Six
 

The moment the word was out of her mouth, he fell on her with a fierce growl of possession that sent a thrill right down to her toes. The chains of his passion had been released, and there was no holding him back. It was magnificent. Physical proof of his desire for her.

The slow, seductive caress of his lips on her throat and neck turned ravishing. He devoured whatever inch of bare skin he could find with his lips and tongue. Kissing. Sucking. Sliding and flicking his tongue over her fevered skin until she thought she would die from sheer pleasure. And then his lips were on hers again, and she was certain of it.

His tongue licked into her mouth, filling her with the exquisite taste of him.

For such a powerfully built man, his lips were surprisingly soft. And warm. Deliciously warm. She wanted to sink into him and never come up. She returned his kiss with all the newly wrought passion surging through her veins.

His kiss devastated, destroying whatever lingering doubt she had with each fierce stroke. Her chest squeezed with longing. She wanted this. Wanted it desperately. Wanted it more than she’d ever dreamed possible. He was making her feel things she’d never felt before. Her body tingled and burned with a restless energy. Feelings long dormant had come to life. She felt alive in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. She savored it. Welcomed it. Let it crash over her in wave after thrilling wave. He was a hot, drenching storm to her parched desert.

Her heart beat wildly in her chest on an impatient race toward the unknown. She clutched at him, her fingers digging into the granite of his shoulders, as his tongue claimed every inch of her mouth. And she let him take it, surrendering to the plunder with fierce abandon.

Her breasts were crushed to his chest. She moaned at the contact, reveling in the sensation of the solid weight of him over her. There was something deeply arousing about the feel of all those muscles pressed up against her. Something primal in the bodily proof of his masculinity and her femininity. He was big and strong; if there was ever a man built to protect, it was he.

Although she no longer looked to a man to protect her, she did like the way all those muscles felt against her. It seemed strange that something so hard and unyielding could make her want to curl against him and never let go.

But it wasn’t just their chests that touched. He dipped his hips toward hers, and she gasped.

Goodness! It was one thing to take note of his size out of the corner of her eye, it was another to have the blatant evidence burning into her stomach. Thick and hard, she could feel every sinful inch of him throbbing against her.

But instead of fear, the proof of his arousal sent a frisson of excitement pulsing between her legs. She felt the strangest urge to move. To rub up and down against that hardness.

As if reading her mind, he slid his hand down to cup her bottom and lifted her more firmly against him. With a groan, he started to rock his hips.

Mary saw stars. A burst of sensation exploded inside her. Heat poured through her limbs, gathering in a damp, anxious pool between her legs.

She no longer thought about moving, she had to move. Her hips rocked back, grinding against the hard thickness that was both the source of her frenzy and the only thing that could ease the strange restlessness.

She wanted to feel him inside her. To feel him filling her. To feel him thrusting, possessing, bringing her all the pleasure she’d witnessed on the face of that woman.

Feelings, responses, urges that she’d experienced as a young bride but had buried beneath the shame of an indifferent husband burst free.

She held nothing back, straining toward him. Plastering every inch of her body to his. But still it wasn’t close enough. She felt the passion reverberating through him in muscles flexing under her fingertips. He was straining, too. Straining against something he wanted just as badly as she did. It was like unharnessing a bolt of lightning. A clap of thunder. Raw, volatile energy ready to be unleashed.

She could feel the pounding of his chest, hear the heaviness of his breath. She wanted to go faster. To have him give her everything she could feel building between them. The hot promise of sensation clenched low in her belly.

He was kissing her so hard, pressing his hips against her so firmly, it seemed nothing could come between them. They were melded together. Not even the barest whisper of air could pass between them. Only heat. Impossible heat.

Suddenly, he tore his mouth away with an oath. “Bloody hell, wait!”

Whether he was talking to himself or her, she didn’t know.

