“She is right here.” Abigail frowned at both big men.
Really. She was accustomed to being ignored by her family, but this was getting out of hand.
For good or ill, Talorc gave her his full regard. “Niall is not my second-in-command. His brother holds that place.”
“But . . .” She did not understand. “Which one is his brother?” She looked at the other warriors, not seeing any that looked like they could get away with ordering Niall about.
“Barr has command of the clan while I am away,” Talorc replied.
“I see. So, Niall is your second-in-command at present.” She nodded, satisfied by her ability to reason that out in her current state of exhaustion.
Talorc did not reply. No doubt because he did not wish to admit she was right.
“I will look forward to meeting him, then.”
“Why?”
“Because he is your second, and I like his brother. I am bound to like him.”
“You like Niall?” Talorc asked.
“You needn’t be so incredulous. I do not hate the Scottish as you do the English.”
“Most in our clan find Niall intimidating.”
“Then they must find you positively terrifying.”
That had Talorc looking pleased and Niall laughing, which from the shocked expressions of the other soldiers, must not happen often.
Abigail decided she had had enough of the discussion and attempting to be awake when all she wanted was to sleep. So, she curtsied and excused herself before ducking into the tent. Bright moonlight filtered between the edges of the plaids draped to make the walls of the tent and soon her eyes adjusted.
She had barely removed her shoes so she could settle on the furs when Talorc joined her, making the already small quarters feel overwhelmingly crowded. She scooted to the very edge of the tent to make room for him.
He handed her an apple. “Eat.”
She thought of arguing, saying she just wanted to sleep. Only it would probably take more effort to convince the big warrior than to eat.
She accepted the apple and took a bite. Crisp and juicy, the fruit’s flavor exploded over her taste buds, reminding her body how long it had been since she’d last fed her stomach. When she finished with the apple, he handed her a skin of water to drink from. She drank and then found herself presented with a hunk of yellow cheese and a hard roll. She ate the cheese.
However, after one bite of the hard roll and chewing it for what seemed forever, she placed it aside. “I’ll just save this for the morning.”
“I will provide you with food to break your morning fast.” He looked downright growly.
“I’m full.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”
“I’m not a warrior. I don’t need that much.”
“I’ll not have you wasting away, wife.”
She felt a blush climb her cheeks at his verbal claim to her. “I won’t.”
“You are small.”
“Are Highlander women so much larger, then?” Emily hadn’t mentioned such a thing in her letters.
“Nay, but you are fragile.” He said the last word with a twist of his mouth.
Ah, the weakness thing again. “Emily is no bigger than me, and she’s doing just fine among your brethren.”
“She lives among the Balmoral.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it is not.” He frowned fiercely. “We are the Sinclair, they are Balmoral.”
“Are there no Chrechte among them?” she asked, trying to understand her new husband’s point.
Perhaps he thought the fiercer warriors a danger to her. Though that didn’t make much sense to her either, but then much of the way men thought didn’t.
“The Balmoral is Chrechte.”
“Emily’s husband?”
“Aye.”
“There, you see? I will do fine.” She might be afflicted, but that had only made her stronger, not encouraged weakness.
Though only Emily had ever acknowledged such.
“You think to compare me to the Balmoral?”
She decided she would be best served with one of the shrugs so popular with the Highland warriors.
He shook his head as if unable to believe her. “You are a Sinclair now, you will not forget that.”
“Trust me, I’m not likely to.” She was deaf, not daft.
“It is time to sleep.”
“Finally,” she muttered as she turned and attempted to find a spot to lie on that would not put her body into contact with his.
He had no such compunction. As he stripped his plaid and shirt from his body, he made no effort to avoid brushing her side with first an arm and then his leg.
“Are we on Sinclair land then?” she asked with a squeak she could not be sure had enough volume to be heard.
He turned to stare at her. “Nay.”
“But . . .”
“Undress. You’ll not sleep all twisted up in your plaid.”
“I . . .”
He blew out an impatient breath. “You may remove your plaid under the furs to protect your modesty.”
He should have thought of that before hopelessly compromising it by getting wholly naked in front of her. She’d never seen a man’s body before, and she found it both frighteningly repelling and inexplicably fascinating.
He made no move to cover himself as she stared at him in helpless curiosity. In fact, the part he should have covered and that she should definitely not have been looking at began to grow. She remembered he’d mentioned such a phenomenon that morning, when explaining the marriage bed. But she had not understood what he meant. Now, she did.
Oh dear, did she understand. It was quite amazing and entirely mortifying. Especially since she could not seem to look away.
“That’s . . .” She licked her lips and swallowed. “Does it get bigger?” She was unable to stop herself from asking.
“Keep looking at it like a kitten ready to lap up cream and it will.”
She jolted at his words. “I . . . I wasn’t. Not thinking of licking.” Licking? Was he truly serious? He looked so, not a flicker of amusement anywhere in his expression. But licking?
He’d told her they might do that. Taste each other in such intimacy. She’d thought he must surely be exaggerating, playing on her ignorance. Clearly, he hadn’t been. Oh, my.
Did he expect her to do that now?
He reached for her.
Surprisingly, she did not faint again. And showing a complete lack of self-preservation, she made no move to run screaming from the tent.
His face a mask over some emotion so fierce, the very blankness alluding to it, he untied her belt. She grabbed it and stared at him, unable to voice a question or complaint.
He said nothing. No words of comfort, no demand she not impede him.
Was the fire burning in his blue gaze lust? A man’s desire for a woman was not something she had any experience with. Though Jolenta had told her stories, implying the whole time that Abigail would never have to worry about such a thing.
Isn’t that what they’d all thought, Abigail herself included?
Sybil had not come right out and said she did not think Talorc would want Abigail, but she’d implied it well enough. And yet, isn’t that what Abigail saw in his eyes right now?
“Do you want me?” she asked, once again showing her self-protection skills were at a very low ebb.
But she truly needed to know.
“Yes.”
“But I’m English.” Shut up, Abigail. She’d spoken more to her husband in the past day than she often did in a week. Surely she could stop talking. But words just kept popping out of her.
“I will not claim you now,” he said, ignoring her last comment.
Then why did he wish to undress her? This question she managed to keep to herself. Barely.
He tugged at her belt and, of their own volition, her fingers released it. For surely she would not have done so on purpose. He pulled it away and began undoing the pleats of her plaid. Shock and a strange stirring in her belly held her immobile as he removed the blue, green and black fabric from her body.