Desire in Tartan: 2 (Highland Vampires) by Suz deMello Page B

He scooted up her body by her side and draped his arm around her shoulders.
    “Everything’s changed now. Everything in my life.”
    “Everything had already changed for ye. It’s just changed a little more.”
    She turned her face away. “I don’t want the Kilburns to think I’m…loose. Unsuitable to teach their children.”
    “Och. I didnae think of that last night. ’Tis true that milady is a stickler.” He shrugged. “Well, then, there’s a few solutions. We’ll hide what we do, or we won’t do it at all. Or we’ll marry or, if ye prefer, handfast. There be many Kilburn men—mayhap ye’ll prefer another.” He winked.
    “Never. What if I’m…increasing?”
    His face went blank and smooth, and her heart chilled.
    Then he smiled at her and hugged her closer. “That shouldnae happen, but if it does, I’ll love our bairn all his life.”
    “Or her.” But what had that momentary bleak expression meant?
    “Or her.” His voice was firm.
    She cast aside her concern. He sounded sure, so why should she worry?
    He went on, “I’m your man, Mistress Alice. One look at ye, one sniff of your gorgeous perfume and I was lost, lost forever.” His voice had taken on a sonorous tone.
    She jabbed him with an elbow. “Stop that.”
    He laughed.
    “And what perfume do you mean? I don’t wear scent. I can’t afford to buy any.”
    He nuzzled her neck. “Then your fragrance is something natural to ye. And as enticing as the tastiest stew.”
    “Thank you,” she said tartly, stood and walked off.
     
    He followed her toward the water, watching as she rinsed.
    A mystery was Mistress Alice, and again he was assailed by doubts. What had he said that was so wrong? What had she been thinking?
    He sighed. He knew ‘twas wrong to compare, but his wife Elsbeth had been an open book, earthy, warm and direct. Alice was frequently direct, and undoubtedly honest, but she was different.
    She’s a Sassenach, he reminded himself. An outsider, an Englishwoman. But that couldnae be the root of the mystery, could it? Elsbeth had also been English. But she’d been milady’s servant, while Mistress Alice wasnae one thing nor the other, he hazarded. She wasnae a highborn lady but not a servant either.
    He didnae quite ken how to deal with her. But deal with her he must.
    And, truth to tell, he wanted to be hers, and she his. That she’d been virgin had been a bonus. He would be her one and only.
    As for bairns…well, that might never happen. He’d pulled out, and creatures such as he rarely reproduced, despite their long-lived nature. Should he tell her of his doubts? Of his late wife’s fate?
    No.
    He followed Alice to the edge of the water and in. Impulse seized him and he grabbed her around the waist and hauled her deeper into the waves.
    She squealed. “Stop!”
    “Why?”
    “I can’t swim!”
    “I can,” he said, laughing. “Have I ever steered ye wrong, mistress mine?”
    She stopped gulping in air and calmed, her struggling body growing still. “Er, no.”
    “Weel, then…” He towed her swiftly out beyond the breakers, and she gasped. From his speed, he reckoned. He was bigger and faster than ordinary. He didnae regard that as anything to boast about, just fact. “Push your feet doon, like ye’re stamping on a floor.”
    She obeyed and he held her away from his body so she wouldnae knee him in the cods. “I’m gonnae let ye go now.”
    She sent him a glance replete with fear.
    “I’ll no let ye drown. How would I explain that to milaird and milady?”
    “Very amusing.”
    “‘Tis no’ amusing at all.” He sighed. “I already have to explain Malcolm’s death.”
    “What will happen? Will you be punished?”
    “Och, no. That’s not milaird’s way. There may be some shouting, of course, but no punishment except that of me conscience.” He pulled away from her, holding on only to her hands. Her fingers curled around his even while her arms gently waved beneath the water’s surface.
    “That