Graham came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her against the strength of his chest and the warmth of his body. “Ye’re cold?”
“Aye,” she replied, though his heat was chasing away the chill.
“I’ll stoke the fire,” he said close to her ear, his breath fanning her neck and making her belly tighten. He strode across the room in four long, powerful steps, and a sharp yearning to know him stabbed at her. He bent down before the fire, his muscles shifting under his skin. What had he done to become such a warrior? She knew from comments Cameron and others had made that he had not always been this strong.
As he stood and faced her she caught the desire burning in his eyes, and her fear blossomed. It would help if she could just learn him a bit. “What were ye like as a lad?” she blurted as he started toward her.
Her question stopped him and caused him to arch his eyebrows. “Why do ye wish to ken what I was like as a lad?” he asked, his voice guarded.
“I dunnae ken ye really, and I’m fearful,” she admitted.
He fixed an unblinking stare upon her. “Ye’re fearful of me?”
“Aye,” she whispered nervously.
He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck as his lips pulled into a frown. “I will nae ever hurt ye, Isobel. I vow it. If it’s the joining ye’re fearful of—”
“’Tis nae just that,” she rushed, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “I dunnae ken much about yer life and what has made ye the man ye are.” She bit her lip. “I dunnae really even ken the man ye are. And ye dunnae ken me. We dunnae ken each other’s desires.”
A wary look crossed his face, so swift she would have missed it had she blinked, and it was gone just as quickly. Then he offered a wicked, teasing smile that she knew masked whatever he was truly feeling. Sadness tightened her chest. He did not want to truly know her, and he did not want her to know him.
“I believe ye ken my desires,” he replied in a deep, velvet voice that both filled her with yearning and anger.
“Nae those desires,” she mumbled. Lena’s earlier words rang in Isobel’s head and pushed away the sadness to allow only anger. She was so tired of not knowing things. First she had not known if her father loved her, and now she didn’t know if she would ever be loved by this man before her, nor why she could not simply make herself not care.
“Why did ye put in yer name to the king to marry me?” she demanded. She knew what she had heard, but mayhap Marion had been right and what she had heard was not so simple. She wanted to hear what he had to say when he knew she was listening.
His face clouded with distinct uneasiness, which almost made her wish she had not been so bold to ask, but no, she wanted the truth. “Does it matter?” he asked, his tone mirroring the uneasiness she saw on his face.
She nodded, unable to speak because of the large lump that had formed in her throat.
He let out a sigh, and gave her a measuring look. “I took ye,” he said, “and once done, I kenned that by doing so, I had made ye my responsibility.”
She flinched at his words. “Ye married me out of a sense of responsibility?”
By Christ, Isobel looked as if he had stabbed her, her eyes already shiny, as if she might cry. He jerked his hand through his hair. Good God, he could not make his wife cry on their wedding night. What did she want from him? He tugged his hand through his hair again. “I also did nae wish to see ye used by the king or anyone else.”
She laughed bitterly. The reaction was understandable. She thoughthewas using her. He closed the distance between them in three short strides and gripped her by the arms. Instead of turning her face away, she glared up at him. Good. He was pleased she was not fearful but bold. She had said she feared him, but deep inside, she had to know he would never harm her in order to be so courageous with him.
“I did nae marry ye for revenge or for Brigid, though I’ll nae deny obtaining Brigid is good for my clan.”
“I heard ye speaking in the great hall with the king!” she cried out, turning away from him.
He could no longer see her face, but he knew she was upset by the catch in her voice. He had to make her believe him. The idea that she thought herself of so little worth made his chest ache. He knew well what it felt like to feel that way. “Isobel, look at me.”
“Nay,” she said with a sniff.
He took her chin and turned her face to his, expecting tears, yet his wife was stubborn. There was one streak down her right cheek where he suspected a tear had trickled, yet she had conquered the reaction. Her lower lip trembled, and she pressed her upper lip to it in an effort, he suspected, to stop. The desire to brush his lips to hers and take away her pain struck him, but he was certain that would not ease her pain for long.
“What do ye want from me?” he asked.
“That which ye will nae ever be able to give,” she said softly while averting her eyes.
Good Christ. He felt as if his heart had suddenly stopped beating. She wanted his love as she had clearly wanted her father’s. He clenched his teeth. She was right: he could not give her love. “Isobel, I will be good to ye, and I will keep ye safe, as is my duty as yer husband.”
Sparks of bright anger flashed in her blue eyes. “What do ye see as my duties as yer wife?”
“It is yer duty to care for me.”
