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"I did. I do. But—but I—well—"

He looked at her, brows raised. "Then I take it your husband never—"

She was glad he didn't speak Brodie's name, but it made no difference. He was here between them anyway. Brodie with his rough hands and hurtful words. "Useless, that's what ye are." That's what Brodie had said on their wedding night and he was right, there was some lack in her, something wrong, and now Alistair would see it, too—

Oh, God, she thought, panicked, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. I cannot do this. Not again. Not even for Alistair.

His hand touched her hair, very softly, stroking down her neck. "Deirdre," he said softly. "I'll make you a bargain. When it comes off—if it comes off—you'll be the one to do it. Fair enough?"

She nodded warily, not sure what he meant but anxious not to drive him away. His arm went around her tentatively and she leaned against him, wondering what he thought was supposed to happen here. It was obviously something different than she had experienced with Brodie.

"Alistair," she said, staring down at her clasped hands. "I—I don't know what to do."

"Dinna fash yourself," he said, bending to her. "It doesn't matter."

But it did matter, she was quite sure it mattered very much. As he drew her close, she lay stiff in his arms, afraid to move yet fearing something was expected of her. After a moment he sighed and released her, rolling over on his back and folding his arms beneath his head.

"Well, then," he said. "What am I doing wrong?"

"You? No, it isn't you, it's me—"

"All right," he said agreeably. "What are you doing wrong?"

She gave a choked laugh. "I was hoping you could tell me."

"If you're asking me—you are asking me, aren't you?" He propped himself on one elbow. "Nothing. You're everything a man could want—silly lass!"

He rolled over to face her, then rubbed his nose against hers and crossed his eyes.

When she laughed it was all right again, it was the two of them and not just her alone, wondering what she was supposed to do next. He kissed the tip of her nose, her eyes, and then his lips were on her neck, his breath warm in her ear. She shivered, her fingers moving through his soft fine hair, trailing over his shoulders, so broad, so strong, feeling the separate muscles beneath his rough wool tunic.

His hair smelled of rain and heather and the faint scent of sandalwood clung to his clothing. When he lifted his head and looked down at her she traced his lips with one finger, marveling again at the way the hard line of his mouth could relax into such a charming smile.

He bent to her and began to kiss her mouth, so softly that she could barely feel his lips on hers, and it was like the night they had first met in the forest, a kiss that wasn't a kiss at all but the seal of a pledge made long ago, in another place, another life... Oh, they belonged to each other and always had—how could she ever have doubted that?

When he teased her lips apart she opened to him with a little sigh. His fingers trailed over her foot in light, caressing strokes, moving to her ankle, her shin, but stopping always at the hem of her shift. She edged the skirt a little higher, and when he found the soft spot behind her knee she gasped with pleasure, and then she knew it was all right, everything would be all right between them now.

She leaned up and kissed his lips, then threw off her shift, laughing at her own boldness. Feeling very wicked and delightfully wanton, she whispered, "Why are you still dressed?"

In one fluid motion he was on his feet and pulling the tunic over his head, then untying the laces at his waist, kicking his trews aside. She caught her breath, staring.

Brodie had only removed the necessary portions of his clothing and that under the coverlet. But she suspected that he would have looked nothing like Alistair did now, with his broad shoulders and slender hips, the breadth of his chest covered with a mat of golden hair that narrowed as it trailed over his hard flat belly...she followed the line of it with her eyes and caught her breath.

He stood without moving, letting her look at him, and when her eyes moved at last to his face her fear vanished, for this was Alistair, not Brodie, and she could see how dearly his control was costing him as he waited for her to make the next move.

"Can I—?" she said, reaching out a tentative hand.

"Oh, aye, you can. Please—like that...ah, Deirdre, wait."

"What?" she asked, pulling her hand back. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Nay. 'Twas right. Verra right. Just—wait—while I think of something—something verra dull—"

"What?" She sat up. "What are you talking about?"

He gave a choked laugh. "I almost—that is, ye nearly—ah, God, I'm no better than a boy with you!"

"But what—?"