She sat upon a low tree stump carved as a stool and turned her back to him. There was no need to look. Already she knew he would have powerful thighs, molded with tight muscles. As for the rest of him . . . she supposed her imagination would not do him justice. The thought burned her cheeks with embarrassment and a slight touch of anticipation.
The straw pallet crackled beneath his weight. Isabel cupped her face in her hands. So long ago, he’d said that he wouldn’t bed her. And he’d kept his word.
Though she hadn’t questioned it at the time, she knew it was expected that she bear him a child. And he didn’t seem to be impervious to her anymore. He’d responded to her impulsive kiss in the boat, offering her a glimpse of the dark pleasure awaiting both of them. The hunger within him had sent her senses into disarray.
But then he’d broken away, preferring to walk through frigid water than spend another moment with her. She had wanted to die of embarrassment, even as she desired him.
Now, she wondered if she’d misunderstood his rejection. He wanted her to stay away, claiming that he had his limits. Was it because he wanted her? Was he keeping his distance out of misguided honor? She didn’t understand his reasons for keeping her a virgin.
The unbearable loneliness weighed down until she craved human companionship. Behind her was her naked husband, awaiting her in their bed. Her gown felt heavy, the rough fabric coarse against her skin. Beneath it she’d continued to wear her shift, though the women here wore no such garment.
Did she dare offer herself to him? Or would he turn her away once more? She reached for the horn of mead and took a long drink to fortify her courage. Saints, but she hungered for his touch. It was strange to feel these longings for the man she’d once feared. She rose to her feet and turned to Patrick. His naked back faced her, his lower half obscured by a woolen blanket.
He’d kept his vow, not to touch her. She knew it was because of who she was. But was he beginning to change his mind? After their water fight and the chess game, he didn’t seem to hate her.
Why, then, did he continue to push her away? If she came to him as a wife, offering herself, would he surrender to what they both wanted?
She prayed for courage, for alone she could never do this. Her father’s bargain would be completed, once Patrick took her virginity. And no longer did she fear her husband.
Without speaking a word, she raised the gown above her head and dropped the garment upon the floor. He didn’t see her, still facing away.
Barefoot, she walked towards the pallet. Her nipples rubbed against the linen shift, rising with a need she couldn’t describe. She breathed deeply, then removed her shift so she stood naked before him. “Patrick?”
“What is it?” He rolled over, and when he saw her, his eyes deepened with hunger. Isabel knelt upon the pallet, touching his black hair. His gray eyes held hints of blue, traces of green.
He captured her wrist, trapping it upon his face. Dark bristles of his unshaved beard abraded her palm. “What are you doing, Isabel?” His mouth moved against her pulse as he spoke.
“In a few weeks, my father will demand proof that I am no longer a virgin.” Goose flesh rose upon her skin beneath his hot gaze. “I’d rather finish our agreement now.”
He never took his gaze from her bare skin, though he did not touch her. A muscle tightened in his cheek, as though he were trying to curb his needs. “You don’t want this, Isabel,” he said in a low voice. “And neither do I.”
She didn’t know what to say. Humiliation stung her feelings, and she rapidly donned her shift. Hot tears gathered, but by God, she would not weep before him. She had mistakenly let herself be blinded by the kiss earlier.
She was stupid to think that he would change his mind. Like as not, he did not find her appealing. Damn him for it.
“Isabel,” he said, his voice rough with sympathy.
“No. Don’t say it.” She put on the hideous gown and sat as far away from him as she could. Anger and mortification slashed her self-worth. Twice she’d lowered herself this night.
She wanted to ball herself up on the floor and weep bitter tears. By the bones of Saint Peter, if he did not want her, so be it.
She heard him getting dressed but did not turn around. Moments later, she sensed him standing behind her. Then a warm hand cupped her jaw.
Isabel shoved him away. “Leave me alone. You made it quite clear that you do not want me.”
Patrick did not refute her words. His silence cut her confidence into shreds. “It is better this way,a chara. Trust me.”
“Go back to your fortress,” she said stonily. “I’ve no wish to set eyes on you again.”
Atdawn,SirAnselmwaited atop his horse, watching the young woman from the shield of trees by the cliffs. Sosanna, they’d called her. He’d seen her out walking last night but she’d returned home within an hour.
Now she had left her home once again. He didn’t know what had brought her out this far alone, but it did not bode well. His instincts warned him to keep a close watch over her.
He’d seen the frustration and worry upon the Irishman’s face. Though he was gladdened to see Ruarc punished, Anselm wanted the man whipped for his disobedience. More than one of his soldiers had grumbled about Ruarc’s fighting.
And yet, Anselm recognized the tribesman’s fear for his sister. It was why he’d followed the woman a second time. For he sensed what she was about to do.
He dismounted and strode toward her. She stood near the edge of a ragged granite outcropping, staring down at the frothy black waves below.
