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“Very well,” he said. His tone was that of a man who was determined to control a situation that threatened to get out of hand fast. “This marriage is nothin’ but a tactic.”
“It is more of a matter of survival for me, but I see what ye mean.”
He studied her with an unreadable look. She wanted to remind him that she hadn’t come to him for his money or power. She had come to escape marriage with an old man whose last two wives had died under his… care. To escape an uncle who valued her about as much as livestock.
“There will be rules regarding… this,” he continued, fixing her with a look so cold it lowered the temperature despite the roaring fire in the hearth.
For a few moments, there was no sound in the room except for the whistle of the wind and the crack of the logs.
“I agree,” Isla said eventually. “Rules make things easier and clearer.”
“Exactly.” He nodded. “Clearer.”
The way he said it was anything but. It was a messy mix of doubt, resolve, and something darker, deeper.
He cleared his throat. “So, here are the rules. Ye willnae touch me unless it is necessary.”
“No touching,” Isla agreed. “That applies to ye as well.”
The air shifted, grew heavier. Sure, she had been the one to provoke him the night before, but he was the one who had kissed her like something feral let loose.
For a moment, they both knew exactly what the other was remembering—exactly how it had felt to touch.
Isla swallowed, her fingers tightening around the napkin on her lap, and Alisdair coughed to dispel the tension.
“I willnae touch ye.” His words were harsh, a sullen promise. Isla ignored the pang in her heart. “Which means we willnae share a bed.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. She had expected as much. He had not come to her the night before; the message had been loud and clear.
“I assumed as much,” she responded.
Alisdair’s eyes flashed with something akin to irritation, but he masked it fast. He grabbed his cup and drank.
“We understand each other, I see,” he bit out.
“Ye need information from me, nae an heir.”
His fingers tightened around his cup, knuckles white. The air grew thicker, but Isla didn’t look away.
“That means there will be no mistaking duty with… desire.”
That word set a match to the room.
Both looked at each other, not moving, not speaking, only breathing. Isla could feel her chest rise and fall.
Desire. She had been in survival mode for so long that she had forgotten almost any other feeling. But last night, in the corridor, pressed against him, she had learned desire.
“Duty,” she said, her voice shakier than she would have liked. “Nae desire.”
His gaze darkened, as if he already regretted that rule. “I will keep ye safe, Isla. Nothing more.”
Isla nodded. Safe was already more than she had ever had. And if she were being honest with herself, willingly or not, he had already given her more than that.
“May I add a rule too?” she ventured.
Alisdair chuckled. “Ye keep making demands ever since ye set foot in me castle.”
“I am nae making demands,” she corrected him. “I am making reasonable suggestions.”
