“I ran away before. I could do it again.”
She could. Shewouldif she needed to. If Fergus would not give her what she needed, she would find it elsewhere.
Fergus took a couple of steps toward her, most likely expecting her to back away.
She did not. She stood her ground even though her heart was flipping around in her chest.
“Aye? Is that so?” Fergus murmured.
Jeane felt like she might be trembling all over. She hated to ask for this particular favor, or condition, rather. She did not truly want to ask him what she was about to ask, but she felt she had no choice.
“Aye,” she said firmly, not hesitating.
“Then what is yer condition, Jeane?”
Fergus seemed bemused instead of angry, his half-smirk infuriating her, but his closeness, the way his chest rose and fell so close to hers… it made her knees weak.
She shivered slightly, but she kept her eyes on his.
“After Lottie is better, ye’ll help me find a husband.”
The words fell on Fergus like a hammer, and he blinked at her, stunned. Shock and something like rage swept over him. He gritted his teeth, his shoulders straightening.
“What did ye say?”
“A husband,” she insisted. “I want to be protected from me father. I need a husband to do that.”
A husband?
Fergus could imagine it now. Jeane inviting over suitors and him removing their heads from their shoulders. He would have to do it in secret, of course, because the little mouse might run off to keep others from being hurt. He was not much for stealth, but hewould manage. There was no way in hell that Fergus would let another man look at Jeane, let alone touch her, marry her.
The idea of searching for another man to marry Jeane was laughable, given how Fergus already felt about her. He barely knew anything about the lass, but every touch, every fiery word from her, ignited him.
He felt alive in a way that he had not in a very long time, and he would be damned if he would hand that over to another man willingly.
He drew in a sharp breath, his chest tight, rage rushing through him at the very idea of this hypothetical husband.
“That I willnae do, lass.”
“Why nae?” Jeane asked, her eyes wide. “Is it so much to ask?”
“Aye, it’s a lot to ask,” Fergus blurted out, frustrated, his skin seeming to heat from the jealousy rushing through him. “Because nay other man can touch ye.”
Jeane’s eyes widened even further, those doe eyes, and Fergus could not help but close the distance between them, cupping her cheek with one hand. He drew his thumb across her bottom lip, and Jeane shuddered, melting against his chest.
“What do ye mean?”
“I mean, if ye need a husband, I will be the one to marry ye,” Fergus said with no doubt or hesitation in his voice.
“Ye cannae be serious.”
“Do I nae look serious, lass?” he asked, putting an arm around her waist to draw her closer, his hand still caressing her face.
“I—”
Fergus did not let her finish, crashing his mouth down on hers. Jeane made a noise against his mouth, another squeak that made his mouth turn up at one corner. He licked along her lips, bidding for her to open up, and when they parted, he slid his tongue across hers.
Jeane moaned into his mouth, and Fergus felt his manhood harden at the sound. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her tight against him, knowing she could feel his hardening member but not caring.
