He did neither. Instead, he subjected her to another of those penetrating stares that made her feel like he sliced her heart open and read every word she battled against speaking. “Why are ye so frightened of admitting that you want to marry me?”

“Don’t be absurd.” Stiffening, she cast him a contemptuous glance. “I’m not frightened of anything.”

“Aye, you are.” He stepped close enough to take her hand and despite her attempts to pull free, he kept it. “You’re terrified. I want to ken why.”

Santo cielo, she’d been right to fear his touch. And his perception. The urge to fling herself against him and say yes rose to smash against the boulder jamming in her throat. The boulder, blast his knowledge of her, composed entirely of panic.

“I’ve said no,” she choked out. “Can’t we leave it at that?”

“You know we can’t.” Compassion and affection softened his features. “Come and sit beside me. Let’s talk about this.”

“You mean you’ll try and persuade me to agree.” Her tone was tart.

His shrug was unapologetic. “That, too.”

She sighed and at last curled her fingers around his. “You’re wasting your time, Mackinnon.”

But she let him lead her out of the hollow where she’d found such transcendent bliss and where now her heart threatened to split in two. He brought her back to where her sketchbook waited, forgotten. That was warning enough that what she dreaded would come to pass, surely.

Marina released his hand and scooped the sketchbook up and pressed it to her chest, as she had when Fergus carried her home after saving her life. Although it held no more secrets from him, except perhaps the final, unspoken one. And she had a queasy feeling that last secret was already in his possession, despite her efforts to keep it from him.

“Armor again?” His tone was dry.

Sheepishly, she loosened her death-like grip. “Do I need armor?”

“Not against me, mo chridhe. Never against me.” She slumped onto the tussock where he’d found her drawing an hour ago. She felt like she’d lived through a lifetime since, until she became an old and bitter woman with nothing left to look forward to.

Oh, grow up, Marina. This isn’t a grand Shakespearean tragedy. It’s a mere difference of opinion that won’t matter a fig in ten years.

If only she could believe that.

With wary eyes, she watched Fergus lean against a tall rock a few feet away. The fact that he wasn’t touching her warned her that he believed he could win this argument by appealing to her intellect rather than her physical weakness for him.

She hated that he was so reasonable. She hated that he was so generous. She wanted an excuse to flounce off and he, blast him, was clever enough to deny her the opportunity.

He folded his arms across his imposing chest and took a moment to study her. That piercing inspection made her shift with discomfort.

“Do you want to know why I asked ye to marry me, Marina?” he asked in a gentle voice.

She frowned. She’d expected him to continue attacking her position, not invite her to understand his. “Because we can’t keep our hands off one another,” she said in a sour tone.

“Aye, that’s one reason. Is it a bad one?”

“You can’t base a future on fleeting passion,” she said, far too primly for someone who had been heaving all over him a few minutes ago.

He arched one of those expressive eyebrows. “Are ye so sure it’s fleeting, lassie?”

Surprised, she met his eyes. “Aren’t you?”

He shrugged again. “I suspect over time, my desire might change, but I cannae see it fading.”

She gulped and closed her eyes, as she fought against the lure of a lifetime sleeping beside this man.

“I’d never have said you were a romantic.” Porca miseria, she meant to sound snide, but she just sounded needy.

“I’m telling you what I believe. If it’s romantic to think that something as strong as the passion between us is likely to last, then I’m a romantic.”

“You’re a romantic to think we wouldn’t murder one another,” she forced through stiff lips, as the sweetness of what he said coalesced into a giant hammer that battered against her closed heart. Because she, too, was in thrall to this bond between them, and leaving him was going to slice at her like a razor.

Tags: Anna Campbell The Lairds Most Likely Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net