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"Oh," Murine murmured and lowered her head, unsure what to think now. Had he said it because he hadn't expected her to remember? Had he not meant it at all? Dear God, had she--?
"I am sorry," he repeated and she didn't need to look to see that he was frowning. "I realize that I may not be all ye wanted."
Startled, she raised her head. "What do ye mean?"
"Well, Aulay's the eldest. He inherited the title and castle," Dougall pointed out, then shrugged and said, "Not that we'll need live in a hovel. Between me mercenary work, acting as Aulay's first, and me horse breeding, I've saved a good deal of coin over the years. I'll build us a fine home. But it'll take some time, and we may ha'e to stay here or with Aulay while our home is being built."
Murine tilted her head and frowned at him. "Ye think I care about that?" She didn't give him the chance to answer, but continued, "Ye think me so light o' character that I would choose a title and castle over the man?"
"Many women would," he pointed out gently.
"Aye," she agreed grimly, pushing herself up to her hands and knees and then easing back to sit on her haunches as she spat, "But those women did no' spend a year under the thumb o' a brother who delighted in tormenting her with all she'd lost, and who would sell her to the first man who came along with something he wanted."
Clucking with disgust, Murine shifted off the bed and scurried over to grab up her nightgown and drag it on. "I have lived in a castle with a man of title, Dougall, and I was miserable there. The dwelling does no' make the home. The people in it do. I--"
She broke off with surprise when he was suddenly in front of her, grasping her hands.
"I'm sorry," he said for the third time, but this time sounded sincere. "I did no' mean to offend ye."
"Well ye did," Murine said quietly. "Honestly, Dougall. Today in this cottage . . ." She waved around at their surroundings and shrugged unhappily. "This was the happiest day o' me life to date." Peering at him earnestly, she added, "And that's including all me years growing up at Carmichael with me family who I loved dearly. I had a happy childhood, and mayhap the last years and losing all those I loved has colored me memories, but none of them seem as shiny to me as simply playing chess and talking with ye and . . ."
Blushing, she trailed off.
Dougall smiled faintly, and suggested, "And playing bed games with me?"
"We were no' in the bed the second time," she pointed out dryly, but didn't fight him when he pulled her to rest against his chest.
"Ye mean the first time," he corrected.
"Nay. The first time we were on the bed and ye ran above stairs to close the shutters," Murine mumbled into his chest.
"Oh. Aye," he murmured, rubbing her bottom through her gown rather than risk rubbing her back, miscalculating and hitting her injury. "I was no' counting that time. We did no' carry it through to the end then."
She shrugged in his arms, squeezing a little closer until her breasts were plastered to his chest and the apex of her thighs was pressing against his pelvis. Still, it was only when she tipped her head back and slid her hands up and around his neck to pull his face down for a kiss that he realized he was exciting her with his caress. And that he had stirred some interest in himself with the action too. Christ! He couldn't even be near the lass without wanting her. He should have known that touching her so intimately would lead to--
"Nay, Murine," Dougall breathed, pausing before his mouth touched hers. Removing the hand that had been squeezing her bottom, he caught her arms and dragged them down. "Ye'll pull yer stitches reaching like that. And ye'll be sore do we do it again. If ye're not already," he added with a frown and asked. "How do ye feel? Are ye tender?"
"A little," she admitted. "But I still want ye."
Dougall stared blankly, stunned that she'd admit as much. He had no doubts that Murine had been a virgin ere today. Hell, she hadn't even known how to kiss at first, but she was a quick learner and seemed to have little shame when it came to the bedding. God bless her parents for raising her to be that way and not turning her into one of the cold, timid prudes he had occasionally encountered in the past, Dougall thought suddenly.
"Please, Dougall?" She shifted against him, and then rose up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his neck. He was tempted, more than tempted, but he didn't want her sore and needing a week to recover.
"Are ye thirsty?" he asked suddenly, hoping to distract her long enough for her to tire again.
Murine pulled back to blink at him. "Thirsty?"
"Aye. I'm thirsty," he announced. "Go sit yourself on the bed and I'll fetch us some cider. Then mayhap we'll . . ." He let his voice trail away.
A big grin on her face, Murine turned and skipped back to the bed.
She was actually skipping for God's sake! Dougall thought with amazement. Like a child who'd been promised a boon. He should really just follow her to the bed, bend her over it and give her a good seeing to. Lord knew his body was crying out for him to do so . . . again.
Giving his head a shake, Dougall turned abruptly and moved to the mantel. He'd moved the tincture-laced cider there when he'd cleared the table to play chess after they'd had their soup. Now he grabbed it and took a moment to pour half of it into a new container, and then dilute it with fresh cider before pouring himself one as well. He carried both back to the bed.
"Here ye go," he said, handing her the cider laced with Rory's tincture. He raised his own drink to take a swallow as he waited for her to take the other one, then nearly choked on the liquid when she released her hold on the linens and furs she'd pulled up to her chest and he saw that she'd removed her gown. How had he missed that her shoulders were naked? he wondered as he watched her take several swallows of her drink. She wrinkled her nose slightly after the third and complained, "'Tis bitter."
"There is still some of Rory's tincture in it," Dougall explained solemnly. "He said it would build yer strength. Drink up so I can remove the mugs and join ye."
It was all he had to say; she downed the rest of her drink in two large gulps and then smiled as she handed him the empty container.
Dougall carried the empty mugs to the table and set them down, then turned back to the bed.
"Do ye ken ye've seen all o' me, but have yet to remove even yer tartan?" Murine pointed out and while there was a definite naughtiness to her expression, there wasn't a sign of weariness.
It seemed her earlier exhaustion had fled. Dougall was trying to decide if that was a good thing or bad when her words suddenly registered and he glanced down. She was right of course, at the table he'd merely lifted the hem of his tartan, and then they'd still been joined as he'd carried her to the bed.
"'Tis most unfair," Murine added.
In truth, he supposed it was. Holding her gaze, Dougall reached for the pendant at his shoulder and removed it. His tartan immediately dropped away. Leaving it where it fell, he stepped out of it and crossed halfway to the bed before stopping and tugging his shirt off over his head.
