The Devil in Plaid(35)

Julia smiled, dipping into a deep curtsy. Then she turned and left.

In that moment, Fiona resolved not to give herself over to false imaginings. There was no reason to doubt Jamie. He had earned her trust the moment he championed her to his people.

Fiona wandered about the room while she ran a comb through her hair. She studied the tapestries, which appeared no less gruesome than they had the night before. She could only assume the violent subjects were chosen for the same reason the demons had been carved into the hearth—to frighten away the fairfolk. Her gaze scanned the laird’s dark chamber. She imagined what she would do to brighten the walls. The idea thrilled her. With her laird’s permission, she could bring new life to the MacLeod fortress.

She was standing in front of the hearth when Jamie walked in. Smiling, she turned and started walking toward him, but then she remembered that she was clad in naught but her sheer kirtle. The comb slipped from her fingers when she crossed her arms over herself, hiding her body. He hastened to the bedside, grabbing one of the smaller furs before he moved to her side and wrapped the soft blanket around her shoulders.

“Ye seemed cold,” he said, smiling knowingly.

A tingling of warmth spread throughout her body. “Thank ye,” she said, gazing up at the masculine contours of his perfectly chiseled jaw. His golden hair gleamed in the firelight, making his amber eyes shine. He strode to the basin and splashed water on his face.

“Ye’re weary,” she observed.

He pulled his plaid from his shoulder to wipe his face. Then he let the fabric hang over his belt, leaving his chest bare. Her gaze followed the sinewy lines of his stomach and the corded ridges of muscles across his shoulders and arms. Then she shifted her gaze back to his face. Again, she glimpsed his weariness.

“I saw ye today meeting with the grieving families in the hall,” she said. “Yer tenderness moved me.” Her gaze dropped to the ground. “I’m so very ashamed for having thought so ill of ye.”

“Nay, lass,” he said, coming forward and taking her free hand. “My thoughts were no better, but we both must turn our gazes forward. We’ve cast off the wearisome cloak of hatred. Now, better days are ahead of us.” He kissed the back of her hand. “Look forward with me.”

She smiled. “Not too far forward. This is the first chance I’ve had to speak with ye all day.”

He took her hand. “Join me a while,” he said, leading her over to the bed.

Clutching the fur close with her free hand, she followed and sat beside him.

He shifted to face her. Slowly, he reached out and tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear, causing her breath to hitch. She swallowed hard.

“As I was going about my day, ye never strayed far from my thoughts,” he said, his voice low and familiar. “I’m sorry we did not have more time together.”

“No matter,” she said, breathlessly. “There is much to be done to safeguard our clans.”

Dear God above, but he was so close now!

She breathed deep his masculine scent. He grazed his fingers down her cheek, sending a shiver coursing up her spine.

His hands were so big and strong. Just one day ago, she had feared his strength. Never could she have imagined him capable of such tenderness.

“Why are ye blushing?” he asked softly.

His gaze held hers captive. She swallowed hard as feelings, unfamiliar and intoxicating, coursed through her. She lifted her shoulders in answer. “I…I don’t know what to say or think. I can barely breathe.”

He drew closer, resting his hand on her lower back. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Ye’re not still afraid of me?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nay, ‘tis just…I…I’m barely clad, sitting next to ye on the bed, and…yer hands, yer touch…”

“I am yer husband. Is it not natural for me to touch ye?”

Her blush deepened. “Aye, ye’re my husband, but for some reason I’m trembling, and my heart is racing.” Her hands flew to cover her face. “I’m making no sense. Ye must think me mad.”

Gently, he tugged her hands away. She met his gaze.

“We are married, but ye’re still a maid. Yer response to my touch is natural and pleases me enormously. But do not fret. Remember, we are just getting to know each other.” He cupped her cheek. “Right now, I’m learning that yer skin is as soft as silk.” He leaned close, breathing deeply. “Yer hair smells of lavender and honey.” A smile tugged at his lips. “That I already knew.” He pressed a slow, soft kiss to her cheek, his lips full and warm. She closed her eyes against the rush of feeling that shot through her. Her heart quaked. She dropped her gaze. His scent surrounded her. She wet her lips and clutched the blanket to keep her hands from shaking.

“I can’t breathe,” she blurted.

Brows drawn, he crooked his thumb under her chin, gently forcing her to meet his gaze. “Mayhap, we should just talk for a while.”

She expelled a long breath and nodded.

He scooted back, lying on his side with his head propped up on his hand. A lazy smile tugged at one side of his lips. “Let’s start with a simple question. How old are ye?”

She shifted to face him, bringing her knees into her chest. “I am eight and ten. And ye?”

“I am seven and twenty,” he answered.