No.
Ridiculous girl, she could be feasting at Penrose Abbey right now with an illustrious spread before her, in a dining room three times the size of this cottage.
With a furtive look, she reached for a slab of fish.
Well.
Just one bite wouldn’t hurt.
The food soothed her, coaxed her deeper into comfort she had no right to entertain. She ate more. Tom told her stories. He spoke in a hushed voice, one that banished all her defenses and made her smile at him.
He set the empty plate on the other side of him. “Turn around.”
“What?”
“Ye cannae have yer hair drying like that. Ye’ll be pulling and yanking it out for days.” He twisted her to face away from him. “I’ll be right back.” He jogged into the bedchamber, then returned with something metal flashing in his hand. He plopped down behind her. “Now sit still with ye.”
“What are you doing?”
“Dinnae worry. I never liked this anymore than ye did.” His hands scraped the hair away from her face, behind her ears, down her back.
She was unprepared. Tingles burned where he touched. “You need not do this.”
“I am used to it.”
The metal comb eased through her tresses. Careful. Gentle. His breath touched the back of her ears and sent odd vibrations across her chest. Sweet vibrations. Vibrations that made her want to lean back into him and close her eyes.
“Tom?”
“Hmm?”
“Why did you love me?”
He worked another tangle from her hair. Sparks fluttered in the hearth.
“Tom?”
“I dinnae know what to say, lass. I’m nae good at words.”
“There must have been something. Betsey says all the village girls were fond of you. Why should it have been me you chose?”
Another long silence. The sound of the comb gliding. Then his sigh. “I guess because ye were the thing.”
“What thing?”
“That made me want to wake up in the morning.”
“I made you happy.”
“Aye.”
“And you made me happy?”
“Aye.”
“I am sorry.” Tears filmed her vision. She trampled the urge inside her that wanted to reach back and catch his hand in some sort of gesture of contrition. “For being so …”
“Pigheaded?”
