Page 13 of Claimed by the Obsessed Laird (Highland Bride Hunt #1)

He chuckled. “Well, ye cannae blame me for that.”

“Oh, ye’d be surprised at what I can blame you for,” she replied, but there was a lighter edge to her voice that assured him she was doing little more than teasing.

It took him a moment to make sense of it, though, and he raised his eyebrows for a second before he smiled.

He managed a laugh, finally. She could not help but feel rather charmed by his attentiveness and his willingness to respond to her unconventional answers, even when he clearly had little idea of how to.

“Oh, I love cranachan,” she sighed as she plunged her spoon into her pudding and took a hefty bite.

He was still watching her, his wine in one hand. She could not help but notice how much larger his hand looked on the glass than hers did, and she tried not to let her mind linger on it for too long.

“It’s good to see ye eat,” he remarked quietly. “I havenae seen ye take much food since ye arrived.”

“Yes, well, I’ve been too busy trying to get yer kitchen in order,” she replied, waving a hand. “How can I trust anything that comes out of there when I’ve seen the chaos it operates under?”

He laughed again, this time a little more prepared for her response.

“I’m no’ sure that the kitchen staff would agree with ye there.”

“They dinnae have to,” she replied with a shrug. “As long as they keep sending out cranachan this delicious.”

The conversation did not quite flow between them, but it was laced with rather less combativeness than it had been before—especially compared to their time in his study the evening prior.

He asked her questions about her favorite foods and flowers, and she told him all about the time she had spent in the gardens of her father’s estate before she had come here.

How she had loved to pick jasmine and fill her bedroom with them so the scent would rise through her body when she woke every morning.

He listened attentively, trying to take it all in, and she thought, for a moment, about asking him why he had reached out to her sister.

She was worried, though, that it might shatter the good spirits they seemed to have found together.

Whether it was a result of the wine or just the effort he seemed to have suddenly poured into this evening, she was grateful for it.

For once, she felt no need to dig her heels in and make a point of not enjoying it.

“There was a woman in the village near me who used to make jasmine perfume,” she sighed, as the memory crossed her mind once more. “I used to spend all my coins on it, and my father would complain that I walked through the estate smelling like a garden.”

She laughed at the thought, and he gazed back at her for a moment, drinking her in.

She was not used to seeing him quite so calm, and she’d have been lying if she said there was a part of her that didn’t know how to react to it.

She almost wished he would revert to the furious version of himself, because at least, then, she would know what to do with it.

But his gaze… his gaze rather reminded her of how he had looked at her before he had kissed and touched her the night before.

And she could not for the life of her make sense of whether she craved that kiss again or whether what defenses she still had left would crumble in a matter of moments if he did.

When their meal was finished, she was warm with wine and good conversation.

She turned her attention to the riding ensemble he had purchased for her once more.

It wasn’t just the gift itself that touched her, though that was a part of it.

It was the thought of him going out of his way to make certain he had the right size for her, speaking with her maids to ensure that he had everything exactly as she might have wanted it.

“It really is lovely,” she murmured to him.

“I cannae wait to see ye in it,” he replied, his voice edged with something a little heavier than just the wine.

She lifted her gaze to meet his, and her cheeks flushed when his blue eyes found hers.

There it was once more, the memory of the night they had met, the way he had looked at her across the room, the way he had pulled her close when they had danced, the way it had lit something within her that had started this inferno in the first place.

She quickly hid behind her wine once more, taking a long sip and draining the cup. With the food and drink running dry, she knew that whatever he had planned next for their evening was only a matter of moments away. Her heart picked up pace in her chest.

It wasn’t that she didn’t crave it, of course not. It was that she did not know what might change between them if she gave herself over to him, nor what his wildness might extend to when he got her alone…

“Perhaps I could walk ye back to yer chambers,” he offered as he rose to his feet.

Surprisingly gentlemanly, as though they were still courting. She thought of reminding him that they were married now and he did not need to keep up such an act, but she bit her tongue before she could ruin what had been a perfectly lovely evening.

“That would be lovely,” she agreed, and she rose to her feet as he offered her his arm. The two of them made their way from the room and back to the corridor.

She could not help but notice the strength of his bicep beneath his clothes, the pressure of it under her hand.

She had seen him fighting with Archie just the day before, and she had been struck by how strong he looked, how powerful.

How there hardly seemed anything in the world that he wouldn’t have been capable of had he set his mind to it.

And, tonight, at least, it seemed as though she was the only thing he cared for.

Whatever that meant…

The two of them made their way back down to her chambers, and a little prickle formed in the base of her spine as she imagined what it might be like to invite him in.

She had no idea if he would be affronted by such a thing; if he would think her rude or demanding for being the one to make the move, but she had been the one to reject him the night before.

Well, she had not entirely rejected him, but she had not accepted his advances when he had challenged her to tell him that he was wrong in his estimations and that she did not want him at all.

She could feel a heat rising deep within her, a want that he had sparked into being when he had kissed her the night before, and she wondered if—no… hoped—he would do it again.

They reached her door, and she turned to him, every inch of her body tingling as she waited for him to say something. Slowly, he leaned towards her, brushing his lips across her cheek. A shiver rushed up and down her body, from the spot he touched to the tip of her fingers and back again.

When he pulled away, she found her lips slightly parted, like there was more that she wanted to say to him but that she was not able to put into words.

“Rest well, wife,” he told her.

And, with that, he turned his back and left, making his way down the corridor to leave her standing there with a look of utter confusion on her face, and a deep wanting in her gut.

For a second, she thought of calling out after him, but she was sure that was what he’d have wanted.

So she bit back a response, promising herself that she would not give in to him that easily.

One night of his kindness would not be enough to change her mind, that much she was sure of.

No matter how badly she might have wanted to call out to him in that moment. And no matter how badly her body seemed to insist that she find some way to coax him into her chambers and not let him leave again till morning.

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, leaning her head against the wall and letting out a long, uneven breath. She reached to touch the spot where he had kissed her and let out a slight groan.

Because whatever she had thought about him had just been shattered by everything he had done today. And loathing him had been much easier than accepting whatever strange mix of emotions coursed through her in that instant.