Panting, she looked up at him, her expression clearing as the haze of lust left her and something else took its place. Fear? Embarrassment?
“I want ye lass, never doubt it,” he said as he stepped back, pure torture to his engorged senses, and held her until her feet were steady on the ground. “But I willna take ye like this.” He kept her wrapped in his arms, reluctant to let her go, now or ever.
“I… want ye, too,” she said and rested her head on his shoulder. Her hand balled into a fist on his chest.
“We must wait. This isna the time or the place. If someone came by…”
“Agatha!” She colored and glanced around him, clearly mortified at the thought of Agatha finding them—finding her—like this.
“The thought of her stopped me,” he told her, grinning. “Something ye will thank her for someday.”
Aftyn reached up and smoothed his hair, then straightened his tunic.
His body responded to her touch and he fought not to taste her lips again. If he did, he’d be lost.
“A very long time will pass before I thank her for anything, I think,” she finally told him and stepped out of his embrace. “We should go.”
The path passed through some closely spaced trees, forcing them to go single file. Jamie followed, silent, waiting, expecting her to say he never should have kissed her. Or touched her. But she, too, remained silent until they broke out into another field, this one already harvested.
“That cottage on the edge of the village,” she told him, pointing. “My gran lived there. My mother lived with her until…”
“Ye miss her, aye?
“I should be over the grief by now.”
“Why? She raised ye. She was everything to ye. Ye have every right to miss her.”
She gave him a weak smile. “Thank ye. Most would say ’tis time to get over the loss, find a good husband and make a family but my chances are limited here… oh!”
Her hand flew to her mouth and Jamie hid a grin.
“I’m sorry. I didna mean to be so forward, to imply…”
“I ken it, lass. Dinna fash.”
“Ye needna fash, either. I dinna intend ever to marry. Unless Agatha’s lies convince the villagers to shun me, my work will sustain me.”
Jamie’s belly clenched. Did she mean it? She never wanted to marry? He’d thought she jested at Mhairi’s when she threatened to stab a husband who ordered her around. And now this? Jamie’s thoughts churned. If he was going to leave and never see her again, he shouldn’t care. But if he stayed to protect her, she might change her mind. What did he want? His thoughts kept going in circles until they passed through the Keith gates and reached the door into the keep.
* * *
Jamie hadthe look he often wore after seeing a patient, wrung out and at his limit. Why would treating the injured and ill exhaust him? Was it the care, or the empathy she’d thought he exhibited in the market? He didn't appear the same way after making sure Rory hadn’t harmed Alastair. Jamie had jested with him, smiling all the while. The lad did not need his care. Was that the difference?
Her conflict with Agatha disturbed Jamie, too. He’d offered to stay here and protect her. Was that why he’d kissed her in the wood?
She led him to a table, her mind on what they’d done there. His body didn’t lie. He wanted her. And she'd wanted all of him. But being discovered by Agatha? She couldn’t bear the thought. Judging by the set of Jamie’s shoulders and the crease between his brows, neither could he. He’d protected her again, from herself this time. How could she let him leave when Niall was strong enough to go? He made her feel wanted. Needed.
Maddie, a serving girl Aftyn had heard unkind tales about, brought their ales and set them down with a frown for Aftyn and a raised eyebrow at Jamie, who requested food, then looked away. Maddie canted out one hip, then turned and walked away.
Aftyn frowned at her back as she moved toward the kitchen. “What was that all about?”
“Nothing to do with ye, or I miss my guess,” Jamie said, and told her about the lass’s offer before his bath the first time he met her.
“Ah, the tales about her must be true. So she’scrabbitbecause ye are with the likes of me after ye turned her down.”
“Probably.”
She eyed her tankard. “I’m not sure I should drink this. No telling what she might have put in it.”
