Page 23 of Highland Seduction

“Nay?” His voice sounded closer than before. “If ye’d prefer, I could undress ye myself instead, Ainsley.”

Tor was just behind her. She popped open her eyes and, despite herself, turned. He was fully dressed, though his feet were bare.

“Disappointed to have missed it? I can take this off again.” Tor’s hand reached for his tunic.

“Nay,” she said, much too quickly. Ainsley looked up, into his eyes. She pleaded with him silently, and Tor relented.

“I’ll be belowstairs when ye’re finished.” So he’d been teasing her. “Take the key and lock the door behind ye, lass. I’ll be watching for ye.”

She thought of the unusual arrangement of the inn, its hall open to both floors above.

“To be certain I’m no’ accosted?” she asked, wondering of this inn’s reputation.

“All will know I am here, and ye with me. None would dare it.” Tor smiled. “I’ll be watching because it pleases me to do so.”

Her heart sped up at his words. Then, as he stepped around her, Tor’s shoulder brushed hers. She sucked in a breath. He opened the door, and before stepping through it, said, “If ye’re to be accosted by anyone, Ainsley, ’twill be me. But mark me, wife, ye will be begging for it.”

She turned then, looked for something to toss at him, but found naught. The sound of his laughter left her confused and, if she were honest, wanting. With every smile, and every laugh, she hated him a bit less.

And hate was the only barrier between them.

Chapter 13

When she’d packed the one extra gown Tor bid her to take for the ride to Berwick, she’d not been thinking to impress her husband. ’Twas a riding gown, suited for the purpose of, well, riding. Its dull green color made it easier to spy dirt. And yet, when she walked onto the balcony after locking the door and looked down, there was no mistaking the expression on her husband’s face.

Tor’s eyes widened. Even from this distance she could see him watching for her, as he said he would do, and the look of appreciation on his face was becoming increasingly common.

Her feet refused to move. Instead, she stood there, comparing him to the others down below. He’d been speaking with another man, a warrior whose sword hung by his side. But unlike Tor, his shoulders were not quite so broad. Ainsley found all, each and every one, lacking compared to him.

Yet he was a MacRob.

As she descended the stairs, Ainsley thought of the innkeeper’s words. He despised her clan at the very mention of them, but when he realized she was one of its members, the laird’s sister even, he had not treated her unkindly.

’Tis easier to love than hate, Ainsley.

Ainsley’s brother had looked beyond their feud, but only after he and Catlin had begun seeing clues to Ian and Marta’s disappearance together. And as to her cousin, if it was true he had handfasted with the MacRob kinswoman, Ian had also looked beyond the name MacRob, putting his discord with their clan aside.

Could she do the same? Did she wish to do the same?

If she’d begun to think the first answer was “aye,” Ainsley certainly did not have such a clear answer for the second. A husband meant loss of control, something she did not desire. Nay, something she feared. One night in the woods and she had been clinging to him, a stranger, as if she could not breathe without him by her side.

Tor stood, bidding adieu to his companion. The table Neil had procured was, indeed, as well suited as their room. Beside a window at the front of the inn, the lanterns just outside revealed passersby. A pitcher, two mugs, and two bowls of stew awaited them. As she sat, Ainsley could watch as patrons came and left.

She preferred to look at her husband instead, especially now that he was clothed once again. Not that she hadn’t been extremely curious before, but if they were to annul their marriage, it would not do to learn these ways of finding pleasure Tor mentioned.

“When ye look at me that way”—he filled her mug with ale—“I wonder why ye didn’t simply turn around abovestairs.”

How did he know what she’d been thinking? “I believe,” she said, careful to keep her tone even, “I begin to understand yer reputation.”

“Do ye now?” Tor picked up the pewter spoon. She’d noticed most others used wooden ones. Being a distant relation to the innkeeper had proved to be a boon Ainsley had not expected.

“Some say no MacRob has been with more women than ye,” Ainsley blurted, and then nearly clasped her hand over her mouth. Had she really just said such a thing?

“What else,” Tor asked, leaning forward, “do some say about me?”

“That yer brother is a right bastard, a bitter man capable of holding a grudge like no other.”

His lips pursed into a straight line. “Some say? Or ’tis yer sister?”