Page 32 of The Laird's Masked Passion

“They will wonder what sort of woman lets herself be bought.”

Colin turned then, not fully, only enough that his profile cut hard against the firelight.

“Nay,” he disagreed.

The quiet force of it stopped her.

“If any man or woman in me hall speaks of ye that way, they will answer tae me.”

Elspeth’s throat tightened, which angered her because she did not want his protection to matter.

“I can answer fer meself.”

“I ken.”

The simplicity of that reply unsettled her more than any argument. For a moment, steam drifted between them. The fire cracked. Water cooled slowly around her, and every inch of her skin seemed awake beneath it.

Then Colin faced the door again. “Skye will return shortly. Wear something fit fer the hall.”

“I shall wear armor.”

“Wise.”

“And carry a slipper.”

“Terrifying.”

Despite herself, her mouth nearly betrayed her. She pressed it flat.

“Colin.”

He paused with his hand on the latch.

“Next time ye enter without knocking, I shall aim fer something more precious than yer head.”

He stilled. Then he opened the door.

“I will consider meself warned.”

He left, and the chamber seemed at once larger and far too empty. Elspeth remained in the bath, with her heart beating much too quickly, her cheeks still hot, and her hands still crossed over herself though no one now stood watching.

The slipper lay by the door. The soap had died nobly near the wall. And Elspeth, who had survived men with swords, a forced wedding, and a night in the woods, discovered that her greatest danger might yet be a husband who knew when to laugh, when to leave, and when not to touch her at all.

CHAPTER NINE

Elspeth once believed that a dinner was among the safer trials a woman might endure. One was seated. One was fed. One spoke only when occasion required it, smiled when watched, and trusted that linen, candlelight, and roast meat might persuade civilization to remain in the room. The MacKenzies, she discovered within three minutes of entering their hall, made no such agreement.

The hall was long and high, with dark beams overhead, weapons upon the walls, and fires burning at either end. Smoke curled upward into the rafters. The air smelled of venison, ale, peat, wet wool, and too many people attempting not to stare. Unfortunately, Highland restraint proved no more reliable than Highland roads. Every head turned when Colin brought her through the great doors.

Elspeth felt the weight of it settle upon her shoulders more heavily than any cloak. Men stopped speaking. Women leaned toward one another. A servant carrying a platter slowed so much that the gravy nearly escaped its dish. Somewhere near the lower tables, someone whispered, and though Elspeth could not hear the words, she did not require imagination to supply them.

The bought bride.

The Fraser lass.

Beside her, Colin did not slow. His hand rested at the small of her back. Her body knew exactly where his palm hovered. It remembered the bath, the loch, the horse. It remembered being caught, held, shielded, and watched.

Her pride found all such memories impertinent and ordered them dismissed. Needless to say, they did not obey.