Iain took a bite of the bread. “It is very good bread, Fenella. Thank ye.”
Fenella gave some to Abigail and called to the child. “Blair, leave the horses alone and come and eat.”
The child gave one of the horses a handful of grass, and answered, “Yes, Nanna.”
Once they’d eaten and the camp readied to settle in for the night, Abigail gazed into the fire, appearing to be lost in thought.
Iain plonked down beside her with a grunt. “Sleep, Wife.”
She jumped, startled. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
He raised an eyebrow. With his injury, he could not sitdown without making a sound. “What were ye thinking aboot?”
“Home.”
He regarded her profile. The light from the fire cast orange hues over her skin. Shapely brow, a downcast eye, delicate but straight nose, lips so full, they seemed constantly ready to be kissed. He pulled another blanket over his back and hers. She turned to him, her expression one of confusion.
He bent close to her ear. “We are man and wife to these people. Would it not look strange if we didnae share a bed?”
She stiffened and stared at him, the fire’s light catching her hair so that the red in it blazed as hot as the flames. The light flicking on her flawless skin cast an ethereal glow about her.
How he would love to push his face into that hair, graze his lips along her bonny dimpled chin, to smell her, taste her. And once again, guilt filled him. He had to stop thinking along those lines. He was to be married.
“Good grief,” she murmured with a shake of her beautiful head. “Fine, but keep your distance.”
Iain grinned. “Tell me more of yer homeland. Is there no one who has yer heart?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. There’s no one. But that doesn’t mean I’m available. I’m pretty choosy about my sleeping partners.”
Why a shot of joy ran through him at her confession, he didn’t know, because her face screamed sadness at the admission. He frowned. She had said her sleepingpartners. Had she had men in her blankets before?
She shivered.
“Ye cold?” He put his arm around her. She tried to shrug it off, but his fingers tightened around her opposite arm. “Dinnae fight me, Wife.” He leaned in close for her earsalone. “We’re supposed to be married. Or have ye already forgotten?”
“These people might think we’re married, but you and I both know we’re not,” she whispered. “So, keep your hands to yourself, bozo.”
“Bozo? What is this bozo?”
Her lips twitched as if she were trying not to laugh. “You.”
“I dinnae know what the word means, but I have the impression ’tis an insult.”
“You’re quick.”
Iain winced at her sarcasm. His angel sometimes acted like a witch.
She huffed and sank low, but a moment later, she tilted her head and the light of the fire shone in her eyes. “Haven’t you got some sweet girl waiting for you?”
He looked down at his hands. For some reason, he didn’t want to tell her about Fiona. It wasn’t as if they were formally engaged. Laird MacKinnon had only broached the subject with Iain before he’d left for the war. Iain had said he’d think about it but could see no reason why he and Fiona couldn’t be married.
He glanced at Abigail. There was no reason even now to change his mind. However, there was also no reason to mention his possible future engagement. Maeve came to his mind. “I do.”
She tensed and tried again to move away. He held her tight.
“If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with, is that it?”
“My sister awaits my return.”
