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Sighing deeply, he rolled over until he was facing the wall. If any other woman of his acquaintance had insulted him the way Greta had — had she really called all Northerners “vile”? — he wouldn’t have given her another thought. But this woman was different, and, instead of making his blood boil with anger, he found that her presence across the room was making the heat rise in him for entirely different reasons.
Damn the woman,he thought, turning over again.Why does she have to be so attractive? Why does she make me feel like this?
* * *
Behind the thick curtains surrounding the bed, Greta was having much the same thoughts as she tossed and turned next to Isobel, unable to sleep despite her exhaustion.
He’s right there,she thought, absently toying with the pendant around her neck, which she wore even when she slept.He’s just across the room. I could get out of bed and walk over to him. I could lean down and touch him. I could…
She felt her cheeks grow warm at the thought of all the other things she could do. Things she had never contemplated doing with any man, let alone one from the North. But no, it could not be — and if his clan was not reason enough for that, there was another excellent reason lying in the bed next to her.
Isobel.
His daughter.
And where there was a daughter, there must be a mother; just as where there was a husband, there must be a wife. Warren had not mentioned a wife, she knew, but all the same, he must have one. And although she no longer had a husband, she did still have a son somewhere out there.
That’s what I should be thinking of now,she told herself firmly, as she closed her eyes and rolled onto her side.Not Warren, but Jamie. Jamie is all that matters.
