Page 31 of Twelfth Knight’s Bride

“I can manage this dress myself, thank ye,” she croaked.

“Nay, take that rag off so ye can don the blue one again. The one that makes yer hair look like it glows red and brightens yer fairy kisses.”

“‘Fairy kisses’? Ye mean my freckles?”

He grimaced at her flummoxed tone.

“Aye, yer freckles. They’re fetching.”

He wished her freckles to stand out more than they already did?

“Jamie—”

His hands touched hers at the base of her back, trying to sort her laces out, settling upon her trembling fingers, and pulled them down to her sides. Her pulse fluttered at her throat, rattling her good sense, for all afternoon she’d resolved herself to give him a piece of her mind, and now here she was, melting like butter upon warm bread.

“Ye’re my wife. At least until Epiphany. You’ll dress the part.”

He stepped back. His hands fell away. She peeked over her shoulder and watched James stride over to her bed to retrieve the kirtle and velvet overgown. Still trembling, Aileana inched her gown up her body, revealing her chemise beneath, catching James’s reflection in a bronze plaque upon the wall and knowing his eyes were upon her back, caressing every ounce of her chemise that she uncovered with roving curiosity. Did she want him to see her? After moments ago, being resolved to flee from him? She saw him inhale deeply, his chest rising, then heard him exhale. He turned away, finally.

Each piece of the gown was then draped over her. Her whole body shook with heat and nerves at his proximity as his fingers skimmed her curling tresses over her shoulder and out of the way to tumble over her breasts while he deftly worked the laces on the garment. His hands tugged her skirts together to fasten them. His breath caressed the back of her exposed neck as his scent and heat filled her senses with desire to know what he was thinking and why he knew so well how to assemble a gown. And who knew a fire could crackle so loudly!

“Nary a complaint ye’ve heard from the lasses, eh?” she teased.

His reflection in the bronze plaque grinned smugly, then he leaned into her ear. “Did I get under yer skin, lass? Because I dare say, the moment I met ye glaring at me through Urquhart’s portcullis, ye crawled right under mine, and I’m pleased to finally return the torment.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ye have to work harder to torment me, man.”

“Is that a challenge?” He chuckled before continuing, “Ah, but we’ve a truce betwixt us, woman, and I’ve no wish to think on past exploits when I’ve already got a fine challenge at my fingertips now,” he murmured, his breath warm upon her lobe. She shivered. “No need to start another skirmish when I’ve already thrown down my flag of truce.”

She took a ragged breath as he slid a sleeve up her arm and tied it at her shoulder, then did the same with the other. Fickle heart, indeed. He was working his seduction upon her again, and her whole body was craving more.

“Why do ye nay wear yer pearls?” he rumbled softly, as a finger rose to touch the amber bobbles she’d donned that morn, pushing on her ear.

The heat simmering within her chilled like feverous skin doused with ice. She stepped away from him, shaking her head, as thoughts of her and Peigi’s pillaged dowries churned up that old hurt she couldn’t seem to forgive.

“And appear in front of everyone, wearing the jewelry confiscated from yer sister to give to yer bargain bride?”

“They were yers,” he replied, ignoring her tasteless comment, as if he knew her needling remarks were a blatant attempt to push him away.

“The castle folk do nay ken that—my hair! I already took it down.”

She grabbed at the loose curls to hurry them into some semblance of a style, but James took her fingers in his and settled them at her stomach. He lifted the ends of her curls to rub them between his thumb and finger.

“Leave it. It looks spirited like this, hanging free. It’s bonny.”

Heat stained her cheeks at his soft compliment.

“Besides,” he added, a cheeky grin contorting his lips upward in determination to regain their flirting from moments ago, “’twill look as if I thoroughly disheveled ye.”

“Ach!” she exclaimed at his unexpected debauchery and smacked his arm, eyes widening, though he only chuckled, dodging her playfully.

“There’s that feisty lass.” His eyes, twinkling, gentled, though his smile lingered. “I much prefer the upstart to the meek lady who runs and hides.”

She shook her head and hurried to retrieve her Grant mantle, draping it over her shoulders, and finally turned her gaze upon him. His eyes roved over her blue enemy tartan, as if a million thoughts competed for dominance in his mind, yet he was unable to focus upon one. Finally, he offered his arm, eyes still twinkling.

“Come, nàmhaid. Supper is well underway by now, and the people expect their bean cakes, whether a Grant dines among us or no… Give them time, Aileana.”

Aileana slipped her fingers around his elbow, and they walked through her door. Facing the MacDonald folks seemed more manageable when she had James’s strong arm to hold. “Time…the one thing we have too little of.”