When a Scot Ties the Knot
Page 21Squeezing her eyes shut, she tossed her head back and tipped the flask, sending a bolt of liquid fire down her throat. Coughing, she handed it back.
“If the deed’s done right,” he said, “there willna be any need for any creams or salves.” His hand encircled her calf through the bed linens. “And I mean to do this right. You’ll enjoy it.”
She swallowed hard. “Oh.”
“Even so, it’s likely to pinch a bit when I—”
“Right.”
“But it will be quick from there, much as it pains my pride to say it. That’s the usual way when a man’s gone without company for a time.”
Without the candles, the firelight cast him in murky silhouette.
She would have felt better if she could see him plain. No doubt he’d intended the darkness to be comforting, but Maddie was used to looking at natural creatures in an unfiltered, direct way. Observing where their pieces joined, learning how they moved and worked. Perhaps if she’d been given the same chance to survey his body—even a furtive glimpse or two as he’d undressed—her racing pulse would have calmed.
But it was too late now. The candles were out. And even if they could be relit, she didn’t know to ask for such a thing.
“Don’t be afraid.” His hand drifted down her body, blazing a path of unprecedented sensation. “I know you’ve wondered about this. How a man fits with a woman. How it feels to be joined. I can show you everything. I’ll make it good. Verra good.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she said.
“You can. There’s nothing easier. If this were difficult, humanity would have died out long ago.”
“I think you underestimate my capacity for taking normal human interaction and making it awkward.”
She inched away, putting space between them.
“Try to understand,” she said. “You’ve been reading my letters for years. You know so much about me, and I don’t have even the slightest understanding of you. Where you come from, how you’ve lived your life . . . to me, you’re little more than a stranger.”
“I’m your husband now.”
“Yes, but we’ve no history together. No shared memories.”
“Such as . . . ?”
He shrugged. “Remember when we first met and you fell on your arse? Remember when we strolled beside the water and spoke of marriage? Remember the time I kissed you so hard, you felt it in your toes?”
“No,” she replied defensively. “I only felt it so far as my ankles.”
He gripped her waist. “Well, then. I’ll have to try harder this time.”
He leaned in.
She put her hand on his chest, holding him back. “Can’t we get to know each other first?”
“I dinna see any purpose to further chatter,” he said. “We agreed this is an arrangement, not a romance.”
“That’s just it, you see. I don’t want a romance. I don’t want to pretend. But when I close my eyes, it’s not you touching me. It’s some fictional Captain MacKenzie of my own creation. I’m liable to make too much of this. I don’t think you want a silly, clinging wife making demands on your affections.”
“It’s like you told me. Love is a lie people tell themselves,” she went on. “If that’s the case, actual knowledge should be the best antidote. Once I get to know you better, I should have no difficulty finding reasons to despise you.”
“Is shameless blackmail not enough?”
“I would have thought it would be. But then you told me about your men’s dire circumstances. I saw how loyal you are to them. It all became too sympathetic. I need a new reason to dislike you.” She crossed her legs. “Let’s begin with the basics. Where were you born?”
“Over toward Lochcarron on the western coast.”
A sudden thought occurred to her. “Do you have any family?”
“None.”
“Oh. That’s good. I mean, it’s not good. It’s terrible for you, and entirely too sympathetic. But it’s convenient for our purposes. It matches the lies I told.” She bit her lip, cringing. “I can be a bit absorbed in my own problems at times. It’s one of my worst failings. But you knew that already.”