Page 69 of Sins of the Highlander

“Besides,” he said, “Fiona was a tall woman. Ye’d no’ be able to wear her things. Ye’d be catching the hem with every step.”

That was definitely not an improvement. Her brows drew together over her pert nose.

“I expect I come up short in a number of ways,” she said tetchily.

“That’s no’ what I said.”

“’Tis what I heard.” Her eyes flared at him.

“Ye’re angry,” he said, confused.

She smirked at him. “Aren’t ye the knowledgeable one?”

What had gotten into her? She’d been perfectly pleasant when he left her after a quick but satisfying morning shag, to see to another night’s lodging. Perhaps the foul weather accounted for her foul mood.

“I ordered a bath for us,” he said in an attempt to brighten her spirits.

“Oh, lovely. Will ye swive me in a hip bath now if I ask ye prettily, my lord?”

That sounded like a good idea to him, but the way she said it made him think her heart wasn’t in the venture.

“Elspeth, what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong, he says.” She jabbed the needle through the unprotected wool with ferocity.

“If ye dinna wish to tell me…” He rather hoped she wouldn’t.

The sewing dropped to her lap. “What’s to become of us, Rob?”

“Well, tomorrow, if the weather clears, I’ve arranged for two suitable mounts for us, and we’ll ride to Caisteal Dubh.” It wasn’t a difficult journey. Of course, he hadn’t reckoned on her injury. “Unless ye think ye’ll suffer on horseback with your leg. The way willna allow for a cart, but I could drag a wooden frame—”

“No, ye big ox!” She climbed off the bed and paced the small space, her limp slight. “That’s no’ what I mean.”

He didn’t want her to fret over this part of his plan. It was his doing and his fault things had taken an unexpected turn. He’d tend to it.

“Och, I expect your father and your bridegroom are amassing a force, and they’ll gather at the gates by month’s end, if they aren’t there already and—”

“No, that’s no’ what I mean either.”

He looked at her, genuinely puzzled.

“Us, Rob. You and me. What’s to become of us?”

“Oh.” That was a piper he’d hoped to forestall for very much longer. He was more than happy to join his body to hers and create that delicious us. What to do once the connection was severed was a riddle he hadn’t solved. He wished his body could puzzle it out as easily as it had led him into this silken quagmire.

Her chin quivered, but she straightened herself to her full, if inconsiderable, height. “Dinna tell me ye’ve taken my maidenhead and it means naught to ye.”

“Leannán, no, ’tis no’ that,” he said raking a hand through his hair. Fiona tried to teach him to name his feelings, but he was a difficult student. Give him something solid, a sword, a handclasp, a heart-stopping swive, and the world made perfect sense. Ask him to speak the tangle of his heart, and his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth.

“Then, pray, what is it? How many ways have ye taken me, Rob MacLaren?” she said shakily. “And yet no word of love has passed your lips.”

“None have passed yours either,” he said, hoping to seize a foot of earth in this melee.

“A woman dare no’ name her feelings first. It makes her weak. Makes her vulnerable.” She fisted her hands at her waist, looking anything but weak or vulnerable.

Unless one counted the excessive shimmer in her eyes.

“Doesna it do the same for a man?”