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What was this witchcraft? Could a kiss cause this?
Aye, it could. And the worst was, she wanted more. Where was the fear she’d expected? There was only curiosity now, wonder, hunger.
“Too much?” Konnor said.
His eyes dark with the mixture of desire and worry, his body stiff with helplessness. He looked like he wanted to step towards her and take her into his arms, but he restrained himself.
“I…” She breathed out. “I dinna ken. Aye, too much, but also nae enough.”
“Have you not been kissed before?” Konnor said.
“Nae like this.” She turned and leaned her back against the merlon. “Before Dunollie, I had two kisses, and neither resembled anything like this. And then, Alasdair…”
His kisses had left blood. His touch left bruises. Konnor’s brought healing and wonder and magic.
He stood by her side so that his shoulder connected with hers. Even through her tunic, she felt that he emanated heat like a furnace—or maybe it was her. The touch caused a wave of tingles to race through her arm. His lovely scent in her nose, his deep voice caressing her… She was losing her cool, and she flattened her palm against the stone merlon to calm herself down.
“I didna mean to be so dramatic,” she said. “But ‘tis hard. I dinna ken what to think. I thought when a man touched me, all my body was capable of was pain.”
Konnor turned to her and cupped her face with his big, rough palm. “You have no idea how much I want to kill the monster that did that to you.” She leaned into his palm and closed her eyes, enjoying the warm touch of him. “Your body was made to sing under the touch of a man who loves and worships you.”
She let those words wash over her for a long, sweet moment. A man who loved her… Worshiped her…
No, that wasn’t possible for her after Alasdair. She’d forever be tainted. Impure. Spoiled by evil. No man would ever want to connect his life with hers—and she’d never want to imprison anyone in a marriage with an unworthy, cowardly wife.
Invisible shields rose around her heart, hiding it in an iron cocoon. Strange. She hadn’t even noticed she had let them down with Konnor.
And even stranger was that she didn’t want them up when he was around. Her body did sing under his touch.
“Konnor, ye’re verra kind with me. But I dinna think any man would want to.”
His gaze seized her with the depth of its blue darkness. “You have no idea how wrong you are.”
She went still in response to the hunger in his voice. The whole wall threatened to lurch and crumble from the possibility of what he was implying… That happiness was real for her, that someone could love her.
Konnor?
The shields went up again, spreading coldness through her chest. She wanted to believe. She wanted to see a future where sweet kisses existed. Where nights wouldn’t be full of loneliness and pain, but of warmth and singing and love. Where Konnor would be by her side every day. Where she’d feel brave, safe, and secure.
But Alasdair had taught her a lesson she’d never forget.
Besides, Konnor had made it very clear he needed to go back to take care of his mother. How would she feel if Colin one day disappeared without a word?
“’Tis late, Konnor.” She peeled herself off the wall. “I better go to sleep. And ye, too. Let yer leg heal. On the morrow, we shall continue practice. I would like to train ye, but if ye’d rather spar with Tamhas, I will accept that.”
He opened his mouth to say something but looked down and closed it. Then he gave her a soft, heartwarming smile.
“You’re right, Marjorie. I’ll only train with you. As long as you have me.”
* * *
The next day, Marjorie watched Konnor approach her as he walked out of the tower. Her breath held, and her mouth went dry as she stared at the bulges of his biceps, the broad, hard pecs, and the hard stomach hugged by the thin linen tunic that the wind pressed against his skin.
He caught her gaze as he walked, and the somber, gray day grew brighter around her, colors became vivid, and sounds around her trailed into the distance, replaced by the loud thumping of her heart.
She realized his stubble was growing darker and longer on his chin, and with his hair gathered at the back of his head, he looked like a man from her time in the tunic and breeches, even with his big shoes.
He looked like a powerful lord, with his strong physique, his straight, proud back, and his dark gaze, the gaze of a man who’d seen death and seen the world. The way he looked at her melted her bones and set her marrow simmering.
