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“Of course he did.”

Graeme took a step toward her, and Gillian didn’t move. “I will not.”

He said it with such force, Gillian believed him.

“We may not have been married under the best of circumstances.” Graeme took her hands, both of them this time. “But I’d never dishonor you, Gillian.”

Everything she’d heard about Graeme pointed to the truth of his statement. But then when she saw Agnes . . .

Graeme looked toward the bed and then back at her.

“Let me prove it to you.”

He led her toward the bed and pulled down the coverlet. Then, abruptly releasing her hand, he moved around to the other side and promptly began to undress. Gillian looked away.

“What are you doing?” Why had she asked when she already knew the answer?

“Going to sleep.”

She whipped her head back around, but Graeme was already lying down. She barely caught a glimpse of his broad chest before he pulled the white fur to his shoulders and then closed his eyes as if he were already sleeping.

“Graeme?”

He opened one eye, looking very much unlike the great clan chief. Instead, he teased her like an impertinent boy. “Aye, lass?” And then he opened both eyes. “Are you not coming to bed?”

She did so hesitantly, still not understanding. Slipping under the covers, she laid her head upon the soft pillows below her.

Gillian took a deep breath. “I don’t understand.”

Graeme shifted to his side, propping his head on his hand. “The night I kissed you,” he said, his voice low, “I knew it was wrong but did it anyway. Do you know why, my English queen?”

She thought she did, but she shook her head anyway.

“Because I desired you. And still do. Everything about you sets my body on fire. I’ve never wanted to be with a woman more than I want you. But Agnes should not be here at Highgate. And while she is still in this castle, I will not touch you. I want you to know my control is greater than any desire, even one this powerful.”

She’d never been more aware of her husband than she was in this moment. The heat from his body . . . the unique scent that was Graeme. And, shamefully, she wanted him to touch her. To make her feel the way he had those other times.

But she also admired his will. And since he’d never been shy about his desire for her, Gillian believed his words. The night before, when he’d kissed her, Gillian had thought he’d break his own vow to wait until they were at Highgate.

“What are you wearing?” she burst out, the thought just now popping into her head.

“The same thing I wear each night to bed.”

In other words, nothing.

She looked up toward the canopy above them, folding her hands in front of her.

Graeme chuckled and lay back down, his weight pulling her toward him.

“I will sleep here?” she asked the canopy.

“Aye.”

“My parents do not sleep in the same bedchamber,” she blurted. “Did yours?” Gillian peeked at him from the corner of her eye. Graeme was watching her.

“Sometimes,” he said. “Most often my mother slept in there.” He indicated the bower from which they’d come.

So why did he want her to share his bedchamber? Graeme had already made it clear theirs was not a love match.