She’d dressed with the help of the maid, putting on the finest gown she’d brought from Kinross, and styling her hair so it was piled atop her head. Her mark was in plain sight.
Not wanting to speak with him around the others, she waited for him in their chamber, planning to tell him straightaway. But when he burst through the door not long after, armored and looking very much from her time, he spoke before she could, and what he said left her openmouthed.
“I should never have been so selfish last night. Obviously I desire you Màiri. I have since the very first day we met. But I swear, I never intended to seduce you. That dinner was supposed to be a peace offering. And then . . . things just got out of control. I am so sorry, for all of it. I spoke with Ambrose today, and he’s a really good guy. And you’re right. He loves you. You deserve a man like that.”
She could not believe what she was hearing.
“What are you saying?”
“You shouldn’t have to sit here and wait for my family to arrive to begin your life. I won’t hold you back. I mean it. If you want to go to Ambrose, we can tell him everything. Or we can go to your father and share the truth with him. Maybe that will make it easier. I don’t care who knows or who believes what. Anything you need, Màiri. Tell me, and I’ll help.”
Her skin prickled everywhere as she listened to him. Her neck and arms, all over her scalp. She had to be dreaming.
She hoped she was dreaming.
“I know what was wrong earlier. At Dern, I talked to Ambrose . . .”
“You . . .” Had she heard correctly? “. . . spoke with Ambrose?”
“I did. And I’ll tell you about that later. But he told me this has happened before and asked if you were worried about anything. You’re feeling better now, right?” Without waiting for her answer, Ian, as excitable as she’d ever seen him, continued, “It’s called anxiety. My brother suffers from it, so badly sometimes he has panic attacks. I mean, we all have it to some degree, but . . . never mind. What’s important is that you feel better. And I know what caused it.”
“You do?”
Had she really spent the day thinking of him? Thinking of the way he made her feel when they were together? Thinking of how to make him understand she didn’t wish to be parted from him?
“I do. It was me.”
Màiri struggled to focus on his words.
“I caused it. So I need you to think about this.”
As he spoke, Ian unwrapped the plaid that sometimes made her forget he wasn’t from her time. Dipping a linen strip into the bowl of water near the bed, he wiped his face.
Please, Ian, no.
His shirt came off next. She hardly heard his words as he cleaned himself for supper.
“You shouldn’t have to sit here and wait with the rest of us. Think about it tonight and let me know what you want to do. Tomorrow, I’ll take you anywhere. Talk to anyone. Explain whatever you need me to explain to make this right.”
Ian was so carried away by the thought of this supposed solution that he somehow forgot she was standing there, watching him. He stripped down completely, reaching for fresh clothing. In doing so, Màiri had a clear view of his backside. All of it.
And then he turned.
Saw her watching.
“Ah shit.”
Right before her eyes, it grew. Màiri’s eyes widened as she watched, never having seen the frontside of a man before. She’d washed honored guests, but they had, of course, been covered with soapy water. And another maid had always been present on such occasions.
Perhaps it was best this way. The thought of him, of that, inside her was an alarming one. Surely Marian had been wrong. That hurt only a bit the first time? Would she have lied? Surely not, but how was that possible?
He covered himself, but not quickly enough. Even when he was fully dressed she could still see the bulge beneath his braies. Màiri knew now, she understood. And could not unsee the vision of her husband naked before her, hard with longing.
“Màiri?”
She looked up.
“We should probably not be in a room alone.”
