point of her throat.
She wondered if he noticed how rapidly her heart was beating.
“You are going to have a bruise. It’s red right now, but the redness will fade.” He dropped his hands and sat back. “What will they think in London when they see it?”
She didn’t say anything. What could she say—that she was not returning to London? She tired of repeating herself. That she wondered why he wasn’t as affected by her nearness as she was by his? She didn’t know if she wanted to hear the answer.
“This is yours, isn’t it?” He picked up her yellow Kashmir shawl and offered it to her.
Anne took it, so disappointed in his insistence she leave, she couldn’t look at him. She rose from the bed. He stood with her, but took a step back. “I didn’t really hurt you, did I?” he asked, misinterpreting her silence.
Wrapping the shawl around her shoulders, she said, “I’m fine.”
Her words came out sharper than she’d intended. He drew back, then reached for his shirt draped over the footboard, giving her his back. In a casual but studied tone, he said, “You have impressed me, Anne. What you have done to Kelwin is beyond belief.”
You have impressed me, Anne. So stiff, so impersonal. But then, what had she expected?
Something more, her imagination whispered.
“Thank you,” she replied, her voice as carefully neutral as his. “I’d best check on the kitchen.” She would have run out of the room but then remembered a detail she’d better tell him before he found out from Deacon. “I hired Mrs. MacEwan as a cook.”
“Fine. Do whatever you need to do.” Polite, distant, proper.
“Yes, thank you.” She escaped and didn’t draw a full, easy breath until she was down the stairs and into the great hall.
For a second, she leaned against the stone wall.
Anne was not so naïve she didn’t realize what was happening to her. She’d been attracted to many, but none had ever made the impact on her senses as Aidan had. Her heart still raced from being on the mattress beneath him…and she was light-headed—giddy, even…and furiously angry at his stubbornness, his coldness. She was not a stranger. She was his wife.
And, she was falling in love.
Love. It was not what she’d imagined it. No bells sounded. No birds sang. The heavens didn’t open.
Instead, love slipped quietly past one’s defenses. It stole your heart before you even realized it was in danger.
She stared at the wedding band on her finger. She hadn’t removed it since the bishop had placed it there. She would never take it off.
In this single moment of insight, her life changed in a way she’d not expected…in a way she could not yet fathom. Dazed, she made her way to the kitchen.
Mrs. MacEwan and her daughter were busy cooking. The smell of fresh bread permeated the air. Sausages sizzled in a pan over the fire.
“Good morning, my lady,” Mrs. MacEwan greeted her happily. “Would you like a cup of tea before breakfast? I’ve been brewing a pot.”
“Yes, please,” Anne said, pleased with the atmosphere of the busy kitchen and surprised to see Hugh was there. He’d stepped back into the shadows of the pantry but now came forward.
“Good morning, my lady,” he said almost sheepishly.
“Good morning,” she returned with uncertainty until she noticed a blush on Fenella’s cheeks. So that was the way the wind blew.
She hid her smile while accepting a cup of tea from Mrs. MacEwan. There was a small pitcher of milk on the table. She was reaching for it when Mrs. MacEwan exclaimed, “What happened to your neck? It’s all red.”
Anne had almost forgotten about the bruises. She rubbed her neck lightly. “It’s nothing. I barely notice it.”
“Nothing?” Mrs. MacEwan said. Her eyes flashed. “There are finger marks. Who did that to you?”
“I woke my husband—”
She didn’t get a chance to say another word. “The laird did such a thing? Heaven’s mercy!”
“Tiebauld would never hurt a woman,” Hugh said loyally.
“He’s right,” Anne stressed. “It was an accident.”
“You mean he really choked you?” Hugh demanded.
“Not on purpose. I woke him. He was surprised.” Anne could see her words of explanation fell on deaf ears. She decided to retreat. “Is breakfast almost ready to be served?”
“In a moment,” Mrs. MacEwan replied briskly, obviously upset.
Anne went into the great hall. Aidan already sat at the table, talking in earnest with Deacon, who frowned when she entered the room…but was it her imagination, or did he seem less set against her than he had