“Then what?” Tòrr moved to the sideboard, pouring himself a measure of whisky. “Ye think I’ll hand ye back tae him?” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Nay, lass. That door’s shut fer good.”
The thought of her father’s rage still made her stomach clench, she didn’t want to go back to him anyway. She wanted to get to Nessa. To protect her sister before he turned his fury on the only other person she loved.
“Nay, I didnae,” she said quietly, but with steel beneath the word.
"Then we understand each other." He took a long swallow of whisky. "Ye have a reprieve. Use it wisely."
"I want tae return tae me chamber."
"Nay."
"But ye said…"
"I said I wouldnae force intimacy on ye. I didnae say ye could sleep elsewhere." His voice was firm. "We're married. We share quarters. Non-negotiable."
"So I'm tae sleep here? With ye?"
“In the same room, aye. As tae the rest…” He gestured toward the bed, then the chair by the fire. “We’ll work that out.”
“I’m nae sharin’ a bed with ye.”
“I wasnae askin’ ye tae. Yet.” He settled into the chair, stretching his long legs toward the fire. “The bed’s yers fer taenight.”
She folded her arms, suspicion etched on every line of her face. “We’ve shared enough already.”
His mouth curved in a slow, wicked smile. “Aye. A cloak by the fire, if I recall.”
Her cheeks flushed hot. “Aye, and that ended with me tied like a sacrificial lamb.”
“That was different,” he drawled. “Ye were runnin’. I had tae keep ye in one place.”
“That’s yer excuse?”
“It worked, did it nae?” His gaze dragged over her, unhurried and deliberate. “And if I remember right, ye didnae complain about the warmth.”
Her pulse kicked hard in her throat. “That’s because I had nay choice.”
“Mm.” He leaned back, the firelight catching the sharp edge of his jaw. “If I ever tie ye again, lass, I promise it’ll nae be fer keepin’ ye from escapin’.”
Heat shot through her like lightning, shocking her as much as the words themselves. “Ye’re impossible.”
“Aye,” he agreed lightly. “And yet ye’re still standin’ here, arguin’ with me.”
She narrowed her eyes, but exhaustion and the pulse pounding in her ears warred with her indignation. “Fine. The bed’s mine.”
“Fer taenight,” he murmured.
“Fer every night.”
“We’ll see.” He raised his glass in a mock salute. “Sweet dreams, wife.”
“Dinnae call me that.”
“It’s what ye are.”
“Nae by choice.”
“Nay,” he agreed quietly, the teasing fading just enough to let the weight of the words settle. “But by law. And that counts fer more than choice in this world.”