She blinked at him dazedly, shocked from the swift curtailment of pleasure. She felt like a child who’d been gorging herself on stolen sweets and then had the plate removed—guilty and unsatisfied. The only consolation was that she was still in his arms. But then those, too, were gone.

She barely stopped herself from sounding the whine that rose to her lips. Swollen lips. Lips that a moment ago had been crushed to his.

He looked at her fiercely, as if blaming something on her. “We’re going to do this right.”

“That wasn’t right?” She blushed, realizing she’d spoken aloud.

His mouth twisted in a wry grin. “I see your point. Perhaps I should have said that table doesn’t look very comfortable. Nor does it look very strong. I wouldn’t want to break it.”

She read the wicked glint in his eye and felt a rush of heat—and not just to her face—when she thought of the force that it would take to break it. The hard, powerful thrusts—

She stopped herself, pushing away the naughty images. Sweet heaven, one taste of passion, and he’d turned her into a wanton!

Almost as if he could read her thoughts, she saw the flare of heat leap into his eyes. The piercing blue darkened to almost black.

He made a sound under his breath that might have been another oath and turned away. If she were still a silly, starry-eyed girl, she would think this paragon of masculine virility was struggling to control himself.

He’d changed from his earlier warrior’s garb to a plaid and a fine dark-blue embroidered tunic for the feast. He unfastened the jeweled pin that held the plaid from around his shoulders, and then laid it out on the stone floor. Sinking to his knees, he held out his hand. “It’s not as comfortable as hay, but it will have to do.”

She bit her lip, trying not to smile. He really was wicked to tease her so. She looked down at his outstretched hand. Now was the time she should be having second thoughts. God save her for being a horrible sinner, but she didn’t have a single thought to stop him. Not a one. She put her hand in his and allowed him to help her down, telling herself there was nothing at all romantic about this. He wasn’t her gallant knight, he was a fantasy.

But when he captured her in his arms, eased her down on the plaid beneath him, and looked into her eyes, her heart was pounding and skipping all over the place.

The warmth was back. He was holding her again, and stretched out against him on the floor, she felt strangely vulnerable. It was intimate, this. Lying with him, they might have been in bed together as husband and wife.

It didn’t feel illicit. It didn’t feel wicked. It felt … right.

No! She felt a stab of fear, wishing she could tell him to go back to the table. Wishing he’d never stopped. Wishing he’d just let the passion explode between them and be done with it.

He pressed a soft kiss on her mouth, still looking into her eyes.

His gaze hypnotized. He was entrancing her, putting her under some kind of spell, making her think, making her believe, that this was somehow special.

One night.

His finger traced her cheek and dipped down to behind her ear. “Your veil,” he said huskily. “Can you put it back on by yourself?”

She nodded. “Why?”

She had her answer when he started to pull the pins from her hair. A moment later her veil was tossed to the side.

He drew in his breath.

Her gaze shot to his, and what she saw there made her turn away, shying from the unexpected pleasure. Her hair had been her one vanity. But it had been hidden for so long, she’d wondered if a man would still find it pretty. If his expression was any indication, the answer was yes.

She could feel the weight of his scrutiny as his fingers ran through the long waves.

“It’s a sin to cover something so beautiful.” His voice was almost reverent. After a moment, he cupped her chin, turning her gaze to his. “What else are you hiding, my Mary?”

She shook her head wordlessly, something in his voice causing her to panic. This was a man who could uncover secrets. Who could dig up emotions buried a long time ago. My Mary … “Nothing,” she managed in a gasp.

He didn’t believe her. “We shall see.”

And then he kissed her, turning that gasp of panic into one of pleasure.

She could taste his intent. He kissed her like a man with a purpose. This wasn’t a kiss meant to seduce but one that was already certain of the end. Bold. Fierce. Carnal. He was taking what he wanted, yet giving her everything in return. He kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough of her, as if he was never going to let her go.

Her body responded as if there had never been an interruption. All the passion he’d roused in her returned full force. She slid her hand around his neck, bringing more of his weight down on top of her.

