“You prefer the quiet of the Hebrides?” Abigail realized she genuinely wanted to know.
“Always, my lady. I miss the ruggedness of our landscape, the freshness of our air, the birdsong. Even the smell of fish! It’s better than what I can smell from the town.”
Abigail chuckled as she nodded her head. “I have missed that too. They say Stirling straddles the divide between the Highlands and the Lowlands, but with so many Lowlanders at court, it never feels much like the Highlands. The year I spent on the main—” Abigail snapped her mouth shut. She swallowed as she realized she would have to tell Ronan about her past.This may vera well be over before it begins. He doesnae strike me as the type who wants another mon’s leftovers. He will want a maiden bride, nae one who was returned like a bad penny.
“Lady Abigail,” Ronan whispered as his eyes darted to the guards. He gestured for her to stand alongside him as they peered into the fire. “I ken aboot your handfast. I don’t ken too many details, but I ken Laird Chisholm was dishonorable in his intent and that he didn’t treat you properly.” Ronan turned his head toward Abigail and waited for her to look at him. “I ken you’re not a maiden. That doesn’t matter to me.”
“Why not?” Abigail blurted.
“I don’t see it as much different from you being a widow. Your first husband is gone and won’t come back.”
“My first husband,” Abigail mused. “You seem certain there will be at least another one.”
“I hope it’ll be me,” Ronan smiled. “Abigail, you are your own person. One I’m drawn to. But I will never keep you prisoner in your home. I will never treat you like a possession to be coveted, then returned. I ken the law says a woman becomes a mon’s possession like chattel, but I like my horse, and I can bed a tavern wench.”
Abigail spluttered as she laughed. “I don’t even know what to say aboot that. But you are so serious, and your comparison is so blunt. I can’t help but be amused. I’m sorry. I ken I shouldn’t laugh, but please know it’s your turn of phrase and not you that I’m laughing at.”
“I’m trying to say that your lack of virginity is unimportant to me. We both made choices before we met each other. To be honest, whether you lost your maidenhead to a previous husband or a lover, I don’t care. I will pledge fidelity to you, and I expect the same in return. If you can live with that, then your past is your business.” Ronan waited for her to respond.
“I’ve never, ever—ever—heard a mon say that, especially not a laird.”
“I think people put far too much store in believing women should be virgins on their wedding nights while men should bed every whore in sight before his,” Ronan replied. Abigail stared at him as if he were an aberration. He supposed he was.
“I—thank you, Laird. I confess that puts me at ease. I wish that I could undo that year of my life, but I can’t.”
“You don’t sound bitter or mournful. Perhaps regretful. Do you think you came out a better person for it? Even if it was dreadful?” Ronan asked.
“Aye.” It was Abigail’s turn to be brusque. “I learned much, and I believe I am better for it.” She didn’t want to delve deeper than that, so it relieved her to see Ronan nod his head.
“I hope worrying aboot finding a mon who will accept you is no longer part of why you wish you hadn’t handfasted,” Ronan’s voice once again softened.
“It isn’t anymore,” Abigail smiled. A bell ringing in the distance signaled the evening meal was about to begin. “I don’t know that we came to any conclusion, my laird.”
“We didn’t,” Ronan shook his head ruefully. “May I ask that you to allow me time with you until you are ready to leave? Then, if you’re willing, my men and I will travel with you. We’re headed in the same direction, and with the weather likely to change at any moment, it would provide better protection to us all to travel in a larger group.”
“If you are returning to Skye and intend to remain there, then it should be possible for us to see one another before Epiphany.”
“I would like that very much, my lady,” Ronan smiled and dipped his head to her. He gestured toward the door and offered her his arm. He guided them to the door that led toward the passageway rather than directly to the Great Hall. “I will wait until you are inside before I enter,” Ronan explained.
Abigail nodded, but she felt disappointed that Ronan didn’t want to escort her into the evening meal. If they were to court, people would see them walking and talking together. She wondered why he was unwilling to be seen with her.Perhaps he is too shy. But can he nae be brave just this once? Abigail! He’s clearly a warrior. Ye shouldnae doubt his bravery. That wasna right. But what is it, if nae cowardice? Does he fear ruining ma reputation? He’s the one who wanted to court me.She cast her eyes up at Ronan and found him watching her.
“I don’t like crowds,” Ronan stated.
“A widow here doesn’t like them either. She says she feels the walls closing in. It makes her heart race, and she fears swooning,” Abigail offered. She hoped to reassure him, but when Ronan’s gazed hardened and his mouth pressed into a fine line, she realized she’d misread his meaning. And she realized she’d just compared him to a fainting woman. She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut.
“I don’t fear crowds. I dislike them,” Ronan clarified. “I dislike coming up with things to say. I find it tiring having to think aboot every word that comes out of my mouth to ensure I represent my clan as a laird should. And I’m not particularly interested in most of what people have to say. At least not what these people at court have to say. I find it awkward and tedious if you must know. You need not fear I will collapse, my lady.”
“Ronan,” Abigail stopped and turned toward him, then realized she’d addressed him by his given name. Her cheeks radiated heat, and she feared they would set her collar ablaze. “I beg your pardon, Laird MacKinnon. It seems it is I who should think aboot every word that comes out of my mouth.”
“I prefer Ronan,” he stated. Abigail waited for him to say more, but there was nothing forthcoming. Once again, it was as though he had no more words left to spare. She studied his eyes, and he didn’t appear to retreat. He just had nothing more to say.
“I prefer Abigail,” she replied. They stood gazing at one another. As the seconds drew into minutes, neither was ready to step away. Abigail found herself leaning in, wishing Ronan might kiss her. With such slowness that Abigail wanted to grab his hand and hurry him along, Ronan brought his palm to Abigail’s cheek. She turned her face into it, feeling the rough skin. It was the hand of a man who spent his life swinging a sword. There was nothing cowardly about its feel. She tilted her head back in invitation, and she waited to see if he would accept.
Ronan watched as Abigail’s eyes grew heavy lidded, and her lips parted. He understood what she wanted, what she offered, and it tempted him. But uncertainty warred within him.
I ken she wants me to kiss her. And ma bollocks are screaming for me to do it and far more. But what happens when she realizes I dinna ken what I’m doing? What if she laughs at me? What if she rejects me and thinks I amnae mon enough for her? But isnae it better she learns now than after I court her? If I’m going to disappoint her, I may as well do it now.
Ronan rested his other hand tentatively on Abigail’s waist as he lowered his mouth to hers. His lips brushed hers, and she opened for him. He understood what that meant, but he didn’t know what to do. Her soft breath whispered across his mouth, and he brought their lips together. He was hesitant at first, unsure how to take the lead, but not wanting her to give up on him and pull away. As their mouths fit together, Ronan eased his tongue past her lips. He wanted to groan as lust spiked through him. The feel of his tongue sweeping across the satiny recesses of Abigail’s mouth made him want to devour her. When she stepped closer, Ronan’s arm pulled her against him of its own volition. But his worry eased when she snaked her arms around his neck and turned her head to offer him more.
