He’d offered it to her morning and night for months now. He declared himself freely from the beginning. He’d courted her with honor, admitted the truth when she’d been tricked, and held to their bargain despite how desperately he wanted her.
And he gave her his heart.
So what was missing? Why couldn’t she give him the commitment that he wanted? Why wouldn’t she risk her own heart when he had given her every reason to trust his?
Such were her thoughts as she stared at the newly complete bathhouse and twisting her fingers in her dress. What was wrong with her?
Then Liam’s gentle voice surrounded her, chasing away her tortured thoughts. At least for a moment. “Are you dreaming of a bath with your fancy soap?”
“I am,” she lied.
“You’ve done a good job here. None could do better.”
“It wasn’t me, and you know it. It was Mr. Russell and all the workers. It was you standing face to face with the ones who wouldn’t do what I said, and you putting your back to the job when they wouldn’t.”
He touched her chin and pulled her around to face him. “Without you pushing every day, nagging the men and holding back the mead, then it would have gone half as quick and not be done by winter.”
Maybe. Probably. She smiled as she looked into his eyes. “Will you share the bath with me? After dinner or later, after everyone else is abed.”
He teased her lips with his. “I’m not hungry,” he said as he nibbled along her lips. “Are you?”
Not now she wasn’t. At least not for food. “They’ll know what we’re doing.”
He chuckled. “They’ll know either way, lass.”
That was probably true. And she was in desperate need of a distraction. Her thoughts had gone in the same circles for days now, if not weeks. She took his hand and tugged him toward the bathhouse. He lagged behind for less than a second. Very quickly, his longer steps had him pulling her along.
They stepped into the bathhouse together, then barred the door. She pumped the hot water while he opened the valve for cold rainwater to drain in from the cistern above. He built up the fire while she opened her one bar of sweet gale soap and set it within reach. Then she felt his hands on her gown as he quickly stripped it off her body.
She laughed when the cool air hit her because she knew nothing came off more quickly than a kilt. Soon he was as naked as she as they sank into the tub together.
She thought he would stroke her then. He loved to shape her breasts, and soap made everything slippery. She set her hands on his shoulders and offered herself to him, but he held himself back.
“What were you thinking, love?”
“What?”
“When you were staring at the bathhouse, your thoughts weren’t on soap and hot water. What were you really thinking?”
He knew her so well. Ridiculous of her to try to hide her thoughts from him. She leaned back against the edge of the tub and tried to find the words. In the end, she blurted out the truth.
“Why can’t I love?”
His body stilled and his face blanched. When he spoke, his words came slowly but she felt his pain even though he never expressed it. “You don’t love me?” he asked.
“I don’t think I love anybody.”
“What?”
“I love learning, and I love what we’ve built here.” She gestured around her. “I love to smell the heather in the air, and I love it when Rhona cooks a meal as well as Mrs. Boyce.”
“But you don’t think you love…me?”
“I hold my brother in affection. Lilah, too. And I cannot wait to see their baby, if Lilah is indeed pregnant.”
“That’s not the same kind of love, Clara.”
She nodded. “I know.” She touched his arm. “And when I look at you, I feel warmth. Happiness, even. I feel safe and valued.” She took a deep breath. “I have a place here in a way I never did in London.”
