Something shifted in his expression, something dangerous and intense. “Is that what ye think?”
“Isnae it true? Ye said yerself that it dinnae matter which sister ye married. That we were interchangeable for yer purposes.”
“Aye, I said that.” He took another step closer, backing her up against the dressing table. “But I was wrong.”
“Wrong about what?”
“Wrong to think it dinnae matter. Wrong to think ye were interchangeable.” His hands came up to brace against the table on either side of her, trapping her between his arms. “Wrong to think I could remain indifferent to whichever woman became me wife.”
Iris’ breath caught in her throat. They were so close now that she could see the shadow of stubble along his jaw, could smell the masculine scent of leather and something uniquely him that always made her pulse quicken.
“I daenae understand,” she whispered.
“Daenae ye?” His voice was rough, intimate. “I never cared which Douglas daughter I married because I thought youwere both just... arrangements. Convenient solutions to me problems.”
“And now?”
“Now, I thank God every day that Lydia ran away.”
The words hit her like a physical blow. “What?”
“I’m glad it was ye, Iris. Glad it was ye who walked into that great hall, absolutely magnificent in yer fury. Glad it was ye who challenged me, who stood up to me, who made me feel things I thought I’d forgotten how to feel.”
“But Lydia is bonnie, bonnier than I am.”
“But likely borin’,” he said flatly. “Bonnie perhaps but borin’. I would have been bored to tears within a week, and she would have been terrified of me within a day.” His thumb traced along her jawline, making her shiver. “But ye... ye’re never borin’, are ye, lass?”
“Elijah...” She didn’t know what to say, how to process what he was telling her.
“Do ye want to ken why I’m glad I married ye instead of yer sister?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
“Because ye have fire. Because ye’re brave enough to get muddy for me son’s happiness. Because ye stand up to me when ye think I’m wrong, even when ye’re terrified.” His other hand came up to cup her face. “Because when ye smile, it lights up everythin’ around ye. And when ye’re angry, ye’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m nae beautiful,” she protested weakly.
“Ye are beautiful, intelligent, brave, perfect.” He kissed her on her forehead, shoulder, and neck “And I’m goin’ to spend the rest of the night provin’ it to ye.”
Before she could ask how, his mouth was on hers. But this kiss was different from the desperate passion at the river. This was slow, deliberate, worshipful. He kissed her like she was precious, like she was something to be treasured rather than conquered.
His other hand slid to her waist, urging her closer until she could feel the hard plane of his chest against her softer curves.
“Elijah,” she whispered when he broke the kiss just long enough for them both to breathe.
“Aye,” he said, his lips curving against her cheek. “Say it again.”
She didn’t get the chance. His mouth had found the tender spot beneath her ear, and when he bit down gently, her breath caught in a sharp, embarrassing sound that made him chuckle low in his throat.
His hands were moving now, sliding over the curve of her hips, along the small of her back, exploring her as though she were something worth studying.
She grabbed fistfuls of his tunic, half from instinct, half because she didn’t trust her balance. When his calloused palm smoothed up over her ribs, his thumb grazing the underside of her breast through the thin fabric of her chemise, she jolted like she’d been struck.
“Elijah.”
“Easy.” His tone was commanding but not unkind, and it made her pulse jump. “Ye’ll tell me to stop if it’s too much.”
Her heart was hammering so loud, she was sure he could hear it, but she didn’t tell him to stop.
