She said nothing for a stretch.
Kieran envisioned it with bright clarity—Eilidh writing at a desk in his captain’s quarters, light from an open porthole kissing the side of her head. He would steal up behind her and place a kiss in that soft hollow where her jaw meets her ear . . .
He clasped his hands behind his back, anything to stop himself from reaching for her.
“And if I don’t want a life at sea?” she finally said. “What then?”
He darted a sideways glance at her. Nothing in her expression tipped her thoughts.
“I willnae sail without ye,” he said. “I couldnae be parted from yourself for months at a time. I love ye too well. My preference is to work as a ship’s captain—with the aim of being able to own my own ship one day. But your happiness is my greatest concern. So if ye dinnae want a life at sea, Andrew has said I could supervise his fleet for him. He has purchased five merchant vessels over the past three years, and he needs a man of affairs to manage them. His business interests are widespread, and he doesnae have time to oversee the lot. Such work would likely be based out of Aberdeen or Edinburgh. We could let an elegant townhouse in whichever place pleases ye best.”
More silence.
Up the beach, a dark patch in the cliff face hinted at the presence of a sea cave.
“It would be a good life,” he continued.
“Aye,” she nodded. “It would be.”
He could practically see the gears working in her brain. He had to point out the obvious.
“Moreover,” he said, “is itsovery different from the life ye envision with Simon?”
“Husbands are hardly like bonnets, Kieran. I am not the sort to decide upon one on a whim.”
“Then why do ye speak about returning to Yorkshire when this business with Cuthie is done? Why are ye discarding me without a test?”
“Excuse me?”
“Have ye kissed Simon?”
“I beg your pardon!” She stopped and pressed a hand to her chest. “That is a most personal question—”
He all but rolled his eyes. “I think we are past the point of niceties, Eilidh. It’s a relevant question—have ye kissed him? Have ye felt that spark of attraction? How can ye contemplate marrying a man if ye havenae kissed him?”
Eilidh froze atKieran’s words.
Part of her wanted to turn right around, march back up the trail, and tuck into the safety of her castle bedchamber.
Anything that permitted her to dissipate the ache that thrummed through her blood.
She had been allowing Kieran into her heart, bit-by-bit, over the past two weeks.
And she had discovered that . . . she liked him.
He awakened a restless hunger within her, an emotion unlike anything she felt around Simon. Whereas Simon was calm and solace and creature comfort, Kieran was . . .
Oof.
Kieran MacTavish was an endless tug and pull on her senses—wild wanting mixed with aggravation and frustration.
But she had to admit, he was more than that, too. He made her long to curl into his side at night, to feel his strong arms banding around her, to hear the soothing rhythm of his breathing.
How can ye contemplate marrying a man if ye havenae kissed him?
Kieran’s words were an echo of Violet’s.
Her pulse was a drum in her ears.
