“Are you offering, Laurie? Because I won’t turn you down.” Brodie snapped his mouth shut, not having intended to admit such.
“I suppose you assume every woman who kisses you intends upon falling into bed with you. Arrogant mon.” Laurel reached for her sewing and sat down once more. Brodie remained glowering at her. “You may remain there until you become part of the furniture if you wish, but it won’t change aught.”
“If I am but a piece of furniture, then perhaps you should sit on me,” Brodie taunted, his smirk and cocked eyebrow confirmed the innuendo.
“I can think of more comfortable places upon which to rest my arse,” Laurel didn’t shift her attention from her embroidery. “And you hardly look up to the task.”
“I assure you I am vera much up to the task.”
“So you say. Furniture is meant to carry weight, so must you.”
“Women are meant to carry, so must you.”
Laurel’s laugh was hollow. “Not by you, if that’s what you mean.”
“Since I will be your husband, there is no one else I could mean.” Brodie crossed his bulging arms over his expansive chest, continuing to glower at Laurel. If he’d thought his expression would change her mind, he’d foolishly underestimated her mettle. But he didn’t miss the lust that returned to her eyes when she glanced up and noticed his taut muscles bunching beneath his leine. He reached out a gentle hand to her, his fingers resting on her pulse point and his thumb settling into the hollow at the base of her neck. When Laurel’s eyes met his and she set aside her embroidery, he pulled lightly with his fingers. She rose and stepped toward him. “I tire of arguing with you, Laurie. I never wanted to in the first place. I enjoy the banter, but not when we are at odds with one another.”
“You’ve known me a sennight. Why does it matter? Why do you bother if not for the bet or your pride?”
“I took your memory to be better than that,” Brodie softened his tone. “Can you have already forgotten what I said in the stairwell?”
“But why do you think you understand me?”
“Because I do.” There was no arrogance in his tone. It was merely matter of fact.
“Then how do you understand me?” Laurel pressed.
“Because in each situation, you say just what I would have. Why do you think our rapport is so easy? How it came to us so smoothly?”
“We are rather alike. I can usually anticipate how others will respond because they are predictable. You are hardly that. However, our minds run along the same path, and I’m unaccustomed to it. It’s a wee disconcerting.” Laurel grinned. The light-hearted expression lit up her face, and Brodie found himself dazzled. She lifted her chin, and he accepted the offer, pressing a soft kiss to her pliant lips. Unlike the previous two, there was no frenzy in this one. Passion, yes, but affection too.
The episode was brief—and over before Laurel wanted—but church bells chiming interrupted the moment. Laurel bit her bottom lip as she gazed up at Brodie, unsure of what would come next. She hadn’t lied when she said she appreciated her freedom, and she hadn’t lied when she said she intended to find a cottage where she could make a life on her own. Her budding interest in Brodie warred with her ever-long wish to escape. She wondered if Brodie was her means of escape. But she feared she would only place herself in another cage, one where she was locked with someone else. She didn’t know if there was any that could accommodate them both.
“Laurie, you’re still thinking aboot striking out on your own,” Brodie whispered. “I see the doubt and the contemplation in your eyes. You have to know that would never be possible, if for no other reason than you’re a laird’s daughter.”
“Soon to be disowned,” Laurel corrected.
“Soon to wed,” Brodie challenged.
“I doubt you are as certain aboot marrying me as I am aboot my freedom. You have not spent years wishing for me as I have spent wishing to be on my own.”
“Would that our world worked that way, one where a woman can determine her future for herself. But that is not where we are.” Brodie shook his head. “Hear me out, please. I don’t doubt that you could keep hearth and home within a cottage or that you would work to earn your keep. But you would never to be safe.”
“I would if people thought I was a widow,” Laurel countered. “And you’ve met me. No mon but you has braved my temper.”
“And many men wouldn’t care what your temper is while they’ve got you pinned on you back or over a table.”
Laurel’s eyes narrowed at Brodie’s warning. She would never admit out loud that what he said was her singular fear about striking out on her own. “I will note your concern and ensure I am tucked away in my cottage before nightfall.”
Brodie’s chin jerked forward before he glanced at the bed and then out Laurel’s window. “You think a mon would only force you when it’s dark? Laurel, it’s not even mid-morn, and I was ready to have you against the wall or toss you on that bed. Daylight or dark, morn or eve. People couple at all hours of the day and night. It would take but one mon dragging you behind a building or into a copse of trees.”
“Why do you care? I wouldn’t be a noose around your neck.”
“Because it would break you, Laurie. You might survive an attack. You might go on living your life. But it would break your spirit. You wish for control over your life, and that is the one thing they would take from you,” Brodie explained.
“You underestimate me,” Laurel hissed, her arms crossed. But Brodie saw what the movement was. She hugged herself as if to ward away the threat he described.
“No, I don’t by a long shot. But I would hate to think of the fire dimming from your eyes. That someone took that from you,” Brodie said as he brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek. He saw how her blink lasted a moment too long, knew that she savored his touch. He eased his other hand to her waist but did nothing else.
