She looked nervous again, although he couldn’t imagine why the hell she should. He’d given her his word he wouldn’t insist on his husbandly rights. What man with an ounce of conscience would force his attentions on this woman?
“Yes, I am safe. Thanks to you.”
“Ye dinna have to spend the rest of your life making recompense. That will drive us both mad.”
A hesitant smile curved her lips, and she took another step forward. Plague take her, he wished she’d go away. He meant well by her. Of course he did. But it was torture to have her hovering at his bedside in the middle of the night. And not just any night, but his wedding night.
“I do have to make recompense.”
“No, ye don’t. Knowing that you and Christina are safe and happy will be reward enough.”
“You’re such a good man, Diarmid.” The smile broadened. “Such a good man—and such a liar.”
Shocked, he sat up straight, sending the sheet slipping dangerously low. “What in Hades…”
She made a gesture of repudiation. “
That’s not going to be enough for you, and you know it.”
Diarmid was slow to anger. He always had been, although once he decided against someone, he was steadfast in his dislike. But now powerful rage began to coil in his gut, fueled with frustration and barely controlled desire.
“Fiona, what the devil do you want?” he snapped out. “We’ve been through this. When I proposed, I swore I wouldnae touch ye. But we both know I want you. Plaguing me like this is cruel and unfair, beneath ye. I’m no’ made of wood. Stop teasing me, and go back to bed. We’re never talking about this again. Leave me some pride, blast ye.”
To his surprise, she didn’t retreat. “I have my own pride.”
Under the paisley shawl, her breasts rose as she sucked in a deep breath. His hands made claws in the sheets as he battled the itch to grab her. She was mere feet away, and he could quiet any scruples by telling himself she’d asked for trouble by coming to his room and ignoring the danger signs.
“More than is good for ye,” he grated out. “But if you’re playing some sort of game here, I’ll never forgive ye.”
She looked horrified as she shook her head. “No game, Diarmid, I swear.”
“Then what is this about?”
She twined her hands together once more. The shawl shifted to reveal the outline of one pert breast beneath the clinging silk. He went back to grinding his teeth and staring above her head at the lamplit shadows dancing on the wall.
“It’s about my pride.”
“What?” he snarled, not brave enough to look at her.
“Ever since we met, you’ve given to me. It makes for an uncomfortably lopsided bargain. I’m always grateful, and you’re always in charge.”
Resentment made him look at her and—almost—overcame his craving to feel her body under his hands. “Now we’re married, it will take time to work out how we’re going to proceed. You’ll find your way. I know I still feel like a stranger…”
“You don’t feel like a stranger.”
He didn’t want to explore that. Not when only a sheet and a thin layer of silk separated them from being naked together.
“You’ll feel more like a partner in this match, once we’ve sorted the Grants out and you’ve taken over as lady of Invertavey and you’re raising Christina without your kin’s interference.”
Her hands dropped to her sides, and she leveled an unwavering blue gaze upon him. “I’ll feel more like a partner when I am one.”
He knew she was sending him a message, but for the life of him he had no idea what it was.
“Aye, once we’ve found Christina and—”
“No. Now.”
Another silence descended, this time as sharp and heavy as a honed ax. Diarmid’s heart gave a mighty thud and crashed against his ribs. He gulped for a breath in a futile attempt to steady his reeling mind.