“You’re vexed,” she whispered.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” he admonished softly.
“That’s all I’ve been doing. I’m tired of resting. Why are you vexed?”
“Your brother-in-law has posted a Colquhoun clansman outside your bedchamber. Methinks he has little faith in my ability to take care of you.”
Gillian smiled at the petulance in his voice. “I have great faith in you.”
“Do you, Gillian? I seem to be doing a very poor job of it.”
“You brought me up from that ledge. You alone didn’t accept my death. I’m here now because of you.”
His arm tightened on her waist, and his head tilted up. He pressed his mouth against her ear and whispered, “I love you.”
Gillian’s heart stopped. Then thundered forward in her throat and ears. Sweeter words she’d never heard. “Nicholas . . .” Then she recalled the love philter and sighed, feverish pulse slowing. “That’s the love philter talking.”
He laughed softly. “It’s not.”
“It is.”
He took her earlobe between his teeth. Gillian instantly went limp, pleasure pricking deep.
“How can it be,” he whispered, “when I never drank it?”
Gillian didn’t move at all for several seconds; then she turned her head so fast they cracked noses. He jerked back with a grunt.
She rubbed her nose with a bandaged finger. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it amused me that you believed in it with such a whole heart.” He chuckled softly. “There might be something to it yet. Broc is the true recipient of the love philter.”
Gillian let out a breath of disbelief, and then she laughed, too. “No wonder! But I didn’t burn his fur.”
“What?” He raised his head to gaze down at her in the shadowy light.
“In order to complete the spell I had to kiss you and burn your hair.”
He rubbed his head absently. “That’s why you ripped my hair out.” As he regarded her, his demeanor changed, grew serious. He propped himself up on an elbow.
Uneasy tension gathered in her middle. She recognized that look. She averted her eyes, staring into the dark above her.
“Why did you go on the cliff path, Gillian?”
She didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to talk about it, not now when everything was sweet between them.
“You were hunting ghosts, weren’t you?”
Gillian hesitated, then nodded, bracing herself for his displeasure.
“Bloody Christ, Gillian. I almost lost you, and for what? For rustic superstitions. You’re a countess now. Act like one and stop playing the village hag.”
Gillian stiffened.Village hag?“I know you don’t believe, but—”
He pushed up on his arm, leaning over her. Black hair slid over muscular shoulders, framing his unshaven face. He looked dark and devilish. “Damned right I don’t, and I’m weary of having this same discussion.”
“It’s never been a discussion, Nicholas. You just lecture and forbid.”
“That’s because talking to you is like talking to a cow. You just nod placidly, then do whatever the hell you please.”
