Page 20 of A Virgin for the Icy Laird
The villagers were to see them together, and if rumors of their engagement could spread, he would have nothing to worry about from the council.
Adair had been watching the villagers, making sure the whispers were spreading.
Emily’s tight grip had startled him at first, but then it evoked an emotion he could not name, like how a current carried a boat to its destination, or paraded a buoy through a fog that could only be cleared by sunlight. The warmth of her palms seeped into him, almost searing.
He watched her transfixed, unable to understand how a woman could stir such heat inside him.
Since he had met her, he had felt a pull, a sensation that made his blood simmer. These sensations were commonly linked to attraction. And as much as he tried to ignore it, the more time he spent in her presence, the more he burned with hunger for her. But he did not allow himself to dwell on it for too long.
He slid his arm beneath hers, ignoring the ringing in his ears that had turned into a thundering. But she only squeezed harder, as if jostled by the motion.
“I daenae do well in crowds.”
Her words echoed in his head, filling him with guilt. It was his responsibility to soothe her.
He cupped her fingers gently. “Emily.”
She jumped and looked at him as though she could see right through him. That look would have struck anyone with horror.
He leaned in, and she didn’t pull away. It was only right to capture her full attention. The closer he was, the less she had to look at; therefore, the less to fear.
Gradually, she grew steady. Tension left her fingers, and her grip loosened.
“I am here for ye,” he whispered.
Emily’s throat bobbed. She looked confused at first, as if she had been separated from her body for the last few seconds. When she looked down and realized she was gripping him, she jumped away.
Adair was not sure whether to apologize or not. He did not spend his days with women of her temperament.
He took her hand, as it was the acceptable thing to do. Her expression when he touched her stunned him. She looked about ready to rip his arm from its socket.
“We’ve attracted attention.” He tried not to look at the crowd as he spoke. “We should keep up the charade.”
Emily seemed to have more to say, but she sucked in her lip. Wordlessly, he put her hand on his arm, and they braved the crowd.
Up until then, they’d not interacted with anyone, and he thought it the perfect time to start. He gave her time to steady her breathing. She needed it, seeing the quick rise and fall of her chest.
He stopped in front of a stall whose owner he recognized. Some days ago, he had urged Callum to buy a gift for his betrothed from that very stall. They exchanged pleasantries, and the owner coyly enquired about his engagement, which he affirmed.
Emily had slunk away whilst he received congratulations on their impending nuptials and stopped in front of a small chest filled with combs. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she stared at them intently. Too transfixed, she did not notice him until he touched her shoulder.
“Would ye like one?”
She gave an innocent, modest smile. “I shouldnae,” she answered.
He frowned. Why couldn’t she accept that as his betrothed, she could do anything she damn well pleased?
“I insist.”
When she did not budge, he reached into the chest. As he rummaged through it, he could not help but feel that he had to find the right one, that he had to impress her. So when her eyes lit up as he placed a bluebell-crested comb in her palm, he felt a sense of pride.
Hesitantly, her fingers wrapped around it. She looked at him as though she expected him to wrench the thing out of her hand, but he was already paying the stall owner.
“Ye should wear it.”
Her hand hovered atop her pocket flap. “I will.”
She didn’t make a move to. Instead, she slipped the comb into her pocket and patted it, as if assuring herself of its safety.
