Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(62)
“No, I’m not. I’m asking you to trust me.”
But could she? At times she wanted to. But her uncertainty must have shown on her face.
“What cause have I given you not to trust me?” he challenged. “Have I hurt you? Lied to you? Done anything to earn your distrust?”
She shook her head. On the contrary, he’d surprised her at every turn. And then there were those glimpses of tenderness, the side of him that he kept hidden but at times would reveal to her. “I want to trust you, but . . .”
“But what?”
She twisted her hands, not knowing how to explain. How could she explain that in trusting him, she feared she would lose some of her past forever? That it would feel as if she were cutting herself off from her clan? “It can’t change overnight. Everything has happened so fast. I don’t know what to believe.” She gazed into his eyes, silently begging for understanding. “I’m confused.”
“And yet you don’t seem confused at night. You give me your body willingly enough.”
Her chest squeezed and heat burned her cheeks. “That’s different.”
“Is it?” He arched a brow. “How? You trust me with your body, but not with your heart.”
She stilled. Was that what he wanted from her? It was impossible.
Blood pounded in her ears. How could she explain that at night it was only the two of them? That the problems of the day did not penetrate the darkness? Why was he pressing her like this? He asked for something she was not ready to give. “It’s my duty to give you my body,” she blurted helplessly.
His face was a mask of stone, yet somehow she knew that she’d hurt him. Maybe it was in the sudden flex of his jaw or the small white lines that appeared around his mouth. His eyes pinned her. “It doesn’t feel like duty when you moan, taking me deep into your body. Over and over.” He took an intimidating step closer, and she could feel the anger radiate from him. “Riding me until you come.”
She flinched from the brutal honesty of his words. “How dare you!” Hot shame crawled up her cheeks. Her passion—her hunger—for him embarrassed her. It was all-consuming, wild, and unencumbered.
“There is nothing to be ashamed of,” he said more kindly. “I love your passion.”
But how do you feel about me? She wished she could read his mind. It was clear he was angry with her for not trusting him blindly. But what did she really know of him other than in bed? She barely saw him during the day. He kept himself so detached from her—except for that morning after they wed. Then, she could almost believe . . . She turned away, emotion thickening her voice. “What do you want from me? I married you, I come to your bed willingly, isn’t that enough?”
He drew back as if slapped. “No. I don’t think it is.”
This was all coming out wrong. How could she explain that she did trust him, just not as completely as he wanted? “What you are asking for doesn’t happen overnight. It takes time.”
“Of course.” The chill in his voice could have frozen a loch in midsummer. “Perhaps we both need more time.”
What did he mean by that? She watched him go, his broad, muscled back retreating up the hill, and didn’t know what to do. She wanted to call him back but didn’t know what to say to make it right.
After a few minutes she followed him, spending the rest of the day following the progress of the cleanup and carefully avoiding her husband. When it was time for her to return to the castle, she found herself escorted by a few of his men.
At the evening meal, he was polite, if more distant than usual. She didn’t realize just how distant until later.
That night, for the first time since they were married, Jamie did not come to her bed.
Clutching the empty pillow beside her in her fingertips, she told herself it didn’t matter, that she was grateful for the time to think; but the dull ache in her chest told differently.
Had she succeeded in pushing him away for good? Or was he simply giving her the time that she’d claimed she needed but now wasn’t sure she wanted?
Chapter 14
A few days later, Caitrina knelt on the floor of the great hall, trying to keep her eyes fastened on the soot-stained stone instead of what was going on above her as the men lifted the giant timbers that would support the new roof. Long planks of wood had been positioned atop the stone corbels and would eventually support the upper-level floors, but right now they were being used as makeshift scaffolding. By means of a series of ladders and ropes, the beams were being hoisted about thirty feet to the top of the open tower.
She couldn’t help but be anxious—even though she was on solid ground. Fortunately, the stone floor of the great hall—built atop the kitchen vaults—had escaped significant damage. Not even the fragrant smell of fresh-cut wood could calm her unease. It was dangerous work, and she couldn’t stand the thought of anyone getting hurt. Working side by side with her clansmen the past few days, she’d come to know so many of them, and the thought of anything happening . . . she didn’t want to think about all that could go wrong.
But with winter fast approaching, they needed to work fast. The short days coupled with the off-and-on periods of misty rain made working conditions less than ideal.
In the back of her mind was the knowledge that Jamie was doing this for her. Normally the rebuilding would have been put off till spring, but he knew how much she wanted—nay, needed—to see Ascog restored to its former glory. If they could get the roof on and make the castle watertight, they would be able to continue the work inside throughout the winter.