She scooted back, about as far away from him as she could be and still be on the same bed. "I'm no' going to lie down with you tonight," she told him. "Not as a bride."
Bridal jitters. "And why would that be?" Cameron kept his voice quiet and easy, as he would with an unbroken filly. He folded his arms and waited.
She nervously ran her tongue across her lips. His gaze followed the movement hungrily.
"I don't know you."
"Och, you do. I'm your husband," he said with a glimmer of amusement.
"I ken that fine," she flashed, "But we don't know each other and I won't—I can't lie down wi' a man I don't . . . I've only just . . . You don't know me at all."
"I know enough," he said calmly, "and in the lying down together we will come to know each other better."
She flushed, a wild rose color that set his blood pounding. "What exactly do you know about me?"
Ah, so that was it. She had a past, some secret she was a'feared he'd discover. "I don't care what you've done in the past, Jeannie. Our marriage starts fresh tonight." He slid along the bed toward her.
She shot off the bed. "Not tonight it doesn't. You will listen to me on this, Cameron Fraser!" She stood in front of the fire, her arms folded across the swell of her breasts, her blue eyes sparking. "I'm not ashamed of anything in my past if that's what you're implying, but you've proved my point. You know nothing about me. I'm not simply some female body you pulled from a bog and wed to get your hands on an inheritance. I'm a person, with hopes and dreams and plans of my own. Aye, we're married, but it's not enough."
He frowned. What the devil was she on about? Of course she was a person. He could see that fine through the thin fabric of her night rail, her long, slender legs silhouetted by the firelight, that silky mane of hair gleaming. The blood pooled in his groin, fueling a growing urgency.
But she was saying no, dammit. And for what? "I don't understand. I've given you my name, brought you to my home, introduced you to my family in all honor. What the hell else do you want?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Don't you curse at me, Cameron Fraser." She took a breath and moderated her tone. "I know we're wed and I appreciate the honor you've done me, indeed I do. But if I'm to be a true wife to you, I want . . . I want . . ."
He flung himself off the bed and prowled slowly toward her, his temper on a knife edge. He'd got her measure now. He'd put a stop to this nonsense. "More jewels? Money? What?"
She swallowed. "I want the same as other brides."
"Clothes? A trousseau? I said I'd buy you—"
"I want to be courted."
He came to an abrupt halt. "Courted?" She wanted to be courted? By her husband?
She nodded. "Only for a wee while. Just until we know each other better. And then I'll feel more comfortable when we, you know." She glanced at the bed.
His anger slowly died. She was in earnest. And he had, after all, only known her for less than a day. He'd taken one look at her in the kirk, fresh from her bath and clad in blue that almost matched her bonny bright eyes, and he'd been ripe to tup her then and there, minister be damned.
But women were different, he knew.
"What would this courtship entail?" He thought he knew. Flowers, little gifts. Pretty speeches. And poetry, he thought gloomily. He hated poetry.
She bit her lip and considered it a moment. "Talking mainly," she said at last. "Getting to know each other. Perhaps a few walks."
It wasn't much to ask. Walking and talking? He could do that. "No poetry then?" he said, cheering up.
Her eyes lit. "Oh yes, that would be lovely. Do you like poetry?"
"No," he said hastily. "I don't know many poems." A handful of dirty ditties, not fit for her ears. "But I could teach you to ride."
"That would be very nice," she said in the kind of voice that told him she'd prefer he spouted poetry. She waited, with that hopeful look in her eyes that unmanned him every damned time.
Capitulation loomed. "How long would this courting period last?" He didn't like the idea, didn't want to wait for what his body hungered for, but she was his wife and he owed her respect. And he couldn't withstand that damned appealing look.
"A fortnight?"
He sighed. A fortnight? Two whole weeks? Fourteen nights of waiting, unfulfilled? It would probably kill him, especially if he had to look at those legs of hers much longer. But it wasn't an unreasonable request.
