He’d never noticed how alone he’d been.
The very first time they’d made love, he’d known she was different. He’d lusted for many women, but none had ever made him want to hold her in his arms forever. Never had passion and emotion been entwined. When he came inside her, he felt not just physical pleasure, but pleasure that claimed every part of his body and soul.
At least that was the way it had been for him.
Her claim that she’d come to him out of duty still stung.
Duty.How could one word wield such a powerful blow?
The irony, of course, was that duty was the tenet he held most sacred. Duty to his chief, to his clan, to his family. To his wife.
Never had he expected it would be wielded against him with such devastating effect.
He didn’t want her duty, he wanted her love and desire. He wanted her of her own free will—because she wanted to, not because she had to.
He’d been angry with her a few days ago, impatient with her for not seeing him for what he was. But she needed time. After losing so much, naturally she would be scared to love again.
He’d vowed to hold out until she came to him, but with each day that passed, his temper was getting progressively more strained—at any moment ready to explode. He felt like a bear roused in the middle of winter. Hungry.
He drew closer, but they’d yet to notice him.
Seamus answered her, lowering his voice. “A babe is n—” He stopped midsentence, sensing Jamie’s presence, and turned to meet his gaze.
Jamie arched a brow. “Don’t let me interrupt. You were saying?”
Seamus smiled. “I was just commenting that we will all look forward to the day when a Lamont rules again over Ascog.”
That wasn’t what he was going to say at all, but Jamie was already on his guard where the Lamont’s embittered guardsman was concerned. “A day that will be a long time in coming,” Jamie countered. “And one that might never come if we don’t get this roof on.”
Seamus took the hint. “Aye, my lord,” he said, and climbed back up the ladder to oversee the men moving the wood up the tower.
Jamie didn’t miss the subtle dig—the English “lord” rather than the Scots “laird”—and neither did Caitrina. She looked as if she were going to say something, but Jamie took her arm. “Don’t. I can handle him.”
“But—”
“It’s what he wants. His taunts do not anger me. I’m just as much a Highlander as he is, though he might like to pretend otherwise.”
The young serving girls Caitrina had been standing with had quickly made themselves scarce, but not without first peeking at him as if he were the devil incarnate.
Their fear appeared to upset Caitrina.
“Doesn’t it bother you?” she asked.
He shrugged.
“It must.”
He sighed, having learned something of his wife’s persistence this past week. She would not stop until he answered. “Long ago I stopped trying to change people’s minds. They’ll believe what they want. Whether I’m a villain or a champion depends on whose side you are on.”
She wrinkled her nose. A tiny, not-so-crooked nose that was currently smudged with soot. “I never thought about it like that.”
“Not everyone despises me, Caitrina. I do have my admirers,” he said dryly.
Her eyes narrowed. “What kind of admirers?” He shrugged. “The female variety, by any chance?”
He grinned at her expression, realizing she was jealous. “Oh, there’s lots of variety,” he teased, and laughed when her mouth drew together in a tight line. He ached to soften that mouth with his lips and tongue. “One day I’ll take you to Castleswene to meet a few of them.”
He waited for her reaction. He’d spoken of a future, though it wasn’t at all clear whether they had one.
