“You and I have nothing to say to one another,” Annie interjected with an impudent lift of her chin.
Her mouth was pursed so tightly Niall was tempted—far too tempted—to pull her into his arms and kiss the stubbornness from her face once and for all.
But he’d had years of experience in controlling his attraction to her, which had been a hell of a lot harder when she’d looked at him as if he were a tasty treat that she couldn’t wait to devour.
She wasn’t looking at him at all like that now. The realization that she might not want him to kiss her hit him hard.
Robbie turned to her rather than respond directly to Niall. “I’ll send him on his way if you want, but he’s just going to keep coming around until you hear him out. If it’s truly over, tell him. For all our sakes.”
Their eyes held long enough for Niall to want to tear his gaze away. Finally, she nodded.
Robbie stepped away, but not before he got in the last word. He drew himself up to his full height—which might have been an inch or two taller than Niall’s. As far as threatening and imposing went, it wasn’t without effect. Which was surprising, given that Niall had him pressed up against a wall with one hand not five minutes before.
“Hurt her again, and I will hunt you down,” Robbie said darkly. “And unlike the king’s men, I will find you.”
Niall quirked his brow, giving a slight challenge to the threat, but Robbie was already walking away.
Unfortunately, Niall wasn’t the only one watching him. Annie’s gaze was also on the other man. She was frowning in a perplexed way that made Niall uneasy. It was as if she were seeing Robbie in a way that she hadn’t before and didn’t know what to make of it.
Niall didn’t want her to make anything of it. She lovedhim. Although it was hard to see that right now.
With the frown still on her face, she turned back to Niall and crossed her arms. He couldn’t tell whether it was with boredom or disdain—neither of which was particularly welcome at the moment.
“Say what you have to say and then leave. For good this time.”
How someone who was wearing clothes the scullery maid wouldn’t be seen in and looked as if she’d been rolling in the dirt could look so bloody imperious, he didn’t know. Neither did he understand how a mussed braid, a smudged nose, and flushed-with-work cheeks could be so stunningly beautiful.
But she took his breath away. Literally.
Niall had been waiting over a year for this moment, but it was as if someone had grabbed him by the throat. The emotion, the feelings, the despair, the horror… they all came back to him at once. He was overwhelmed by the force of it. By the import.
How could he explain how sorry he was? How much she meant to him? How much of a mistake he’d made? How he’d give anything in the world to take it all back? How he’d spent most of the past winter and spring doing everything he could to bring her justice?
He took in every inch of her face, gorging like a man who’d been starved of details and wanting to consign every one of them to memory forever. How could he have forgotten the precise arch of her brows? Or the way her dark, feathery lashes seemed to brush the corner of her eyes like the wing of a bird? Or the shimmery flecks of silver in her eyes, the smooth creaminess of her skin—even beneath the dirt—and the ripe red of a mouth that was far more sensual than he’d allowed himself to remember?
How many times had he dreamed of her, dreamed of this moment? And now that it was here, he didn’t know what to do. What to say. How could he convey the sheer depth of his regret?
His words—like his thoughts—were out of order, and he started where he wanted to end. He took her by the arm and drew her closer. Not close enough for their bodies to touch, but close enough for her to know that he meant every word he was about to say.
“You don’t need to learn how to defend yourself, Annie. Marry me, and I’ll protect you for the rest of my life.”
* * *
Annie stared at the man who seemed a stranger to her. It wasn’t just his looks that had changed. She used to think that no one knew her better than Niall Lamont. But this man didn’t understand her at all. If he did, he would know exactly why this was so important to her.
She peered up at him, taking in the hard jaw that was dark with a week’s worth of beard, the eyes that could rival any precious stones, the new lines etched around them, and the handful of nicks and small scars that marked his otherwise flawless face.
There wasn’t anything she could find wrong with his features. His nose was perfectly proportioned and straight, his brow broad and high, his jaw fixed with just the right amount of masculine squareness, his mouth full and well curved, his eyes brilliant and tilted with an angle of hooded intensity. His dark, almost black hair was longer now and fell just past his jaw in silky waves.
The roguish grin and teasing lightness might have been replaced by a dark edginess and aura of danger, but Niall Lamont was still one of the most handsome men she’d ever beheld.
But if his looks used to make her breath catch, it was the way he’d seemed to be able to read her mind that had made her think they were destined for one another.
How could she have been so wrong?
Surprisingly, she hadn’t flinched when he touched her, but the warm imprint of his fingers around her arm was not a welcome sensation, and she stared at his hand until he let it drop.
An uncomfortable silence fell between them for a few moments. Something that had never happened before Dunvegan. It seemed one more harsh reminder of how much everything had changed, and she didn’t hesitate to refuse the awkward proposal that at one time she would have given her eyeteeth to hear.
