The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(49)

Her brow wrinkled in a slight frown as he made his way toward her. It was slow progress, as his clansmen, who were clearly happy to see him, stopped him along the way. They stared at him with a mixture of awe and admiration—sentiments she could well understand.

He looked magnificent. His damp hair was brushed back from his face and curled a little at his ears. He’d shaved the four days of whiskers, revealing the proud line of his jaw. Instead of the leather war coat, he wore a finely embroidered leine and a grayish-blue plaid fastened at his neck by a large jeweled pin.

It was the most at ease she’d ever seen him. Here in his castle, amid his clansmen, he could finally let down his considerable guard and relax.

It wasn’t his appearance, however, that caused her to frown. He hadn’t noticed. He’d walked right over the fresh rushes, past the big vase of flowers, the colorfully clad tables, and the extra candles, but hadn’t seen the changes.

Her excitement dimmed a little but didn’t go out completely until his eyes flickered to her. He held her gaze for a long heartbeat before finally noticing something she’d done. His eyes lifted to the large tapestry she’d hung behind the dais.

He stilled, looking as if he’d seen a ghost. The color left his face and a flash of acute pain flickered in his eyes before his expression went completely blank. But she knew he was angry. She could see it in the thin white lines etched around his clenched mouth and in his eyes when the heavy weight of his gaze once again fell on her.

Christina paled, all the excitement draining out of her. Her chest squeezed. Had he cared more for his wife than she’d realized? Of course he had, and her thoughtless attempt to liven up the dreary Hall and show him what a good wife she could be had dredged up painful memories.

She cursed her stupidity, but it only got worse. The dogs had been lying around her feet, but when their master drew near, they bounded up to welcome him. The largest of the three, Bran, jumped up on him. Tor took one look at him, sniffed, and shot her a black look. In two long strides he was standing beside her, icy anger radiating from him. “What have you done to my dogs?”

His voice was low and calm, but she was not deceived. He was furious. Christina fought back the tears that threatened to spill. Her chin quivered as she gazed up into his thunderous expression, aware that more than one person was watching the exchange with interest. She’d only been trying to help. “I g-gave them a bath.”

“In rose water?” he demanded through clenched teeth.

She winced, biting her lip. She thought it had been an improvement. “We used the water left over from my bath.”

She could see the tic under his jaw pulse and knew that he was struggling to control his temper. Over her cleaning his dogs?

Nay, she realized. His anger wasn’t about the dogs; it was about the tapestries.

The anger died as quickly as it had sparked. “In the future, you will leave the bathing of the dogs to me.”

He sat down beside her, and the conversation rose around them dramatically to cover up the awkward exchange between the lord and his lady. It was as if everyone realized, as she did, that something else was at work.

Painfully aware of the man at her side, Christina nibbled a crusty piece of bread, trying to cover up how utterly miserable she felt. Instead of impressing him, she’d made a mess of things. He hadn’t noticed anything she’d done—except for hanging the offensive tapestries.

She, on the other hand, noticed everything. Right when he sat down, his spicy, masculine scent assaulted her with memories. The clean, fresh scent of his soap reminded her of his arms around her, holding her, touching her, arousing her. The erotic memories of that night washed over her in sharp, visceral awareness. Every time his broad shoulder or heavily muscled thigh brushed against her it grew worse. Even the briefest physical contact made her skin jump and nerve endings flare.

She wanted more contact. Wanted to feel the heat of his body again. To have him touch her in all those wicked ways. Surely, it must be a sin to want such things. But it was as if the anticipation of their wedding night, building since the ceremony, had finally reached its breaking point. Her body felt sensitive, each touch a shock that made her senses explode.

Being this close to him was torture. But he seemed blissfully unaware of her torment. In truth, he hardly seemed aware of her at all.

She didn’t want him to be angry with her. “I’m sorry,” she said when he finished speaking to the man on his left—Gelis, his Sennachie. “I didn’t mean to interfere. I wanted to surprise you.”

His dark eyebrows drew together. Her heart deflated a little more. It was obvious he had no idea what she was talking about.

Her gaze swept around the room. “The candles, the tablecloths, the flowers, the new rushes.” She paused. “The tapestries.”

He stiffened almost imperceptibly, but then followed the direction of her gaze, noticing for the first time the changes she’d made. Realizing he needed to say something, he said evenly, “It looks nice.”

Nice. Her shoulders sagged a little. Hardly the enthusiastic reaction she’d been hoping for.

Perhaps sensing her disappointment, he amended, “Very nice.”

Christina pursed her lips together, feeling a spark of anger. First he’d left her without even a good-bye, and now he barely noticed all the hard work she’d done in his absence. A previously unknown streak of sarcasm rose in her voice. “If you wish, I can take the dogs outside and let them roll around in the mud like they’ve been wanting to do.” She smiled sweetly. “They’ll stink just as they did before.”