Page 78 of Moon Craving

to deny it, she craved the experience. Of all the scenarios she had entertained in her

worried imaginings before leaving her stepfather's keep, none had included her being

attracted to her Scottish husband. Even in her most closely held dreams, she had not let

herself imagine desiring Talorc, wanting to be claimed by him--much less needing to

claim him, too.

But he was everything desirable.

Each of his muscles was sculpted as if honed by the most talented of artists. And

had they not been? Surely God had given her husband more than his share of masculine

beauty as well as inner power only a select few in history would ever know.

"You are amazing to me," she admitted, not sure her voice was working.

He said something she could not understand.

Fear that she did not want in this place washed over her. "Please. I don't . . ."

Please don't talk. Please don't expose her secret before revealing the full

mysteries of the marriage bed. Could she not have one time of normalcy in her life? One

thing not marred or ruined entirely by her affliction?

"It is Chrechte."

Relief did not cancel out the fear that had become too much a part of her, but it was

still welcome. "I do not understand Chrechte."

"You wouldn't."

"What did you say?"

"I called you an angel."

"An angel?"

"Aye. When Cait and I were children, my mother told us angels were beings with

hair the color of spun gold and beauty to rival our own blessed Highlands."

"You see me that way?"

"'Tis the only way to see you."

"Oh."

"I also said you are mine. My angel."

"Oh." She would not . . . could not . . . deny that.

He lowered her until they were eye level. "Now you say it."