His erection was pressing against her thigh, but he shifted, nudging it closer to the place she wanted it.

She must have cried out. He growled in response, his movements quickening, becoming more frenzied. He slid his hand along the curve of her hips and she arched against him like a cat.

Who was this woman? What had he done to her?

His kiss slid from her mouth, down her chin and to her throat. “You’re so sweet.” His voice sounded tight, strained.

She could hear the sounds of her breathing in her ears but was too overcome to care. She couldn’t seem to do anything but writhe in restless anticipation as his mouth burned a trail down her throat and his hands singed an equally hot path over her body. He knew exactly where to touch her. His hands were on her hips, her stomach, the curve at her waist, and then—finally then—her breast.

He cupped her, squeezed, molded her into his hand, and she moaned at the absolute wonder of it.

His mouth had descended as far down her bodice as the modest gown would allow him to go. “God, I wish we had more time,” he murmured. “I want you naked.” A memory of his bare chest flashed before her eyes. She shuddered at the thought of all that hot, tanned skin against her. He lifted his head to look into her eyes. “I want to see these pretty nipples before I take them in my mouth.”

He placed his mouth right on the spot he was talking about. She gasped, feeling the damp heat right through the silk and linen.

She arched into his mouth, and she heard him swear again as he sucked. Sucked hard. Sucked so she could feel the sweet tightness around her nipple and shimmery needles of pleasure shot to her toes. She started to moan, soft, urgent sounds that she’d never made before.

He made a harsh sound and pulled away. “God, you’re killing me,” he said, before returning his mouth to hers for a fierce kiss.

He was moving faster now, with none of the smooth finesse he’d exhibited before. His movements were harsh and stiff, almost clumsy. He was showing none of the detached control she’d witnessed in the barn. Could she really be doing this to him?

He loosened his tunic, fumbled with the ties of his breeches and braies, and worked the edge of her gown up over her hips.

Breaking the kiss, he leaned over her. A slump of dark hair hung forward across his brow, and she fought the urge to tuck it back. His eyes were dark and burning with the same emotion she’d seen in them when he’d taken himself to release with his hand: lust.

For me.

“I need to be inside you.”

His hand dipped between her legs, and she gasped. The gentle brush of his finger against the sensitive, quivering flesh sent a thousand shivers racing up her spine.

“You’re so hot,” he groaned.

Whatever embarrassment she might have felt at his words was erased when his finger slipped inside her. She jolted at the exquisite stroke.

“I knew you’d be like this.” He groaned again. “You’re made for this, little one.”

She didn’t know what he was talking about, but the finger stroking inside her felt too good for her to care. Something strange was happening. The needs of her body had taken over. The quivering intensified to a pulse, and then to an insistent throbbing. She felt as if she were climbing, reaching for something she couldn’t see.

“That’s it,” he said encouragingly. “Let it come, love. Let it come.”

The soft endearment broke through the haze of her pleasure, but she pushed it away. It doesn’t mean anything.

But she hadn’t expected this bold, wicked warrior to be so … tender.

His finger was plunging in and out. Her hips rose on their own to meet the heel of his hand. He pressed against her, murmuring words in her ear. “That’s it, love. Fly.”

Looking into his eyes, she froze, startled by the intensity of sensation that gripped her. Their eyes held for one long heartbeat before they closed as the sensation exploded inside her in a hot, pulsing spasm. She was flying. Soaring in a dreamy world of sensation. The pleasure was indescribable. So much more than she’d imagined. But she couldn’t hold on to it. All too soon it was fading away.

She opened her eyes, seeing him leaning over her. His gaze was hot with an emotion she couldn’t read.

“You’re beautiful,” he said fiercely.

She smothered the flare of feminine pleasure. It didn’t mean anything. He probably said that to all the women.

Except she couldn’t recall him saying it to the woman in the barn.

