Tor lifted his brows in surprise, both at Cormac’s show of protection and at Christina’s words. His wee wife had just taken him to task, and she’d found herself an unexpected protector.
He thought he probably should reprimand her, as Cormac obviously expected him to, but he couldn’t help but be amused. He was chief. No one criticized him, except perhaps for his brother and sister, on occasion. And now this tiny lass. He was used to women being intimidated—even scared. He liked that she seemed neither.
He would allow her to get away with it this one time. But next time he would correct her.
“I’ll remember that,” he said dryly, holding her gaze. He felt it again. That strange connection. The intense desire to possess. It wasn’t a slow building, but a fierce primal reaction.
Despite the mask of soot on her and the layer of grime that covered him, he wanted to lift her up in his arms and carry her to bed. In the middle of the day, for Christ’s sake.
How did she do it? How did she make his body flare with desire just by looking into his eyes?
He was too damned hungry for her and didn’t like it. He wasn’t used to errant—hell, preoccupied—thoughts or being unable to control his body’s reactions. The lack of discipline annoyed him, but it would be over soon. Once he bedded her, everything would be back to normal.
He looked away sharply, addressing the cook. “The men will be hungry. Whatever you can arrange will suffice.”
He turned to leave. “Wait,” she said. “Where are you going?”
“The loch,” he answered on his way out. A cold bath suddenly sounded like an excellent idea.
