Her pulse fluttered. “It’s naething,” she said lightly. “Just an old tune.”
“A tune ye play with care,” he countered.
Her cheeks warmed. She abruptly rose from the stool, putting distance between them or at least trying to. The chamber wasn’t large enough to escape the way his presence tugged at her.
“But I’m guessing ye play even more beautifully when ye are nae under pressure,” he pointed out.
“Aye,” she agreed. “It’s been… a long day.”
“It has,” he concurred. “But something tells me it’s nae only that. I’ve barely said a word and ye look ready tae bolt.”
She tipped her chin up. “Maybe I simply dinnae enjoy yer company, me laird.”
He took another step, close enough that she felt the warmth of him again.
“Nay,” he murmured, pinning her against the wall, but he didn’t reach out to touch her. “That’s nae it.”
Her breath caught. Why on earth did her body react before her mind could?
Before he could say more or she could embarrass herself further, she forced a bright smile and gestured toward the door.
“Shall we continue the tour? Ye still have tae show me me quarters,” she reminded him. “I assume that the chamber where I was before was one of the guest rooms.”
“Aye,” he nodded, taking a step back, then offering her his hands. “Allow me tae take ye there.”
As she rested her arm on his, she told herself repeatedly that the heat beneath her skin was nothing but shock, nerves and the strain of the day.
It could not possibly behim.
CHAPTER SIX
Davina told herself she was calm. Perfectly calm.
She was lying.
Because Baird Kincaid was laughing and the sound was doing something entirely unreasonable to her heartbeat.
“Come on then,” she heard him say, as he guided her down another corridor. “One last room tae see.”
His amusement lingered in the air, making her wish she’d come up with a sharper retort in the solar. But she followed, trying not to think about how his arm warmed her or how the torchlight softened the hard planes of his face.
At the end of the hall, he pushed open a heavy door.
“This,” he said, stepping aside for her to enter, “is our chamber.”
Something got stuck in her throat upon hearing him say that.
Our.
The chamber was unquestionablyhis. It was large and warm but undeniably masculine, with furs draped over the bed, weapons hung neatly on the wall, and a broad writing table stacked with papers and maps. A great armoire stood open, filled withhisclothing.
Her stomach squirmed.
She turned slowly toward him. “Ye’re… serious?”
“Aye,” he said, far too casually for her liking. “I generally am.”
She gestured wildly toward the room. “But… yer things are here.”
