Page 36 of The Wrong Bride
“O’ course, Laird McCallum. A good night to ye both.”
And without meeting Riona’s beseeching eyes, she left, shutting the door behind her.
McCallum went around the room and, one by one, blew out the candles until just the faint glow of the peat fire left the corners of the room in shadows. Then he approached and leaned past her to draw down the bedclothes.
They were alone for the night. She stubbornly remained seated, arms crossed over her chest, trying to give every evidence of fury.
While her insides melted. They’d been alone countless times on their journey—why did this seem so different? Why did her limbs tremble, her mouth seem dry, her heart tumble about in her chest? He loomed over her, and with a gasp she fell back onto her elbows.
He braced a hand on the bed frame and frowned. “Are ye still afraid of me, lass?”
How could she say that she was afraid of herself? Afraid that she’d reveal this unnatural desire for him, the man who’d kidnapped her? There must be something wrong with her, to have such feelings. But she couldn’t say any of that.
“Yes, I’m afraid,” she whispered. “I know you’ve promised not to—to take me to bed before I give my consent, but I have heard whispers that a man in the throes of passion is not always . . . rational.”
“Is that what virginal lasses discuss when we’re not around?”
She said nothing, then gave another gasp when he picked her up against his chest, then laid her out closest to the wall. He stretched out beside her on his side, head braced on his hand. She felt trapped between his big body and the wall, the width of his chest practically all she could see. His shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, dark hair scattered there, and she could smell soap from his bath.
She closed her eyes and slowed down her breathing.
His chuckle was deep and raspy. “So ye think ’twill be so easy to forget I’m here?”
“I certainly did so at the inn, until you rudely pulled me to you.” She didn’t open her eyes.
His breath was soft on her face as he spoke. “I seem to remember us cuddling together quite mutually.”
“You have a habit of believing what you want to believe. I’m trying to picture your real bride tolerating these strange advances. Cat would never stand for it.” She tried to move her legs, but he’d expertly tied her without hurting her.
He put a hand on her knee. “Hush, there’s no reason to struggle.”
Even through the fabric of nightshift and dressing gown, she could feel the heat of him. With a low groan, she turned her head to the wall.
“So I have a sister, and you have a sister,” he said.
For a long minute she said nothing, then spoke between gritted teeth. “Unhand me, and we can talk.”
He did so. “That’s better. Don’t ye want to know about my sister?”
“Fine, go ahead and speak of her.”
“Maggie is younger than me by four years. She draws attention to herself, and not just because she’s pretty—her eyes are two different colors. One’s blue, and the other’s green.”
That made her turn her head to give him a skeptical stare.
He raised his free hand. “I swear. There are other things about her that are unusual, but since ye’ll meet her eventually, I’ll let her choose what to tell ye.”
“I know Scots are a superstitious people—”
“Ye make that sound like ye’re not one of us,” he teased.
She ignored that. “So did the clan treat her differently?”
His amused look faded. “Some do. She’s not yet married, and I worry that she’s holding back out of fear a man won’t understand her . . . differences.”
“So you’re not forcing her to marry?” she asked dryly.
In a solemn voice, he said, “Do to her what was done to us? Ye forget, lass, that perhaps there was someone elseIwished to marry.”
