Every touch made something dark and possessive coil tighter in his chest. They were just being friendly. Just welcoming her to the clan as was proper.
But he wanted to rip their hands away. Wanted to plant himself between Leona and everyone else, to make it clear that she was his, that no one touched her without his permission.
Except she wasn’t his. This was fake. Temporary. A business arrangement.
So why did watching other people touch her make him want to break things?
“Ye look like ye’re about to murder someone,” Hamish observed quietly, appearing at his elbow again. “Specifically, three innocent women who are just being welcomin'.”
“I’m fine,” Murdock bit out.
“Ye’re clenching yer fists so hard I’m surprised yer knuckles havenae cracked.” Hamish’s voice was amused. “And ye’re glarin' at poor Sheena like she’s insulted yer maither’s memory.”
“I’m nae glarin'.”
“Ye absolutely are. This is fascinatin', truly. I’ve never seen ye jealous before.”
“I’m nae jealous,” Murdock growled.
“Nay? Then what would ye call the look on yer face when I held her hand? Or the way ye’re watchin' every person who touches her like ye’re plannin' their slow and painful death?”
Murdock forced himself to unclench his fists. To breathe. To remember that he was the laird of this clan, and he couldn’t very well threaten his own people for showing hospitality to his supposed betrothed.
“Where’s Skye?” someone asked from down the table.
“Too tired,” Murdock answered shortly, not taking his eyes off Leona. “She went to sleep.”
“Ye still havenae replied me, me Laird,” Hamish spoke again. Damn the man, for a short moment Murdock had thought he’d gotten away with it, that he didn’t have to ask those questions to himself.
“She’s been through enough,” he replied finally. “I’m simply ensuring she’s nae overwhelmed.”
“Of course ye are.” Hamish didn’t even try to hide his grin. “And I’m the King of Scotland. Come on, admit it. Ye want to throwher over yer shoulder and carry her off like some barbarian, do ye nae?”
“Hamish, if ye value yer position…”
“Oh, I do. Which is why I’m going to keep pointin' out the obvious until ye admit it to yerself.” Hamish clapped him on the shoulder. “Ye want her. And from the way she looks at ye when she thinks no one’s watchin', I’d say the feelin' is mutual.”
Murdock opened his mouth to deny it, to tell Hamish he was seeing things that weren’t there. But then Leona laughed at something Sheena said, her face lighting up with genuine pleasure, and he felt something shift in his chest. Something dangerous and warm and utterly terrifying.
God help him. Hamish was right.
He wanted her. And this fake betrothal had just become infinitely more complicated. Because he was just about to lose control.
9
Leona had never felt so overwhelmed in her life.
The clanswomen had finally released her from their enthusiastic welcome, though not before Sheena had extracted promises that Leona would visit the village soon, and Fiona had insisted on helping her choose fabrics for new dresses.
Now she found herself seated to Murdock’s right at the dinner table, acutely aware of every breath he took, every slight movement.
Rufus sat across from her, looking uncomfortable in his borrowed tunic, picking at his food. Hamish occupied the seat at the far end, grinning as if he’d just heard the world’s best joke. And Murdock…
Murdock sat rigid beside her, his jaw clenched, radiating tension like heat from a forge.
“So, Lady Leona,” Sheena said from her seat further down the table, her eyes bright with curiosity. “How did ye and the Laird meet? We’ve heard bits and pieces, but I’d love to hear the story from ye.”
Leona’s mind raced. What had she and Murdock agreed on? Had they even discussed this?
