Page 17 of The Laird's Masked Passion

“It is a fine weapon.”

Had he smiled, Elspeth thought she might have struck him at once, if only to teach him the danger of amusement in the presence of a woman whose wedding day had included abduction, bloodshed, and outdoor lodging.

But he did not mock her. That unsettled her more.

He crouched inside the tent, careful not to come closer than he had to. The fire outside threw a dim amber glow through the canvas, touching the hard line of his cheek and the dark fall of his hair. His eyes were steady upon hers, and though there was something like amusement buried there, it did not reach for her fear. It did not make sport of it.

“I willnae take ye in the middle of the woods while we are being hunted,” he revealed.

Elspeth’s grip tightened. “How noble. Shall I embroider it upon a pillow?”

“Nay.”

“Good. I am out of thread.”

His gaze dipped briefly to her hands. “Ye can lower the branch.”

“I am content with its present height.”

“Elspeth.”

Her name in his voice made the small tent feel smaller. She hated that. She hated the warmth that went through her at the sound, hated the memory of his body behind hers on the horse, hated that his nearness seemed to press upon her even when he did not touch her.

“I said,” she replied, “I am content.”

He held her gaze a moment longer, then nodded as if the matter were settled by her will and not his patience. Without another word, he moved to the far side of the tent and lowered himself onto one of the blankets.

Elspeth did not move at once. It was an absurd tableau: a bride in torn silk, guarding her virtue with a branch against a husband with blood on his sleeve, lying down as calmly as if this were any ordinary wedding night. The absurdity should have comforted her. Instead, it made the terror beneath it seem sharper.

At last, slowly, she lowered the branch. Not entirely, only enough that her arms ceased to ache.

Colin noticed. He said nothing. She lay down as far from him as the tent allowed, which was not nearly far enough. She arranged her skirts with violent care, placed the branch within reach, and turned her back to him. The canvas above her stirred in the nightwind. Beyond it, the wilderness breathed and whispered and clicked with a thousand unseen lives.

Something rustled. Elspeth’s eyes opened. A branch scraped outside. Her heart leapt. A bird cried in a sound that was ugly and sudden. She sat halfway up before she could stop herself.

“It is only the woods,” Colin assured her quietly.

“I didnae ask.”

“Nay.”

Silence.

Then, from behind her, his voice came more softly. “Would ye feel safer if I came nearer?”

Elspeth went very still. The answer rose in her before pride could kill it.

Aye.

The word shocked her so deeply that she almost spoke the opposite with too much force.

“Nay.”

“Elspeth—”

“Nay,” she repeated. “I wouldnae feel safer with ye nearer. I would feel crowded.”

“We wouldnae want that.”