She swallowed. Her gaze dropped. Overhead the lone bird circled, its plaintive call echoing in the dusk.
She bent to put on her shoes, and when she straightened, he proffered his arm. She hesitated before taking it and when she did it was a light, decorous touch, not the warm hugging hold it had been earlier.
They walked back along the beach in silence. Cameron mentally cursed his thoughtless comment. She was miffed with him now for pointing out the truth.
How much longer was this blasted courtship going to take?
Chapter Fourteen
She would not feel guilty, she would not. My bride, no' my wife. The words had stung.
But married or not, she had a right to a courtship. Their marriage had given Cameron what he wanted. His inheritance had been the sole reason for his marrying, and he had full control of it now.
The very first thing he'd done, the very evening of the wedding, was to send off a flurry of orders to Inverness and more to Edinburgh, via the ship leaving at dawn the next morning. She'd overheard a couple of the servants talking about it later. Building supplies, she gathered. For rebuilding houses and the ruined bridge.
There had been no place in his plans for her, not for Jeannie McLeay with all her hopes and dreams and worries. Just for 'a wife.'
She didn't blame him for it, but she had to make space in this marriage for her, had to make him notice her, as she was noticing everything about him.
She admired him, she truly did, for caring for his people, for working so hard to ensure they were warm and safe from the elements over winter. He'd sacrificed himself, his own wants and possible choices, by marrying the first eligible woman he'd met.
She might have begun as an 'eligible woman', but she was determined that wasn't all she'd be.
He'd treated her with kindness and respect, but as far as she could see, he treated everyone that way. Look at how he'd reacted to the news that his housekeeper wasn't able to do her job properly.
Kindness and respect were important—Jeannie had to admit she'd had neither in the last six years with Grandad. She ought to be grateful—and she was. But kindness and respect were not enough. Jeannie wanted more.
The sea breeze picked up, sharp with the promise of winter, and Jeannie hugged her shawl around her. It was a beautiful gift—and chosen to match her eyes. She would treasure it the rest of her life.
She'd asked to be courted, and he was trying, she could see he was, with this walk, and the shawl.
What was the matter with her that she couldna' be satisfied with that?
The trouble was, when she'd stood before the minister in her borrowed dress and too-big shoes, she'd given more than her hand to Cameron Fraser. She'd tumbled head over heels for him as he stood tall and strong, so beautiful in his kilt, making sacred vows to her in a firm, deep voice.
She wanted, oh but she desperately wanted him to . . . to fall for her, too.
And not simply because he wanted to bed her.
They reached the narrow, twisty path that led up from the beach to the castle. He let her hand slip off his arm and turned to face her. "What I said before, I didna' mean it—at least I did, but it came out . . . wrong."
His eyes were steady and sincere. Drat the man, it was impossible to stay cross with him.
"The trouble is, I want you something fierce, Jeannie." He waited a moment, then added, "And I think you want me too."
Jeannie swallowed. She had nothing to say to that. Aye, she wanted him, what woman would not? But she was gambling with her future happiness here. She wanted him to know her, to feel something for her before they lay down in a bed together.
If she admitted now that she wanted him, she knew what would happen: he'd sweep away all her hesitations, and take her to bed. And then . . .
Aye, what then? She knew little about what passed between men and women, between husband and wife. But she'd heard women talking about how men, once they'd got what they wanted, lost interest.
She'd asked for a fortnight's grace, a short courtship. It wasn't much to ask. Two weeks to try to make him fall in love with her. Asking for the impossible.
He cupped her chin in his hand and tilted it until she met his gaze. "I didn'a mean to hurt your feelings," he said softly. "I'm just . . . impatient." He bent and his mouth brushed hers, a short, sweet kiss, rueful and tender. "Now, let's awa' up this path. Dinner awaits."
He took her hand in his and slid his other hand around to the small of her back. Supportive. Protective.
They climbed the path to the castle. His palm was warm against the hollow of her back. Awareness hummed between them.
