Page 48 of The Laird's Masked Passion

He smiled then. She could not see it, which was fortunate for them both.

A moment later, Colin moved. He caught her wrist, turned beneath her arm, and stripped the dirk from her grasp before she had managed more than an indignant gasp. She was quicker than he expected. She twisted away, reaching for his throat with her free hand as if she meant to claw sense from him. He caught that wrist, too, swept one foot behind her ankle, and took her to the ground with enough care to save her skull and enough force to steal her breath.

She landed beneath him in the damp grass. Her own dirk rested lightly beneath her chin. Colin braced himself over her, with one knee between her skirts and one hand pinning her wrist above her head. Her eyes were wide now with fury so bright he could have warmed his hands by it.

“Ye underestimate yer enemy,” he murmured.

Her chest rose against his. “And ye underestimate yer wife.”

Something in the word moved through him.

Wife.

It had sounded absurd in the cathedral. Dangerous in their chamber. Here, beneath him in the wet grass, with her hair loosening and her pulse beating hard in her throat, it sounded like a challenge.

His gaze dropped to her mouth… a mistake.

Her knee moved. Colin had half a breath to realize her intention before pain exploded through him with such clean, intimate violence that all thought fled. He rolled away with a strangled curse.

Elspeth scrambled up at once, snatching her skirts clear of his boots. She stood over him, breathing hard and looking entirely too pleased with herself.

“Did I underestimatethat?”

Colin curled slightly on his side and fought to breathe like a man who had not just been unmanned by his bride in a flower garden. Then, he pushed himself upright with great effort and less dignity. Elspeth watched him, with suspicion and concern warring upon her face. The concern irritated him more.

“The guard,” she said more quietly. “Who was he?”

Colin rose, though every instinct below his belt protested the act. “Alasdair Macrae.”

Her expression changed. The sharpness remained, but it made room for sorrow.

“Was he young?”

“Aye.”

“Family?”

“A wife, newlyweds. A child coming.”

The garden seemed to still around them.

Elspeth looked away toward the hills she had been watching before he arrived. “I am sorry.”

He expected another barb. He almost wished for one. Her softness was less easily answered.

“So am I,” he nodded.

For several moments, neither spoke.

Then Elspeth looked back at him. “That is why ye were cruel.”

His eyes narrowed. “I wasnae cruel.”

“Ye were rude.”

“I am often rude.”

“Aye, but this time there was purpose in it.”