Page 71 of The Laird's Masked Desire
Margaret’s shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. He approached the bed and sat down on the edge. The bed dipped slightly beneath his weight.
Margaret watched him with cautious attention.
“Ye may turn around,” she urged.
He raised a brow. “Why?”
“So I may remove me gown.”
“Ah.”
Domhnall rose immediately and turned his back to her without comment. Behind him he heard the quiet rustle of fabric and the soft sounds of hurried movement as she freed herself from the layers of ceremony and expectation that had accompanied the wedding feast.
He was staring at the fire and firmly refused to imagine what she looked like behind him. It required more discipline than he cared to admit.
When her voice finally came again, slightly breathless, it carried a note of reluctant satisfaction.
“Ye may turn back now.”
Domhnall did. Margaret was already beneath the covers, wrapped securely in the blankets like a fortress. He studied the arrangement. She had taken the far side of the bed and pulled the sheets nearly to her chin. Only her eyes and the faint spill of chestnut hair across the pillow were visible.
He climbed onto the mattress and stretched out carefully above the blankets, exactly as she had commanded. There remained nearly an arm’s length between them. Domhnall had measured it deliberately. He suspected Margaret had measured it twice.
The bed creaked softly as she shifted. Then again. Then once more.
He opened one eye. She was staring very intently at the canopy above them as if studying its embroidery might reveal state secrets.
“Margaret.”
“Aye?”
“Are ye attempting tae dig a tunnel through the mattress?”
He could see the corner of her lip dancing into a smile, but she was suppressing it. “I am adjusting.”
“Ye have adjusted six times.”
“It is a very complicated mattress.”
“Aye, I can see that.”
She shifted again. The mattress dipped slightly toward him. Margaret froze. Domhnall did not move. Then, as he was lying uncomfortably, he scooted just an inch toward her side. The mattress dipped the opposite direction.
Margaret cleared her throat. “It slopes.”
“It daes nae,” he almost chuckled.
“It daes.”
“It is a bed, Margaret, nae a hillside.”
“Well,somethingis pulling me toward ye.”
“Aye, that would be a wee thing called yer imagination.”
She turned her head slightly to look at him.
The mattress creaked again, and Margaret froze a second time. Domhnall finally turned his head fully toward her. She shifted again, and this time the mattress dipped sharply. Margaret’s eyes widened as she slid half an inch toward him before catchingherself on the blankets. Domhnall watched the maneuver with growing amusement.
