“Stop what,” she whispered.
“Fidgeting.”
“I am nae fidgeting,” she lied. “I am trying to find a place for me elbow.”
“It has had the same arm attached to it all yer life,” he replied. “Surely ye have worked that out by now.”
A spark of temper leapt up, welcome and familiar. “I am trying nae to break one of yer precious rules.”
There was a pause. “What.”
She rolled onto her back in a burst of exasperation, then immediately regretted it when her shoulder bumped his. Heat rushed over her skin. She kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling beams.
“Yer second rule,” she said. “Nay careless approach unless the roof is burning or the world is ending.”
“That is nae what I said,” he muttered.
“It is near enough,” she insisted. “I am trying to lie still and nae touch ye without cause. It is proving difficult, considering the size of this bed.”
She knew she sounded bratty. The long day, the rushed vows, the ride, and now the weight of him beside her, all pushed at the edges of her composure. Sharp words were easier than letting the panic show.
He made a sound that might have been a muffled laugh. “The rule was nae meant for beds.”
“It is where I find meself now,” she said tartly. “With yer shoulder in the way of me honor.”
“Me shoulder has little to do with yer honor,” he said.
“It has everything to do with it if it muddles me thoughts,” she muttered.
He shifted, turning half onto his back. The movement brought him closer instead of farther. She felt the warmth of his side through the blankets, solid and unyielding.
“Ye are right,” he said.
She blinked. “I am?”
“Aye,” he said. “The bed is too small, and I did nae think of it when I set that rule. Yer nearness is nae careless tonight. Ye have nowhere else to be.”
Nearness. The word made her pulse jump.
“So ye admit yer rule is foolish,” she said, because if she did not make light of it, she would have to acknowledge how close his arm lay to hers.
“I admit it needs exception,” he replied.
“Beds,” she said.
“And perhaps doorways,” he allowed. “Halls. Kitchens. Any place where the world is nae ending and yet ye still manage to find me.”
“That is most places.”
She risked a sidelong glance. Firelight drew strong lines along his jaw, across his cheek, over the pale scar that cut through his brow. His hand rested on his chest, fingers curled as if he were holding himself still by force.
“I was nae trying to bother ye,” she said, quieter now. “With the questions earlier.”
“I ken,” he answered. “Ye were trying nae to think too hard about the fact that ye married a stranger and left the only home ye have ever kenned.”
Her chest tightened. “I said I would nae ask about yer past. I said nothin’ about mine.”
“Fair,” he said.
