She wanted him to love her in return. "Do your kisses come with an offer to be your wife?"
"I still haven't decided." The words were weighted as he held her away from him, as though he did not trust any further contact. He remained there for a moment longer, perfectly still, every muscle of his body rigid with tension before he stood. He moved for the door.
Elizabeth found herself holding her breath as she listened to his footsteps in the hall, heading farther and farther from her. When his steps faded to nothingness she cradled her head in her hands. What was wrong with her? The man she loved had finally kissed her, and kissed her like he'd enjoyed it very much.
Why did she have to want more?
A few moments later the girls surrounded Elizabeth, exclaiming over her injuries. She assured them she was well and encouraged them to continue with what they'd planned for the afternoon by decorating the hall.
The girls busied themselves, distributing the greens throughout the room, over the door lintels, and along the center of the wide wooden tables.
"Don't you want to help?" Iris asked Elizabeth as she decorated above the hearth with sprigs of holly and ivy.
"You're doing such a wonderful job," Elizabeth replied. "My head hurts me a little, so I'll enjoy watching you." It wasn't a total falsehood. Her head did hurt. The truth, however, was that she wasn't in the least enthusiastic about watching the girls transform the great hall into a holiday setting. Every moment she stayed in the room with them, her unease increased. What if Lucius sent her away?
She obviously wanted more than he was prepared to give her. Finally, she could take sitting quietly with her own thoughts no longer and made her apologies to the girls, then left the chamber and the festivities far behind.
She walked through the manor, her mind and her body reliving Lucius's kiss over and over in a torturous assault. Only two days until their marriage—a marriage that seemed less and less likely to happen. Was she prepared for the consequences if it did not?
Elizabeth shivered as she looked around her. Midwick was a lovely manor. The home she'd always dreamed of having. She gripped the railing and made her way upstairs, and slowly moved down the hallway to the next set of stairs at the end of the hall. The manor's rooms were spacious and airy, with brightly woven tapestries hung on the thick stone walls to block out the chill air so prevalent in Scotland in the wintertime.
She drifted past the three pairs of tall, narrow windows on the upper level. Late-afternoon light filtered through the glass, casting a golden glow at her feet. Drawn by the light, Elizabeth paused by one of the windows and stared wistfully at the landscape covered in snow, which seemed to go on forever. Lucius belonged here. He had always belonged here.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Lucius walked into her line of vision in the courtyard below, leading a large black horse. He was dressed in a tartan of red, blue, and green instead of in his earlier breeches and tunic. The Carrick plaid. With a fluid leap, the kilt-clad Scottish laird tossed himself onto the horse and rode from the courtyard alone.
Elizabeth turned away from the window. She'd driven him away again. With suddenly chilled fingers, she reached up and pulled the linen strip from her head. The bleeding had stopped, as had her dizziness. Perhaps she should leave the manor and forge out on her own while she had a chance to escape with a shred of her dignity intact.
As soon as the thought materialized, she tossed it away. She could never leave without saying good-bye. She knew what it felt like to be left behind with no explanation. She would not treat Lucius or his sisters that way.
She forced her mind away from the laird of the manor and back to the lovely architecture of Midwick. The end of the hallway drew Elizabeth's attention. She had never been up that staircase before. Pulled forward by her own curiosity, she
"I still haven't decided." The words were weighted as he held her away from him, as though he did not trust any further contact. He remained there for a moment longer, perfectly still, every muscle of his body rigid with tension before he stood. He moved for the door.
Elizabeth found herself holding her breath as she listened to his footsteps in the hall, heading farther and farther from her. When his steps faded to nothingness she cradled her head in her hands. What was wrong with her? The man she loved had finally kissed her, and kissed her like he'd enjoyed it very much.
Why did she have to want more?
A few moments later the girls surrounded Elizabeth, exclaiming over her injuries. She assured them she was well and encouraged them to continue with what they'd planned for the afternoon by decorating the hall.
The girls busied themselves, distributing the greens throughout the room, over the door lintels, and along the center of the wide wooden tables.
"Don't you want to help?" Iris asked Elizabeth as she decorated above the hearth with sprigs of holly and ivy.
"You're doing such a wonderful job," Elizabeth replied. "My head hurts me a little, so I'll enjoy watching you." It wasn't a total falsehood. Her head did hurt. The truth, however, was that she wasn't in the least enthusiastic about watching the girls transform the great hall into a holiday setting. Every moment she stayed in the room with them, her unease increased. What if Lucius sent her away?
She obviously wanted more than he was prepared to give her. Finally, she could take sitting quietly with her own thoughts no longer and made her apologies to the girls, then left the chamber and the festivities far behind.
She walked through the manor, her mind and her body reliving Lucius's kiss over and over in a torturous assault. Only two days until their marriage—a marriage that seemed less and less likely to happen. Was she prepared for the consequences if it did not?
Elizabeth shivered as she looked around her. Midwick was a lovely manor. The home she'd always dreamed of having. She gripped the railing and made her way upstairs, and slowly moved down the hallway to the next set of stairs at the end of the hall. The manor's rooms were spacious and airy, with brightly woven tapestries hung on the thick stone walls to block out the chill air so prevalent in Scotland in the wintertime.
She drifted past the three pairs of tall, narrow windows on the upper level. Late-afternoon light filtered through the glass, casting a golden glow at her feet. Drawn by the light, Elizabeth paused by one of the windows and stared wistfully at the landscape covered in snow, which seemed to go on forever. Lucius belonged here. He had always belonged here.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Lucius walked into her line of vision in the courtyard below, leading a large black horse. He was dressed in a tartan of red, blue, and green instead of in his earlier breeches and tunic. The Carrick plaid. With a fluid leap, the kilt-clad Scottish laird tossed himself onto the horse and rode from the courtyard alone.
Elizabeth turned away from the window. She'd driven him away again. With suddenly chilled fingers, she reached up and pulled the linen strip from her head. The bleeding had stopped, as had her dizziness. Perhaps she should leave the manor and forge out on her own while she had a chance to escape with a shred of her dignity intact.
As soon as the thought materialized, she tossed it away. She could never leave without saying good-bye. She knew what it felt like to be left behind with no explanation. She would not treat Lucius or his sisters that way.
She forced her mind away from the laird of the manor and back to the lovely architecture of Midwick. The end of the hallway drew Elizabeth's attention. She had never been up that staircase before. Pulled forward by her own curiosity, she
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