She looked down, eager to see a rush-covered floor firsthand, but was disappointed to discover that the floor was of scrubbed pale-gray stone. There was an abundance of light in the room, and she recognized the “rushlights”—candles of wax and tallow impaled on vertical spikes in an iron candlestick with a tripod base. In the Cincinnati Museum, they’d had two authentic rushlights. Here, many were supported on wall brackets, while others sat on the tables scattered through the hall. Still others were set in iron loops, carried over the arms of servants.
“Your mouth is ajar,” Circenn said beside her ear.
She blinked. “Yours would be too, if you suddenly found yourself in my home.” He would certainly gawk over television, the radio, the Internet.
“Is it to your liking?” he asked stiffly.
“It’s lovely,” she breathed.
He permitted himself a small smile. “Come, they’ve prepared a chamber for you.”
“During the past two minutes?” How efficient was his staff?
“I sent a scouting troop ahead, lass, and since they expect you to be my wife”—he grimaced—“they may have made quite a fuss. Doona mistake that for my doing. I could hardly deny my servants their … enthusiasm. They are likely beside themselves with pleasure that I am handfasted,” he muttered dryly.
Without thinking, she laid a hand on his forearm, plagued by curiosity, her animosity temporarily forgotten. “Why haven’t you wed before now?”
He glanced down at her hand on his arm. His gaze lingered overlong on her fingers. “What? Have you suddenly become interested in me?” he asked, with a mocking lift of a dark brow.
“I suppose when I saw you at Dunnottar, I saw you merely as a warrior, but here I see you—”
“As a man?” he finished for her, in a dangerous tone. “How intriguing,” he murmured. “Foolish, but intriguing.”
“Why is that foolish? You are a man. This is your home,” she said. “Your men give you their trust and loyalty, your servants are pleased to see you return. This is a spacious castle, and you must be at least thirty or thirty-five. How old are you?” Her brow furrowed as she realized that she knew very little about this man.
Circenn regarded her impassively.
Impatiently she barreled on. “Have you never been married? Surely you intend to be someday, don’t you? Don’t you want children? Do you have brothers and sisters, or are you as solitary as you make yourself out to be?”
His eyes narrowed. “Lass, I am weary from the journey. Fabricate your own answers as they may please you. For the now, let me see you to your chamber, so I might get on with my other duties. If you would like to turn your mind to a puzzle, puzzle a way out of a formal wedding in less than three moons.”
“I guess that means you can’t kill me, doesn’t it?” she said, half jesting.
He scowled. “Correct.” Then, close to her ear so no one could overhear, he said, “How could I kill a royal cousin? How could I dispose of you when the Bruce has given you to me in marriage? We’re handfasted now. We’re nearly as good as wed. Killing you now would cause more problems for me than failing to fulfill my vow ever would have.”
“So your oath—”
“Is well and truly broken,” he finished bitterly.
“Is that why you’ve been looking so angry?”
“Stop asking questions!” he thundered.
“Sorry,” Lisa said defensively.
He propelled her up the staircase by her elbow and deposited her at the entrance to her chamber, in the east wing.
“I’ll have hot water sent up so you may refresh yourself. Stay in your room for the duration of the night, lass, or I may have to kill you anyway.”
Lisa shook her head and began to turn toward the door.
“Give me your hands, lass.”
She turned back toward him. “What?”
He extended his hands. “Place your hands in mine.” It was not a request.
Lisa held out her hands warily.
Circenn closed them in his and locked his gaze with hers. He used his body, as was his way—a subtle leaning, a slight shifting, an unspoken dominance—to press her back against the stone wall beside the door, holding her gaze. Fascinated, she couldn’t tear her eyes away him.
When he stretched her hands above her head, she sucked in a worried breath.
He moved so slowly that, lulled by a false sense of security, she didn’t utter a word. Gently, he brushed his lips against hers. It was incredibly intimate, being kissed so slowly and tenderly. Had he kissed her heatedly, it wouldn’t have been nearly as devastating.