Page 36 of The Laird's Masked Desire
She touched her face at once. “That is hardly fair. I have endured a betrothal, a river and a Council in the same day.”
“Aye,” he said amusedly. “And yet the wine survives ye.”
She laughed softly, surprised by the sound of it. “Perhaps the wine should be concerned.”
His mouth curved faintly. “I suspect it already is.”
She tilted her head, meeting his gaze. “Ye seem quite content tae observe me shortcomings this evening.”
“Nae shortcomings,” he corrected. “Developments.”
Her lips pressed together as she fought another smile. “Ye make it sound ominous.”
“It is,” he murmured, lowering his voice. “Ye are becoming comfortable, me lady.”
She glanced around the table, while the men were speaking, but also listening and watching. Then, her gaze returned to him. “Is that dangerous?”
“Fer ye?” he asked.
“And fer ye,” she countered.
He studied her for a moment, as though weighing the answer. “Fer me,” he said at last, “it may be.”
The admission startled her more than she expected. The banter lingered between them, light but charged, and Margaret felt the warmth of the wine give way to an awareness of him that was no longer simply gratitude or admiration.
She lifted her cup again, her eyes never leaving his. “Then perhaps ye should stop teasing me.”
He leaned a fraction closer. “And deprive meself of the pleasure?”
She shook her head, laughing quietly. “Ye are truly incorrigible.”
He inclined his head, looking like an unapologetically mischievous boy. “I have been called worse.”
Shortly after, dinner ended with the quiet ritual of chairs being pushed back and cups set aside, the Council dispersing in low-voiced pairs. Margaret rose with the others, feeling how fatigue pressed in at the edges now that the strain of being watched had eased.
Domhnall did not let her walk alone. He offered his arm and guided her from the great hall into the dimmer corridors beyond. Torchlight flickered against stone as they walked, while their footsteps echoed in a rhythm that felt suddenly intimate after the noise of the hall.
Neither of them spoke at first.
She became aware of how close he was again, of the steady warmth of him at her side. And that warmth had nothing to do with the wine. When they reached the landing outside her chamber, she noticed another door directly beside it.
She looked at it, then back at him. “Ye’re sleeping there.”
“Aye,” he said. “Fer now.”
“Fer safety,” she guessed.
“Fer many things,” he replied.
They stopped before her door. The quiet there was deeper as the world narrowed to stone, shadow, and the two of them standing far closer than propriety strictly required.
She hesitated, then spoke, the question slipping out before she could reconsider. “Ye spoke earlier of a… white marriage.”
He did not look away. “I did.”
“Is that what ye want?” she asked, then hastily clarified. “In general, I mean… in life.”
Domhnall considered her for a long moment. “I want what causes the least harm tae ye, tae me and tae the people who would pay fer it if we pretended this was something it isnae.”
