"T-to..."
"Tell me, please."
"Enough to wed me." She wrenched from his grasp and, clasping her arms tightly about her waist, turned her back on him. The motion wasn't easy, especially considering the way her water-heavy dress and cloak hung from her shoulders like lead, pulling at her and making her movements awkward, but she managed it. It was either that, or let Connor see the humiliation she knew must be evident in her gaze and her expression. Had she really just said that?! Aye, she had. "There, I've said it. Are you happy now?"
"Nay, lass, not yet. But almost."
Gabrielle closed her eyes briefly. The vision of Elizabeth Tudor's pinched, mocking face floated in the blackness behind her tightly scrunched eyelids. Harsh, hurtful words echoed in her ears. She tried to chase the memories away, but they refused to go. Were it not against her nature to hate a woman so recently dead and buried, Gabrielle might finally have allowed herself to feel the animosity for her former Queen that had been slow-simmering inside her for so many years.
Releasing a shaky breath, she used one wet hand to smooth her hair back from her brow. Her fingertips strayed to her lower lip. Her mouth still felt hot and swollen from Connor Douglas's kiss. If she dragged her tongue over her lips, would his taste linger there? Gabrielle didn't dare try it to find out. Surely the sweet, musky flavor of him clinging to her skin would be her undoing.
A heavy weight settled upon her shoulder.
Connor's fingers dug lightly through the soaked cloth, into the tender skin beneath. There was a leashed strength to his touch, a barely restrained impatience that was mirrored in his voice when he spoke. "I dinny find the idea of wedding ye unappealing."
"Really?" The fingertips against her lips felt icy again as they trembled against the kiss-swollen skin there. "Aye, I suppose that's true enough. The chance is good our marriage would give you the heir you so desperately want. I can see where you wouldn't be too opposed to the idea. After all, Mairghread says—"
"Please, Gabby, dinny—"
"—these repulsively wide hips were 'made for birthing' and—"
"'Tis not all Mairghread said about ye." The grip on her shoulder tightened, his fingers biting into her skin now. "Och!, lass, she dinny use the term 'repulsive,' nor will I let ye use it to describe yerself. Nothing could be further from the truth."
"Don't lie to me Connor. Not about this. Don't you dare! I'm not blind. I know the truth when I see it, and I see it every time I look in a mirror." And every time Elizabeth's cold, cruel words come back to haunt me. "Believe me, m'lord, I suffer no delusions about how I look."
"What do ye see when ye look in that mirror, Gabby?"
"An overstuffed goose," she replied automatically. Biting down hard on her lower lip, Gabrielle swallowed back the sob that wedged tightly in her throat. Unshed tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them flow. She would not cry in front of Connor, not about this. If nothing else, she still had her pride.
His hand left her shoulder. Gabrielle waited to hear the telltale splash of water that would signal Connor had turned his back on her and walked away in disgust. What happened instead was so unexpected it surprised a gasp out of her.
A splash did reach her ears, but it was closer than she expected, close enough to make the surface of the water ripple around her. Connor must have bent at the waist, for suddenly he slipped one strong arm beneath her knees and coiled the other around her back.
Gabrielle felt his muscles bunch and strain as he hoisted the burden of her weight, which was added to considerably by her water-soaked gown and cloak.
"What are you doing?!" she cried, even as she wrapped her arms around his neck and shifted her weight trying to spread it more evenly in his arms and make her easier to carry. Telling him to put her down never once crossed her mind; she enjoyed too much the hardness and heat of him pressing against her chilled flesh to willingly relinquish the feeling.
He didn't answer, but instead turned toward the bank and started walking. By the time he reached dry ground his breathing was a bit labored. She thought the dampness clinging to his upper lip and brow had more to do with the effort he exerted than any remnants of his bath.
Stopping in the middle of the small, dawn-lit clearing, he sat her down upon the ground and knelt beside her. He was gloriously naked and wet and... aye, he was aroused.
Gabrielle's heartbeat stuttered beneath the cage of her ribs. Suddenly, Connor wasn't the only one having trouble breathing.
"What are you doing?" she repeated when his fingers went to the laces beneath her chin, laces that held the plackets of her wet cloak securely together.
"Plucking you," Connor replied as he deftly untied the water-tightened bow, then eased the cloak off her shoulders. That done, his hands slipped behind her, his fingers working free the tiny seed-pearl buttons that trailed down the spine of her bodice. "I promised ye last night I'd show ye my true feelings for ye. I can think of no better time and no better way."
"Surely you don't intend to...?"
Their gazes met.
Determined gray meshed with shock-widened green.
"Aye," he replied, his voice low, deep, and husky with raw conviction, "I do."
"Now? In broad daylight?" A blush warmed Gabrielle's cheeks. The times they'd made love before had been at night, amid the comforting shield of darkness. Panic bubbled up inside her. Daylight would expose the many flaws in her plump figure, flaws that she could pretend the cover of night had so graciously concealed. "Nay, Connor, please don't."
"Why not, lass? Do ye not want me?"