Page 70 of The Laird's Masked Passion

Elspeth spun around. “Skye!”

Skye’s eyes widened in false innocence. “I asked a simple question.”

“Ye asked an impertinent question.”

“I learned from ye.”

Elspeth pointed at her. “That isnae excuse.”

“It is an excellent one.” Skye set the ribbons aside. “So… Laird Mackenzie?”

“There is nae so.”

“There is always a so when a woman blushes at a dying fire.”

Elspeth folded her arms. “I dinnae blush for him. I become overheated by irritation.”

“Then he must irritate ye greatly.”

Elspeth sat upon the edge of the bed with more force than grace. “He is impossible, rude, arrogant and barbaric. He gives commands as though the world has been waiting breathlessly tae obey him.”

Skye tilted her head. “And?”

“And what?”

“And he is handsome.”

Elspeth opened her mouth. No denial came out.

Skye’s smile softened into something more knowing. “Ah.”

“Dinnae say ah. Ah is worse than accusation.”

“I said very little.”

“Ye said enough.”

For a moment, Elspeth busied herself by picking up a ribbon and tying it into a poor knot. Her fingers felt clumsy. She hated that. She faced down villagers, argued with Colin, held a blade to places no lady should mention, and yet one quiet conversation with Skye made her feel like an ignorant girl again.

“Did he…” Skye hesitated. “Did he frighten ye?”

Elspeth’s hands stilled. The memory of the first night rose, wrapped in laughter, his hand at her cheek, his mouth at her neck and his voice promising that when he took her, she would be willing.

“Nay,” she admitted. “Nay in the way I expected.”

Skye was quiet.

Elspeth stared at the ribbon. “He didnae force me.”

“I am glad.”

“He laughed at the cloth.”

Skye blinked. “The cloth?”

“The one I bit.”

“Oh.” Skye pressed her lips together.