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He smirked. “You look almost as if you’re a wee bit disappointed.”
I wouldn’t be tweaked by him. Not on top of everything else. “How can a girl who is pledged to her lord ever feel disappointed when his will is done?”
He arched a brow. “Is that sarcasm I hear? A simple crofter’s daughter, indeed. How is it that you manage to be a saucy wench while surrendering yourself to my will?”
I bit my lip in answer, for fear I might say something worse.
“Be glad I’m sparing you my lustful predations,” the laird said. “This way, you’ll wake well-rested instead of marked and sore.”
Marked? I wondered what he could mean by that. He was a strange and beautiful man—one with enormous power—that was the only way I could explain the curiosity that he brought out in me. But as I’d so often told the children at home, curiosity was the start of trouble. “Shall I blow out the lamp then so we can get our rest, my laird?”
He sighed. “Alas, we’ll need the light some time longer.”
“How much longer?” I asked, wishing for the pitch blackness in which I wouldn’t feel his gaze upon my face and maybe could hide the flush upon my cheeks.
“A few hours. Even at this time of night people watch my window; it wouldn’t do for anyone to get the impression I spent myself quickly between your thighs. After all, our clan motto is with fortitude…”
Oh, the burdens of being the laird! He was making light of what seemed to me to be a very serious subject indeed. My nostrils flaring with anger, I asked, “Shall we jump upon the bed, too, in case anyone is listening below stairs?”
At my tart reply, his hand struck out like a serpent, grasping me by the back of the neck. “Careful with that wicked tongue of yours or I’ll put it to a use I’ll enjoy better.”
Then he dragged my face close to his such that I couldn’t bear to look him in the eye. When his thumb traced my lower lip as if he were contemplating just how to use my mouth, I whispered, “I’m sorry, my laird. I—I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”
And I didn’t.
I’d always been a meek and dutiful girl, never one for back-talk. But since the moment I’d disobeyed my father to save his life, something had changed in me. It was as if, without anyone to stand up for me, I felt the need to finally stand up for myself. “I’ve always known how I should behave before, but now…”
“Och, aye,” he said, his voice softening. “I suppose you wouldn’t would you? Besides, I like a spirited girl. Makes them more fun to break.”
I swallowed and dared a glance at him. “You mean to break me?”
“No, I don’t.” The laird squinted with what looked like regret. “So I suppose you can lash at me with your tongue, as long as you know I’ll give you a good cuff if you go too far.”
I’d been cuffed for less by my father, so I nodded.
Then he gave a rueful chuckle. “And mayhaps jumping on the bed isn’t a bad idea, lass. I wouldn’t mind watching you jump, and if you squealed a bit and called out my name, it would be for the better. Well, the whole thing is a mouthful. John Alexander Ramsey Macrae—it’s a bit much for the throes of passion. But a moan of, ‘Oh, my laird’ wouldn’t be out of place.”
Since he was teasing, I dared to ask, “Wouldn’t it? You made it sound as if being with you might be more painful than pleasurable.”
“Painful yes, but pleasurable, too, for the right lass,” he answered, mysteriously. “As you’ve reason to guess, I’m a man for rough wooing. It’s why I never bed virgins, who need a softer hand. It’s why I won’t bed you.”
Well then. What else was there to say?
His breathing was heavy, and I felt the heat of him next to me on the bed, even though we weren’t touching. And as if to make sure we wouldn’t touch, the laird crossed his arms over himself.
I crossed my arms over myself, too.
We lay there together in silence. Crickets chirped in the distance. And from the castle stables below, I heard the neigh of a horse.
He stared at the ceiling.
I stared at the ceiling.
Then we both spoke at once.
“Why did you—”
“Why are you—”