He moved over her, leveraging his chest over hers. She fought the urge to glance down, filled with very unmaidenly curiosity.

She sucked in her breath, feeling the blunt tip of his manhood probing her entrance.

She steeled herself for the pain.

“Relax,” he said. “I told you I’d be gentle.”

She blushed. How could that be gentle? Long sword indeed. A steel long sword!

But after a moment she believed him. He rubbed the tip of himself against her until she started to relax.

The quivering started again. Her breath began to quicken. She watched his face in the semidarkness. The aggressive masculine jaw clenched and determined, the sensual mouth tight, the sharp blue eyes piercing, the strain that tensed his muscles.

It was killing him to go slow. But he was doing it for her.

The gentleness confused her. It wasn’t what she expected from him. It wasn’t what she wanted from him. “Now,” she told him.

If he was surprised by her demand, his body was too eager to argue with her. Slowly, he started to push inside, using the dampness of her body to ease his way.

Her eyes widened as her body stretched to accommodate him.

She thought it would hurt. It should hurt. But instead she realized it felt … amazing. He filled her in a way she’d never been filled before. Every incredible inch was a possession. A claiming. A fist of heat pulsing inside her.

Oh God, yes. This was it! This was what she’d been waiting for. Mary couldn’t wait to feel him move, to feel him thrusting inside her. All that lust. All that raw passion she’d witnessed in the barn.

Except he wasn’t doing that at all. He was holding perfectly still—achingly still—staring at her with a look on his face that made her heart tug. It was a strange mix of surprise and confusion. And he seemed to be looking deep into her eyes for the answer.

Something sharp and poignant passed between them. Something beautiful and impossible. Something that had no place in a fantasy of sin.

Instinctively she wanted to turn from it. But she couldn’t seem to break the connection.

Finally, when she thought she couldn’t bear the intensity another moment, he started to move. The first thrust sent a shock wave of sensation exploding up her spine. She gasped at the wonder of it. At the all-encompassing pleasure that swept over her with each exquisite stroke.

He groaned, closing his eyes and tipping back his head as if the pleasure had overwhelmed him as well. “God, you feel good,” he said with another groan, as his hips lifted and sank again, the slow, circular motion reverberating through her.

She gripped him harder, fighting to hold on as wave after powerful wave of sensation threatened to drag her under. She wanted to close her eyes and give over to the pleasure.

But he wouldn’t let her. His gaze held hers in its intimate embrace, not letting go. The intensity of it stole her breath. She felt her heart squeezing.

No! This wasn’t what she wanted. This was all wrong. She didn’t want emotion. Her chest wasn’t supposed to squeeze. It was too intimate. Too gentle. Too sweet.

He was supposed to be a fantasy, but this felt too real, tapping emotions she’d buried long ago.

If only he would stop looking at her.

She had to do something. Focus on something else. She almost wished she was on her hands and knees like the woman in the barn. She wasn’t that bold, but she had another thought and blurted, “Will you take off your tunic?”

Kenneth felt as if he’d entered another world. A world that was entirely new. A world where all his previous experience counted for shite. He was sailing blind and without an anchor. It was unsettling and exhilarating at the same time.

He liked swiving. Liked it a lot. Hell, even when it wasn’t great it was still damned good. And when it was good there was nothing like it.

But this …

This was unlike anything he’d experienced. Something about it resonated. Hell, everything about it resonated. From the moment he’d entered her it had felt different. The pleasure had been acute. The pure mind-numbing bliss of sinking into all that warm, soft flesh and feeling her body grip him like a glove. A very wet, very tight, very hot glove. He’d felt a powerful bolt of sensation right to the tip of his cock.

That he understood. What he didn’t understand was the rest. The fierce, primal wave of possessiveness that made every instinct in his body scream “mine,” followed by the strange feeling of rightness, and an equally fierce wave of protectiveness.

He’d promised her he’d be gentle, and he wanted to be. He wanted to make it good for her.

