“You’ve met her before?”
“No, but she’s my friend all the same.” Realizing she was still holding on to him, she let go of his arm and stepped away. “Haven’t you ever met someone and become fast friends in a very short time?”
Sir Nicholas’s expression softened—only a little, but some. “Yes. My steward’s brother, Charles. We met when we were young, and after less than a day, we were friends, until he died of a sudden fever.” He thought a moment, then nodded. “Very well, my lady, they may stay—but I’ll make sure Percival understands that he’d better not make any advances to women, welcome or otherwise, while he’s in Dunkeathe.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, expecting him to go. Hoping he would.
Instead, he looked around her bare chamber, where there was nothing except her small wooden chest and a linen sheet and woolen blanket on the bed. “Are you planning on leaving Dunkeathe?”
“Not now.”
His eyebrows rose questioningly, and she immediately regretted answering. Maybe he would think she was staying out of some bizarre hope that she could win his hand, or that she wanted to. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my uncle’s developed a fondness for Lady Eleanor’s maidservant—”
“I’ve noticed,” he interrupted, coming closer.
What if he tried to kiss her again?
She’d slap his face, and more, if necessary.
“And I can appreciate why he was upset by Percival’s restrictions,” Sir Nicholas continued. “I’ll tell Percival that if he wishes his cousin to stand a chance with me, he had best reconsider those orders.”
“You’d do that?” she asked, telling herself she was relieved to hear that Eleanor was still under consideration.
“As I’ve told you, I have a great respect for the Scots, and any family I marry into should respect them, too.” He hesitated a moment before continuing. “I also have a great deal of respect for you, my lady, and your wisdom. I did as you suggested and provided that maidservant with a small dowry to enable her to marry soon.”
“You did?” she asked, surprised and pleased that he’d followed her advice.
“Yes.”
He walked toward her, and the look in his eyes made her heart leap and seem to beat anew. In spite of that excitement, she backed away, ordering herself not to give in to the thrilling yearning filling her, goading her to stand still and let him catch her and sweep her into his arms.
“Percival should thank God you were able to defend yourself,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “If he’d hurt you, Riona…”
His words trailed off into a silence that seemed filled with promise and anticipation.
Desperately she struggled with the emotions roiling through her. She mustn’t want him. She mustn’t want to be with him. She was staying to help her uncle, who wanted to help Eleanor, who needed to get away from her cousin. Eleanor required a husband who would protect her. Eleanor needed Nicholas. “I hope you won’t hold Percival’s behavior against Eleanor. I think any man would be blessed to have her for his wife.”
“You aren’t…jealous?”
“Not at all.” Not really. She mustn’t be. “She’s a very fine young woman, my lord. Pretty and sweet.”
“Too young. Too sweet. I like women of fire and spirit, women who know about hardship and struggle.”
God help her!
She hit the wall. “Good for you, my lord,” she said as he came inexorably closer. “I like men who leave me alone.”
“Why didn’t you hurt me when I kissed you, Riona?”
She swallowed hard. “Because you caught me unawares.”
Liar, liar!
“Can you guess what I want to do now?” he whispered, standing but a few inches in front of her. “What I’m going to do?”
A loud cough sounded in the corridor.
Nicholas immediately stepped back.
