Jeane’s head spun. Should she be worried that a man who cut down other men had her gently in his lap right now? Was he a cruel man?
“Ye can try,” Fergus said, handing her the large stone. It was so large she could barely fit it in her hand, and when she banged the stone down on the sword, only apingsound came out.
“I daenae think I’m very good at forgin’,” she said with a laugh, and Fergus tightened his arms around her.
Jeane beamed up at him, and Fergus’ face suddenly changed, going blank.
How was she supposed to know what he was thinking?
Fergus looked down at Jeane and wanted to press his forehead against hers, wanted to press his mouth against hers, but he could not. She did not want him, was repulsed by him, and he had to accept that, no matter how much it hurt.
He knew in that moment, with her doe-brown eyes looking up at him, that he wanted her to stay with him always. That he was in love with her.
I love her, Fergus thought, just that simply. He loved her as he had never loved his previous betrothed and he would never love any other woman. He loved her fire and her sweetness, her doe-brown eyes, and her ample curves.
Bloody hell.
How was he supposed to keep her when she wanted a husband? How could he keep her from having other suitors? Maybe he could wait outside the castle walls, just kill any potential suitor that might come through.
But that was not sustainable. It was ridiculous. He could not just kill a man for wanting Jeane. Well, he could, but it would be frowned upon, even though he was laird.
“Try again,” he urged her, and Jeane lifted the stone higher, slamming it down with a satisfyingtingthis time.
She cackled wildly. “I did it! It changed the shape of the sword!”
It had, of course, barely changed anything, but Fergus found her adorable. The sword was done.
“Now, take these gloves,” he said, putting them on her. They were way too big, of course, but they would protect her hands. “And we can take the sword over to the water. Finish up.”
“Ye’ll let me finish it?” she asked excitedly, and Fergus fought a smile.
“Aye, lass.” He slowly put the gloves on her, his fingertips lingering on hers.
She gasped in a short breath, and he willed his manhood not to stir beneath her.
He stood. “Go ahead, pick it up at the hilt.”
She carefully picked it up, holding it far away from her chest as they crept to the large barrel of water. She startled when she dropped it into the water and it began to boil then she jumped back into his arms.
Fergus held onto her hips to steady her, letting out a long breath through his nostrils. He wanted to take her right here, against the wall, show her who she should belong to, that he should be her husband.
Nay one will ever love ye as much as I do, little mouse.
But he did not say it. Could not say it. She would tell him he was a monster, just like Iris had, and he was not sure he could take it. Not from sweet Jeane.
“I understand why ye enjoy this,” she said softly, not moving away from his touch but turning to face him. “I rarely feel so at peace. Ye can throw yerself into the work.”
“Exactly,” Fergus agreed, surprised that she understood. “There’s always so much going on. It’s nice to do somethin’ mindless.”
“Aye,” Jeane said with a nod. “Me father always expected me to stay in the house, ye ken?”
Fergus swallowed hard but said nothing. He did not rightly know what kind of man her father was, but he had not heard good things about Laird McKay.
“He would never have let me into the forge.”
“Maybe he was just tryin’ to protect ye,” Fergus offered, but Jeane shook her head.
“Nay, he doesnae care that much,” she muttered.