He’d watched her face as he entered her, saw her cheeks flush, heard the sharp intake of breath as he forged deeper and deeper, filling her.

And when it had happened, when they’d been joined completely …

A fierce wave of emotion had reached up and grabbed him by the throat. He’d never felt lust like that before. Lust that settled in his chest and squeezed.

He should be going fast. The king was waiting for him. But it felt so damned good, he didn’t want it to end. Buried deep inside her, the tight, wet fist of her body gripping him, he thought he just might be content to stay here forever.

He took it slow. Dragging out every last inch of his thrusts, sliding nearly all the way out before sinking into her again. But still it wasn’t deep enough. Wasn’t close enough.

It was bloody strange. He couldn’t seem to stop looking at her. Hell, he couldn’t ever recall holding a woman’s gaze for so long. But with her hair tumbling around her face, her cheeks pink, her lips swollen, her eyes hazy with passion, he couldn’t look away. The lass had come alive in his arms.

Christ, he realized. She’s beautiful.

He seemed to stop breathing. Something hot and tight was lodged in his chest. It made him want to hold her gaze. To cup her cheek in his hand and bring his lips to hers in a soft kiss.

The oddity of his reaction made her request all the more jarring.

He stilled. “What?”

She dropped her gaze from his, biting her lip. A blush rose to her cheeks. “I-I …” She stammered, peeking up at him from under her lashes. “I was just remembering, and thought it would be nice …”

She couldn’t seem to finish.

“You thought it would be nice if I took off my tunic?” he said blandly.

She nodded, clearly mortified. “Aye.”

There was no reason he should be bothered by the request. Perhaps he should even be pleased. Obviously, she’d admired what she’d seen in the barn and wanted to see it again. A woman admiring his body was nothing new. Hell, he wanted her admiration. But something about the request made him feel like a stallion at market, and given his oddly tender feelings of a few moments ago, it stung.

Bloody hell, what was wrong with him? He sounded like a woman, overly sensitive and overanalyzing every little nuance. Why should he care if she wanted to admire his body? Hadn’t he told her the same thing? He wanted to see her naked, and if it wasn’t for the difficulty in redressing her, he would have torn that bloody gown right off her shoulders.

A tunic, however, was easy enough to put back on. And it would be nice to have her hands on him.

With that thought in his mind, he grabbed the hem off his tunic that was already bunched at his waist and jerked it over his head, tossing it to the side. “As you wish, my lady,” he said with a cocky grin.

She gasped, her eyes wide with concern. “You’re hurt!” She reached out as if to touch him, but then pulled back as if she were afraid to cause him pain.

He glanced down at the mottled skin, having forgotten about his injury. The pleasure she was giving him was far better medicine than the vile-tasting brew his sister had made him consume, or the long drink of whisky he’d had a few moments ago.

“It’s nothing.”

She started to argue, but he forced her mind back on what was happening with a little push.

She startled, unthinkingly grabbing for him. Which was exactly what he’d intended. The warm softness of her palms on his skin sent a fresh wave of heat pulsing to his groin. Very nice.

He thrust again. Harder this time. And deeper.

She gripped him harder, her tiny fingers digging into the muscles flaring off the back of his arms.

Aye, that was good. He held himself there, strangely content to just savor the moment of connection. “Any more requests, my lady?” he said huskily, teasingly.

She lifted her gaze from his chest long enough to look into his eyes. He’d meant it as a joke, but she looked oddly serious—worried even. “Faster, please. Just make it faster.”

He frowned. Obviously, the lady wasn’t as content as he was to make it last. He felt a flicker of temper.

His jaw clenched, tightening his mouth. Well, never let it be said he didn’t give the ladies what they wanted.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he instructed. Giving her a long, hot look, he added, “And hold on tight.”

She was in for the ride of her life.

He surged inside her, and she cried out at the possessive force of it. Her eyes shot to his. “Like that, do you?” he taunted.

