His eyes narrowed even though he kept his half smile. “And you still managed to call me bastard.” He returned his cup to the table and stood, looking her up and down. “Your hatred of me would likely pose a problem.”
Glenna frowned. “I don’t see how. I’ll hate you as much here as I would if I were somewhere else.”
His eyes sparkled. “I want children. Lots of children. My own heirs.”
Glenna’s stomach did a tumble. “I would fulfill my obligation to Roscraig.”
To her surprise—and her dread—Tavish Cameron began to walk toward her slowly. “Is that how you would view our bairns? As mere obligations?”
“Most couples don’t enjoy each other’s company, and yet they have large families,” she said stiffly. “I would of course welcome my own children.”
He stood before her now, so close that she could feel the warmth of him in the cool air of the hall. She noticed his lips then, quirked in their familiar grin, and she realized that they were actually smooth and well shaped. “As many as I could give you?”
Glenna dropped her eyes to his tunic, made up of tens of red squares of velvet bound together by thick golden embroidery. “I would not wish to be bred to death, like some prized heifer.”
“Of course not,” he said, his voice lowered, changed in timbre just enough to cause a shock of gooseflesh to ripple up her arms. “Despite our arguments, I do find the looks of you quite pleasing.”
She couldn’t help raising her eyes to him quickly.
His lashes half hid his gaze as he looked down at her and his left hand came up to caress her cheek. Glenna flinched slightly at the surprising heat that tingled on her skin, but he did not pull away.
“Are you a virgin, princess?” he whispered.
The tenuous enchantment was broken. “What a vulgar—”
But he caught her wrist and held it between them. “Surely ’tis not vulgar to ask after the condition of the merchandise I’m being offered,” he said in a low voice still, but this time the gentleness was gone, replaced with an insistent curiosity. “I’ve a right to know if another has laid a foundation on the land upon which I would build.”
Glenna hoped her gaze burned him. “I have known no man.”
“That’s good, that’s good,” he said and then tugged her closer by the wrist he still held. “Come here.”
She resisted. “Let go of me.”
Tavish Cameron opened his fingers immediately, holding out his splayed palm as evidence for a moment before dropping it. But Glenna only saw this from the corner of her eye, since she could not tear her gaze away from his blue eyes. No matter the jesting tone in his words, his eyes held no mirth.
“Come here,” he repeated.
Glenna stepped forward a pace—there was but a scant hand’s breadth between them. Her face was turned directly up toward him now.
“Closer,” he commanded.
She stepped her slippers between his feet and then they were touching, although both their hands remained at their sides.
“Good.” Tavish Cameron seemed to be inspecting her mouth with those sparkling blue eyes. “Do you sing?” he asked.
Glenna felt her forehead crinkle. “What?”
“Do you sing? I’ve heard ’tis a desirable talent in a noble wife.”
“Aye. I can sing.”
“Dance?”
“Aye.”
“Can you read?”
Her confusion turned to irritation in an instant, as it seemed wont to do with him, and she took as step away. “Of course. You’re not inquiring for a steward. I—”
