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"Who is this 'her' you're speaking of?"

"Annie Maxwell," Deirdre said reluctantly.

"Oh."

"Oh? That's all you have to say?"

"What do ye want me to say? She's a nice lass and we had—well, we had good times together—"

Deirdre rolled over and buried her head in the pillow. "I have no wish to hear about it."

"Then why the devil did you bring her up?"

"I don't remember. Goodnight, I’m very tired now and I think I'll go to sleep." With that she pulled the pillow over her head.

"Annie Maxwell enjoyed a tumble with me and any other lad she fancied," Alistair said distinctly. "I'm glad to know she remembers me kindly, as I do her—" He pulled the pillow away. "I liked her and she made me laugh, and there was no more to it than that."

"But when I think of you, with her..."

"'Twas a different matter altogether," he said gently. "I never loved her, Deirdre, nor any woman. Only you."

Joy swept through her, more powerful than anything she had experienced this magical night, a feeling so new, so completely unexpected, that she was speechless with the wonder of it.

Her silence lasted no more than a moment, but to Alistair it seemed to stretch into eternity as the echo of his words hung between them. Was it only friendship she felt for him, then, and gratitude, and desire? From any other woman those things would have been enough, but not from Deirdre.

"You did this before, as well," he pointed out, a bit more sharply than he'd meant to. "With your husband."

"But that—that was nothing like..." she said uncertainly.

Why? he wanted to cry out. What was the difference? But he stopped himself. It would spoil everything if he pressed her for what she was not ready to give.

"No more was it for me," he said, forcing himself to speak in the light, teasing voice he'd used so often in the past, when the woman in his arms meant no more than a night's shared pleasure.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips, ending with a playful nip on the soft pad of her thumb. "Sweet Christ, lady, ye nearly killed me."

"Did I?" She sat up, instantly contrite. "Oh, Alistair—"

"Whisht, I'm not complaining. I didna mind at all." He laughed, relieved that it sounded so natural, and pinched her cheek. "One day we'll change places and I'll show ye what it's like."

"Will you?" she asked wistfully and his heart lifted.

"My word upon it. Or ... we could try it now."

With that he pounced and she squirmed away with a shriek of laughter. At last he lay on top of her and pinned her hands beside her head.

"Well, well," he said. "Look what I have here."

"And what is that?" she demanded, breathless with laughter.

"The most beautiful lady in all the world."

"Don't," she said, pulling her hands from his and turning her face away.

"Don't what?"

"Don't say that, Alistair, not now. Not tonight."

"Ye really dinna ken? Oh, Christ, Dee," he said roughly, pulling her against him and rocking her as if she was a child. "What did he do to you?"