She nodded dazedly.

A surge of satisfaction shot through his veins. Holding her gaze, he surged again. Over and over. Faster and faster. Giving her exactly what she wanted, the soft echoes of her gasps egging him on.

He groaned as the familiar pressure started to build in his loins and gather at the back of his spine.

Damn, it felt good.

He could feel her heels digging into his buttocks, her hands sliding from his arms to roam wildly over his hot, slickening back. He was working hard and his body was beginning to show it. His muscles were straining, his arms were sore from propping himself up, and his breath was coming fast from the exertion of thrusting and pounding.

It was hot and hard, lust in its most raw and primal form. But it was also something more. Something deeper. Something that stirred him in the darkest reaches of his soul every time he looked into the fathomless blue of her eyes.

Beautiful.

He could feel it coming. Sensation was building to a frantic beat. His body clenched tighter in anticipation. He gritted his teeth against the urge to come, fighting for control.

He didn’t want to do this alone.

He had no reason to hold back. He’d made her come. He’d done his duty. Kept his side of the unspoken bargain in liaisons such as this. He’d give her pleasure and she’d give him pleasure in return.

But nothing about this felt like a duty. Nothing about this felt like his usual liaisons. Something about this felt important, and he knew it wasn’t going to feel right unless they came together.

He didn’t know why—hell, he didn’t even want to think about it—he just knew it was the way it was.

But God, he wanted to come. His arse clenched against the pull of sensation as her body gripped him, milking, fighting to hang on to each hard stroke.

He wasn’t going to have long to wait. Her breath was coming faster now. Harder and more insistent. She was undulating beneath him, arching her back and lifting her hips to meet the frantic rhythm of his thrusts. Her eyes were half-lidded, her lips parted, her head rolling back—

“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice tight with the pressure.

She didn’t want to look. He could see her reluctance as her eyes opened and moved slowly to his. A bolt of shock shot down his spine. Something passed between them. Something hot and intense. Something that sent them both over the edge.

She gasped.

His entire body clenched.

She let out a sharp cry of pleasure that tore through the last strands of his restraint. The pressure he’d been holding in check exploded in a blinding blaze of passion. He couldn’t have pulled out if he’d wanted. He drove hard and deep, as his body broke apart. As the most powerful release he’d ever found shuddered over him in wave after powerful wave.

Jesus.

It was the most intelligent thought he could muster. His mind was gone. All that was left was pleasure. The most incredible pleasure he’d ever experienced.

When the last spasms of release had ebbed from his body, he collapsed on top of her, every muscle, every ounce of his body spent. Even his bones felt like jelly.

After a minute, the heavy sounds of their breathing began to quiet. Realizing he was probably crushing her, he found the strength to roll to the side.

He couldn’t ever remembering feeling so weak. It was a damned good thing the contest wasn’t today. He’d barely be able to stand, let alone defeat whoever would stand against him tomorrow.

He didn’t know quite what to make of what had just happened. He was having a hard time ordering his thoughts. But the lass had surprised him. The sweetness of her passion went far beyond the sensual promise he’d noticed in the barn. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed a liaison more. Hell, he doubted he’d ever enjoyed a liaison more. He frowned, remembering another oddity. Even when he was a lad, he’d always withdrawn before spilling his seed. But he was too bloody sated and contented to give it more than a passing thought. All he knew was that the strange ennui that had been dogging him was apparently gone, and he wasn’t ready to let go of her. Not yet.

What had she done?

Mary’s heart pounded in her chest as she stared at the ceiling. It was made of stone. The small library had been built into the thick walls like the vaulted storerooms below.

But it was gray and colorless, with little to distract her, so her thoughts returned to what had happened. To the cataclysmic event that had devastated her just as harshly and ruthlessly as a raging wildfire, leaving only ashes in its wake. It had been amazing. Wonderful. More beautiful than anything she could have imagined. And that was the problem. How was she ever to put this behind her? How was she to go on with her life in England and forget about the passion she’d found in his arms?

