gripped her buttocks, drawing her hips even nearer.

Something hard came between them, causing a deep ache between her legs. Divana’s head swam with the power of the emotions pulsing through her blood—feelings she barely comprehended.

She gasped at his lips skimming her neck. “What’s happening to me?”

“’Tis the magic of Beltane,” he growled, his warm tongue caressing the tops of her breasts.

Gripping his arms, Divana forced her eyes open. Beltane? It was a pagan holiday. Suddenly chilled, disappointment gripped her. She knew enough about the holiday to realize Kennan’s affection could not possibly be real. He’d been addled by the ale or the thrum of the music or the charge of excitement in the air. Tomorrow she would wake a scullery maid, and the man with his warm, sensuous lips kissing her breasts would still be the heir to the Cameron chieftainship—a knight of such a lofty rank, a lass like Divana had no hope of winning his love. And no matter how utterly marvelous it felt to be in his arms, remaining there was wrong.

“Nay,” she clipped, pushing him away. “I am no harlot!”

A crease formed between Kennan’s brows as his eyes filled with bewilderment. “N-n-no, you’re not.”

“Then why did ye do…do…do that!”

“Kiss you?”

“Aye.”

“Every man at the gathering has a mind to do the same.”

She rubbed her fingers across her lips, trying to erase the tingling. “But I thought it was my choice!”

“It is.” He spread his big palms to his sides, a deeper crease furrowing his forehead. “Forgive me. Did you not want me to kiss you?”

She clutched her fists under her chin. “It is not the wanting of your affection that scares me.”

He inched forward, one eye squinting as if he didn’t quite understand. “Nay?”

“’Tis just that kissing ye is too…too wonderful!”

“But…I…um…” He ran his fingers over the golden clan brooch at his shoulder—yet another sign of his highborn station. “I beg your pardon?”

She huffed out a sigh. “A-a-and awful!”

Unable to remain there a moment longer, Divana dashed for the servants’ entrance. How was she to explain her feelings to him—the heir to the Cameron dynasty? Kissing Sir Kennan Cameron filled her with more desire than she’d ever experienced in her life. How could it not be sinful to feel so inexplicably fantastic? Worse, since she’d been at Achnacarry, every time she set eyes on the Highlander made her desire him all the more.

He can never be mine! Dashing up the steps, tears stung her eyes. I must never dance with him again.

With an enormous sob, she almost burst through the door of the small chamber she shared with Fiona—except it was already ajar.

A flash of movement made Divana stop as if she’d slammed into a wall. A sigh came from within.