Page 166 of Bride of Fire
“What?” She blinked at him.
“Ye said ye have a proposal?”
She blushed and looked at her hands. “Aye. I’d like to propose…that you stay on for a few months to train my men in using the claymore.”
His eyes flattened. “Train your men?”
“Aye. If ’tisn’t too much to ask.”
Her clan had admired the great swords the mac Girics carried and were forging claymores of their own. They’d need someone with expertise to teach them how to use them.
“Fine,” he said. “As long as I’m here, I’ll train your men.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Anythin’ else ye’d like to propose?”
She licked her lips. “I… I’ll need to buy calves in the spring. I could use your help with negotiating a good price.”
“Right. Coos. And claymores.” He arched a brow. “And?”
She bit the corner of her lip. Then she lifted her gaze to rove slowly over his body. The calculated desire smoldering in her eyes almost reignited the fires of passion in him. Almost.
When she ran a finger coyly down his chest, her message was clear. She didn’t want to speak any more of proposals. She wanted to swive him again.
His flesh was willing enough. But he had to stay strong. He wasn’t going to continue warming her bed if she was only going to tease him with a future of meaningless dalliances.
He plucked her finger from his chest and returned it to her.
“Coos and claymores ye can have, lassie. Couplin’, however, is goin’ to take a different kind o’ proposal.”
Jenefer wasn’t sure if his words were a rejection or an invitation.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m not content to be your…paramour.”
Her heart caught. She knew it. Why would he be content with one woman when he could have whomever he wished? Bitterness twisted her pain into ire as she said, “You seemed content enough a moment ago.”
“Aye,” he said. “But I want more.”
“More,” she echoed. “I see.” She nodded as hurt and anger sharpened her tongue. “This isn’t enough for you.”
“Nay, ’tisn’t.”
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Go then.”
“Go?” He seemed genuinely puzzled. “Go where?”
“Home!” She snapped the coverlet back and swiveled her legs over the edge of the bed. “Back to your Highland lasses!”
“My what?” He sat up in alarm.
She began collecting her discarded garments. “Heaven forbid I should keep you here when you’ve got a bevy of wenches waiting for you—”
“A bevy o’ what?”
She swept her kirtle from the floor and pulled it down over her head.