How was she going to forget about him?

He wasn’t supposed to be like this. She’d wanted a too-handsome, too-arrogant man built for sin. She’d wanted lust, nothing more.

He rolled to his side, leaning up on one elbow to look at her. She felt his eyes rake her face and held her breath as his hand reached out and brushed aside a few strands of hair that she hadn’t even noticed were tangled in her lashes. The touch was so intimate—so sweet—her chest squeezed with longing.

His fingers lingered on the side of her face, turning her gaze to his. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, little one?”

The way he was looking at her made her chest ache. She stared up at him wordlessly, not knowing what to say. She felt exposed. Raw. Vulnerable. What had just happened had stripped the last years of hard-wrought independence from her as if it were no more substantial than a thin chemise, revealing the lonely, heartbroken girl underneath who’d so much wanted her husband to love her. And Kenneth Sutherland, the soon-to-be champion, the handsome knight, the hero with an adoring throng of admirers, was cut from the same cloth.

At least she thought he was. Had she been unfair? Was there perhaps more to him than she’d thought?

It surprised her how much she wanted to be wrong.

Her heart slammed against her ribs when he leaned down and kissed her. It was a soft, lazy kiss. A tender kiss. Everything she shouldn’t want, yet craved like a greedy child.

Lifting his mouth from hers, he smiled. “When can I see you again?”

Her heart stopped. One night. “I-I’m leaving soon,” she hedged.

His eyes narrowed. “I hope not too soon. You’ll stay at least until after the Games? My sister is getting married on Saturday. There will be a few days of celebration.”

Did he want her to go to his sister’s wedding? She tried to hold back her racing heart but it was sprinting away from her. “I don’t know.”

“Of course—it depends on Lady Margaret. Would it help if I talked to her for you?” He slid the back of his finger down her cheek, down her throat, and over the firm slope of her breasts, drawing a feathery circle around the tip. “I’m not done with you yet,” he said in that dark, husky voice of his that seeped right through her good sense. “I don’t think I’m going to be done with you for quite a while.”

Her skin prickled. Her nipples beaded. Her breath quickened. Her entire body responded to the sensual promise in his words. Was it just words, or did it mean something? She had to find out. “Lady Margaret told me you are to be betrothed.”

He frowned, as if he were surprised she’d heard about that. “What does that have to do with us?”

She looked away so he wouldn’t see the stone of disappointment he’d just cast carelessly at her heart. He said it with such honest befuddlement she couldn’t even be angry with him. She was angry with herself. “Nothing,” she said softly. “It has nothing to do with us.”

Why should he think there was anything wrong with making love to another woman while his betrothed or his wife waited for him at whatever castle he put her in? There was nothing wrong with it. It was the accepted—expected—thing for noblemen in a political marriage. She was the one who had unrealistic expectations, not he.

One night was all she’d wanted, so why was she disappointed that it was all she was going to have? His response had just ensured it.

“Good,” he said, rolling back over and tucking her against him. She rested her cheek against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart and trying not to cry.

“We should go,” he said, though his voice gave no indication of any hurry. “But I’m just so damned tired. I can’t seem to make myself get up.”

His voice trailed off. She wasn’t surprised when a few minutes later she heard the even sounds of his breathing. He’d drifted off.

Grateful for the reprieve, she was careful not to wake him as she slid away from the warmth of his body, stood, and straightened her clothes. All she could think about was getting out of there. She didn’t want to face him again. Not here, and not at the feast.

This had been a mistake.

Kenneth Sutherland wasn’t like her husband at all. He was far more dangerous. Atholl had never bothered to try to seduce her. Kenneth Sutherland seduced with every long look, every gentle touch, and every heart-pounding kiss.

Would she ever learn?

She needed to leave. Not just this room, but Scotland. Before she forgot how to be content with what she had and yearned for things that would only make her miserable. Again.