“I want to.” She was gripping the skirt of her gown so tightly that her knuckles were white. Could he not just get on with it?
“I haven’t told ye the proposition yet.”
“Must ye always tease me?” Glynis was so embarrassed she could not look at him. “I told ye the answer is aye. But not now—we must wait until we are certain all the men are asleep so no one sees us.”
Alex touched her elbow, sending sparks of heat up her arm.
“I don’t mean to tease ye,” he said in a low voice that reverberated through her. “And I’m not propositioning ye, if that’s what ye think.”
Heat drenched through her. It was ten times—nay, a hundred times—more embarrassing to say aye to a proposition that was not given, than to one that was.
“Wait,” Alex said, holding her arm as she tried to pull away.
She felt hurt, as well as humiliated, and she wanted to be away from him.
“Glynis, listen to me.” She struggled against him, but he held her in a firm grip. “I do want to bed ye.”
This was too mortifying. “Let me go, Alex.”
He turned her face toward him. “Believe me, I do want ye.”
The roughness in his voice and the heat in his eyes made her feel confused and flustered. Did he want her or no?
“Bedding ye is part of what I’m asking ye,” he said, his green eyes intent on hers. “But it’s no the most important part.”
There was something more important to Alex MacDonald than swiving? Now there was a surprise.
“What else do ye want of me?” She could not think with him so close.
Alex released her and cleared his throat. For a man who was usually so at ease, he suddenly seemed uncomfortable in his own skin. All her instincts were on alert, telling her to be wary. Whatever Alex was about to ask her, he surely did not want to.
“Marriage.” Alex said it on an exhale, as if forcing the word out. “That’s what I’m asking.”
“Marriage?” Glynis could not have been more astonished if a dozen fairies had joined them at their campfire.
“Ye will have to take another husband,” Alex said. “Surely ye can see that now?”
She had been trying to reconcile herself to the notion since discovering that her mother’s family was just as adamant as her father was about seeing her remarried. But it was a bitter medicine to swallow.
“As distasteful as it is to me to wed again, I admit that I may have no choice in the end,” she said. “But you, Alex, ye cannot seriously want a wife.”
“My daughter needs a mother,” he said.
Of course, that was what prompted this. Why had she not thought of it at once?
“Why me?” she asked. “There are plenty of women—including chieftains’ daughters—who want a husband.”
“Sorcha warmed to ye from the start,” Alex said. “She’s become attached to ye, and I believe ye have to her as well.”
An unexpected swell of disappointment filled Glynis’s chest.
“You’d be a good mother to her,” he said.
“And that is the reason ye ask me to be your wife?” Her voice was sharper than she intended.
“We get along well enough.” Alex shrugged and gave her his devilish smile. “Especially in bed.”
“So going to bed with ye would be part of my duties, in addition to playing nursemaid?” she snapped. “For how long, Alex?”
When his eyes darted like a trapped animal, Glynis felt as if her heart were being squeezed by a fist.
“Ye heard what I did to my first husband.” She deliberately looked at his crotch. “Are ye no afraid I’ll cut it off?”
* * *
Alex threw his head back and laughed. “I do like your spark, Glynis.”
If he could keep things light and easy between them, all would be well—or, at least, well enough. He was determined to raise his daughter in a home without the fights and screaming that he grew up with. From his parents, he’d learned that one strong emotion led too easily to another, that love could turn to hate. And hate lasted far longer.
Magnus Clanranald had made the same mistake that Alex’s father had, embarrassing his wife by being brazen about his other women. There was no need for that. A good husband was sensitive to his wife’s feelings. If Alex could not control his urges, then he’d keep his affairs brief and out of Glynis’s sight.
“I’d always respect ye.” Alex looked into the fire and spoke to her from his heart. “I promise I would never embarrass ye. I would always be discreet.”
Both his parents had told him countless times that it was not in his blood to be content with one woman. But at the moment, at least, all his urges involved Glynis. He would not be satisfied until he had her a hundred different ways. By the saints, he wanted this woman as he’d never wanted another. The last four days and nights had nearly killed him.
He turned, intent on dragging her off into the bushes at last. But he stopped short when he saw that the fire burning in her eyes was not the sort he had been hoping for.
“Oouu!” The sound she emitted as she sprang to her feet made him glad there was no crockery about for her to throw at him. Apparently, promising to be discreet had been the wrong thing to say. He stood up and considered how best to soothe her.
“What woman,” she said, planting her fists on her hips, “could say nay to having such a considerate husband?”
“I don’t want to lie to ye,” he said. “I’ve never tried to be faithful, so I don’t know if I can.”
“Ye are a born romantic, Alexander Bàn MacDonald.”
Good lord, did hardheaded Glynis MacNeil expect love? He’d had no notion she harbored such hopes.
“I thought your first marriage would have cured ye of unreasonable expectations,” he said—and knew at once he had made another a mistake.
“So, I am the unreasonable one?” Her eyes were narrow slits like a wildcat’s ready to strike. “And yet, ye would expect me to mother your daughter, manage your household, and be your bedmate for as long as ye like. And then, when ye tire of having me in your bed, I’m to stand aside while ye have one ‘discreet’ affair after another with every willing woman in the Western Isles?”
Alex shifted from foot to foot. He did not sleep with every willing woman, but it seemed best not to mention that just now.
“And because ye are such a handsome, charming man,” she said, spreading her hands out, “I would, of course, agree to this arrangement.”
“Ye are a sensible woman,” he said, though he was having serious doubts about this. “Ye have to marry someone, and I’m no worse than most.”
Not much worse, anyway.
“Besides,” he added, “ye already went to bed with me, so we ought to marry.”
“I presume,” she continued, as though he had not spoken, “that I could have affairs as well, so long as I was discreet.”
“Nay.” The word was out of his mouth before he thought it. He would have to kill any man who touched his wife, but he thought better of telling her this. “Suppose ye became pregnant? I’d need to know that the child was mine.”
“Setting aside the fact that I’m verra likely barren,” she said. “You’re saying it would be well and good for me to raise your children by other women, but no the other way around.”
“Aye.” That was the way of the world. Why did she make it sound as if he had invented it? “But I only have the one child.”
“So far.” She folded her arms. “I appreciate that ye blessed me with your kind offer, but I will not marry another philanderer. If I am forced to take another husband, I’ll wed a steady, serious man I can rely on.”
He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away.
“You, Alexander Bàn MacDonald,” she said, poking her finger into his chest, “are the verra last man in all of the Highlands I would want for a husband.”