Page 95 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

Oscar faced her fully. His gaze flicked over her mouth before rising to her eyes. “I want ye in it too much.”

Her next breath caught in her throat. His desire would put a closed door between them.

“Like I told ye, Oscar, if it is children ye are worried about⁠—”

“It is more than that.” The silence between them grew even thicker as he flexed his hand. “I cannae lie beside ye night after night, touch ye as I did, and trust meself to stop at the same point every time. Sooner or later, I will want more.”

“Ye want more now.”

His jaw tightened. “Aye.”

At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to scream at him as loudly as she could. However, she could only stand still and try her very best to control her temper.

Oscar watched the look on her face and turned toward the wall beside him.

“It is me life ye claim to protect,” she said. “And now I cannae have a say in what risk I may accept?”

His palm came down on the rough stone. “I willnae gamble with yer life.”

“Well, good. Nay one is askin’ ye to do that.”

“Ceana, ye daenae understand.”

“Oh, do I nae?”

“Paisley and Tommy have already lost one maither.” His knuckles whitened against the wall. “I willnae risk them losin’ another.”

She had seen his face whenever Tommy’s birth was mentioned. She stepped closer, close enough to see the pulse beneath the scar at his temple. “Did what happened after the bath mean anythin’ to ye?”

His grip tightened on the wall as his gaze dropped to her mouth, and his weight shifted toward her before he caught himself. He forced one foot back. “Aye.”

Ceana waited. His chest rose beneath his tunic, and the muscles in his forearm remained rigid even as he said nothing more.

A bruised petal clung to her dress. She lowered her gaze and brushed it away. Her hand paused against the wool until her fingers stopped trembling.

“As ye wish, me Laird.”

Oscar’s shoulders locked. He lifted his hand from the stone and stared at her. “Ceana.”

She raised her eyes. “Do ye require anythin’ else?”

His lips parted, then pressed together. “Nay.”

At that moment, Tommy came running with flowers crushed in both fists. “I found four! The gardener says this one is a weed, but it is bonnier than the others.”

Ceana turned away from Oscar and examined the flowers. “Then the gardener has poor taste. We shall use it.”

Her fingers shook when she lifted the flowers. She laid the stems on her palm and began fastening the flowers into the open space. Tommy corrected her twice, and she asked his opinion on the final bloom with such seriousness that his gaze stayed fixed on the crown.

Ness tried to steal the weed, but Ceana tapped her nose and tucked it behind her ear. “There. A proper lady.”

The goat shook her head, and the crown teetered and caught against her horns.

Tommy laughed. “It is perfect.”

“Entirely thanks to yer assistance, I am certain.”

Ceana straightened the flowers and offered him her hand. Oscar hovered beside the low wall, watching them.