'Now? You want to go to bed now?'
He really was beginning to hate that word. 'Yes, now.'
'I'd rather not.'
'I'd rather so.'
'You might as well know I'm dreading it, Connor. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I must be honest with you. Surely you don't want to force your attentions on an unwilling… Now what are you doing?'
'Putting the MacAlister plaid around you. Will you stop backing away from me every time I reach for you? It's damned irritating. Lift your hair out of my way.'
'I'd rather you left me alone.'
'You're trying my patience.'
Why wouldn't he understand? She tried once again to get through to him.
'Connor, I don't have any experience.'
She was sure she didn't need to explain in more detail. Surely he could hear the worry in her voice, see it in her eyes, and feel it in the way she trembled. Any decent, caring man would immediately try to soothe her.
'I do.'
'That's it?' she cried out. 'I'm supposed to be comforted because you have experience?'
'You want me to comfort you?' He sounded appalled by the very idea.
His reaction didn't sit well with her. Her frustration mounted until she wanted to scream. She took a slow, deep breath, instead, to calm herself.
It didn't help. 'Yes, I most certainly do want you to comfort me.'
He was afraid she was going to say that. For the first time in a very long while, he was at a loss for words. No other woman had ever made such a strange request of him before. In the past, women had always come to him willingly and offered their bodies, and if he'd been in the mood to accommodate them-which, he had to admit, was most of the time-he'd accepted. He'd been mindful of his responsibility to be gentle with them, of course, and he'd always made certain their enjoyment matched his own. None of them had been virgins, though; he wouldn't have taken them to his bed if they had been, and now that he thought about it, damned near every one of them had been well-versed in the art of pleasuring a man. In fact, they'd usually had more experience than he had.
But they'd all left smiling.
This gentle lady standing before him wasn't at all like other women. She was his bride, the woman who would carry his name and bear his children. He should respect her by doing whatever was required of him to allay her fears. Admittedly, he was completely lacking in experience when it came to meeting the emotional needs of women, but he was certain that, if he put his mind to it, he could draw from past observations.
No, no, he was wrong about that, Connor realized after contemplating the dilemma for a moment. He guessed he'd never taken the time to notice what other men did with their women, not even his brother, Alec.
Now what? He wasn't about to tell her she was out of luck. She'd probably start crying then, and he wouldn't have any idea how to get her to stop. His brother always left the hall whenever his wife wept and returned only after she'd calmed down enough to listen to reason. He wasn't going to follow Alec's example now. He'd never get her bedded if he walked away from her. Hell, she'd think she'd been given a reprieve.
There seemed to be only one way out of this mire. He was going to have to help her get over this foolish worry of hers, no matter how long it took.
He prayed for the unthinkable-understanding. 'I have decided to comfort you.'
'You have?' She looked thrilled.
'Yes, I have. However, you're going to have to explain this duty to me first so I'll know how to proceed. You may begin.'
'This isn't the time for jests.'
'I wasn't jesting.'
'You're really telling me the truth?'
The scowl on his face told her he didn't like being doubted. She hurried to calm him. 'Yes, of course you're telling the truth. You're a laird, for heaven's sake. You wouldn't ever lie.'
'Will you get on with it?'
She nodded, but didn't say another word.
'Brenna…'
'I'm thinking about it,' she cried. 'Your impatience is making me nervous. How to give comfort is rather difficult to explain. I don't want to make a muck of it.'
She lapsed into silence again for what seemed like an hour. He couldn't understand what was taking her so long. He hadn't asked her to solve an impossible riddle, for the love of God. Why was she acting as though he had? He honestly didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to stand there without touching her. Couldn't she see what she was doing to him? No, of course she couldn't. She was fully occupied thinking about comfort, of all things. She seemed to have forgotten how to speak. She'd forgotten she was half naked too, but he hadn't. The second she stopped holding her gown together over her chest, the gap in the material widened enough for him to see the gentle swell of her breasts.
It almost killed him to look away. He suddenly realized that if he didn't get her covered up at once, he was going to completely lose his sense of discipline. He would run his fingers down her smooth, enticing skin, gently, of course, and then rip the thin-as-air gown off her.
She sure as hell wouldn't be thinking about comfort then, would she?
Connor quickly wrapped the plaid around her. He draped one long end over her shoulder, spread the material wide to cover her breasts, and secured the wool with the roped belt he'd carried along. The back of his hands deliberately brushed across her bare skin, not once but twice, while he dressed her, and damned if he didn't feel as though he'd been struck by hot lightning.
Covering her up didn't make his primitive urges go away. Now all he wanted to do was tear the plaid and her gown off her.
He stared into the distance instead.
'I'm pleased you're thinking about this.'
She certainly gained his full attention with her remark. 'You are?'
'Yes.'
He gave her a hard look. 'Exactly what do you think I'm thinking about?'
'Comfort.'
He didn't laugh. She wouldn't understand why he was amused, and God help him, he'd probably tell her.
'You still haven't explained what you want from me.'
'When you were younger, didn't your mother…'
'She's dead.'
'I'm sorry.'
'Why?'
'Because she died. What about your father? Didn't he ever comfort you.'
'No.'
'Why not?'
'He's dead. That's why not.'
'Connor, wasn't there anyone you could turn to when you were a little boy?'
He shrugged. 'My brother, Alec.'
'Did he ever comfort you?'
'Hell, no.' He was disgusted by the very idea.
'Wasn't there anyone who cared about you?'
He shrugged. 'My stepmother, Euphemia, but she was in no condition to ever comfort me, or her own son, Raen, for that matter. My father's sudden death destroyed her, and she's been in mourning ever since. She cannot even bear to come back to my land. Her pain is still terrible.'
'She must have loved your father a great deal.'
'Of course she did,' he answered impatiently. 'Does comforting take long?'
How in heaven's name was she supposed to know the answer to that question?
'I don't think so,' she decided. 'Some husbands simply pat their wives on their shoulders as they walk past
