Page 75
He returned to the bed, sat on its edge, and smoothed Gillian’s hair away from her face. “Much better.”
“We need to talk.”
He braced for whatever was coming next. Their overnight truce had come to an end.
“I don’t like being dismissed—”
“Dismissed?” he asked. “What are you speaking of, Gillian?”
She sat up, pulled her hair to the side, and began to braid it.
“When we spoke of my sister. You didn’t listen. Or even consider my words. Instead, you insulted me by assuming I am completely ignorant.”
That had not been his intention at all. He reached for her hand.
“I am sorry you felt that way. I don’t believe you’re ignorant.”
She frowned.
“You are the lady of Highgate End. My wife. Why would I dismiss you out of hand?”
“Because that is what husbands do.”
She looked so sincere, Graeme forced himself not to smile. “So you’ve been married before?”
Gillian rolled her eyes. He really should not find such a gesture endearing.
“Of course not. But I’ve witnessed husbands and their wives. I know how it goes between them.”
“Your parents?”
“Aye, my parents. Among others.”
“Well, my own parents were . . .” He’d almost said in love. “. . . happy together.”
“Do you suppose we will be?” she said in a small voice.
“Happy?”
He wanted to say, “Aye, of course.” But Graeme also knew his next words would displease her, mayhap even infuriate her.
“I hope so,” he said. “But Gillian, we cannot take your sister with us.”
He braced himself for the storm that never came. Instead, Gillian stared at him, made a sound very much like, “Hmm,” and got up from the bed on the other side, away from him.
And so it began.
“While I do not believe you are ignorant to the situation, neither are you privy to all of the facts. Blackburn and your father set us back. Even now, rumblings of the broken truce are picking up traction. If our allies choose to boycott the next Day of Truce, then Clan Scott will be forced to take sides. And this is without stealing the Earl of Covington’s bride from—”
“Very well.” Gillian moved to the trunk at the foot of her bed, took out a green riding gown, and shook it.
“I hoped this was still in here. I wonder why Morgan didn’t bring it to Highgate,” she said to herself, ruining the effect of her body-hugging shift by stepping into the practical gown.
He moved toward her to assist, wondering why he was putting her into the gown rather than taking her out of it. When his hands brushed the sides of her breasts, he considering pulling the gown back down. “Perhaps we should—”
She spun around, nearly knocking herself over since the gown was not fully lifted. “We are in the middle of an argument. This is certainly not the time for—”
“Oh, my dear wife, you’ve not made a careful study of husbands and wives after all.”
