Chapter 11
Torr stood by the washbasin, naked, but for holding the plaid before him, hiding his most intriguing parts.Heavens, his body was glorious. The muscles of his chest and arms were even larger and more defined than a few years ago when she'd watched him practice swordplay. Though she'd glimpsed part of his naked body at dawn, she was equally astonished now. She would never tire of this view.
"Cat, go," he commanded, his frown fierce.
Though defying his order took more strength than she knew she possessed, she shook her head, then stepped closer.
His sculpted arms, chest, and abdomen mesmerized her. What a magnificent sight he was. The restless and mysterious heat that burned within her increased. She lifted her gaze to find him glaring at her, his strong jaw clenched hard.
He muttered a Gaelic curse. "Go now, lass, or you will regret this."
Determined to attain her grandest wish, her most ardent dream, she swallowed hard and gathered her courage. She had to make it clear to him how she felt and what she wanted. Her future depended upon it.
She approached him, her trembling hands clutched at her sides. "Torr, I have loved you since I was a girl of ten summers."
His breath whooshed out as if someone had punched him in the stomach. "Damnation," he muttered low.
"I mean it, and I'll no longer keep it a secret."
He shook his head. "You've nay inkling what love is. 'Tis a wee lass's fantasy you have."
Annoyance surged within her. "I'm a woman, not a wee lass."
"You're an overprotected, spoiled, half-English bairn. You live in a dream world and ken naught of what's real."
His words pricked at her pride. Her mother was English, true, but she saw herself as thoroughly Scottish. As for her age, why couldn't he see she was now a woman grown? A woman who knew exactly what she wanted. She straightened her shoulders. "I'm twenty summers now. That means I'm a woman."
He scowled, but his gaze drifted down to her breasts for the briefest moment, then darted away, across the room. Why was he not interested in her?
"Do you love someone else?" she asked, fearing his answer.
"'Tis none of your concern."
She hoped he didn't. What if he loved someone out of his reach? Someone who didn't return his feelings?
She would make him forget all other women.
Moving closer to him, she inhaled his mesmerizing masculine scent along with the lavender soap he'd been using, then tentatively touched his chest. She stroked unsteady fingertips over the hard, warm planes and muscled ridges. A man's chest was so very different from a woman's. She found him fascinating.
"You're treading on dangerous ground, lass," he murmured through clenched teeth.
If that was true, she loved danger. "Days ago, you said you wanted to... you know... take me." Feeling her face burn, she forced herself to look deeply into his eyes. She had never before been this bold.
His brows lowered. "As I also said, I've nay had a woman in months, and at the moment, near any wench would do."
His words had the same effect as a slap. Could he be so cold and heartless as to not care who he made love with? Too late, she realized he read the shock and vulnerability in her eyes.
"'Tis the way of men. We're nay so selective as women."
Mayhap so, but 'twas apparent Torr was trying to frighten her off. To make her back down and run to her room like a scolded, terrified lass.
She refused. Her future hung in the balance. If Torr didn't want her, she'd be forced to marry MacPeter. Or run away and travel alone. Neither would be safe.
"I'm the only woman here at the moment," she informed him, straightening her shoulders and holding her head high.
He let out a long breath. "You want your brother or that damned MacPeter to challenge me to a duel? Is that it?" he snapped.
"Nay! Never. You and Brodie are best friends, so 'tis clear he likes and approves of you."
