Page 85 of The Speed of Lightning
“MacSorley?”
She hastily knotted the pouch and dropped it back on the chair. “I’m here. I—I got cold, I needed my plaid.”
“Come back to bed.”
Irritation coursed through her. “It’s time to get up and start the day. I expect you’ll need to sleep longer since ye were out last night.”
A searing note cut her voice as she swallowed the sting of rejection, hoping he caught it.
Oblivious, he propped on an elbow, hand reaching for her. His sleepy eyes lingered on her shift before flicking away. “Have a lie in with me. Coorie in, I’ll keep ye warm.”
She crossed her arms. “I dinnae have time to lie in. I have chores.”
He kept his gaze averted, arm still hanging in the air. “Hang the chores, MacSorley. Come back to bed.”
Her anger collapsed into hurt. “Stop calling me MacSorley—I hate it. And why will you no’ look at me? Why do you no longer show me affection? Is it because I hid my role as the Storyteller? Because I broke your trust?” She perched her leg on the mattress, tugging up her shift as she rolled down her woolen stocking. “Is it that my legs still look like this, and you cannae bear it?”
Tears threatened. She sniffed, fighting to stifle them, clinging to her anger. “Why did ye—did ye—” She wanted to ask about the gift but the words refused to come.
A vein twitched in Calum’s forehead. His eyes swept slowly from her scarred leg to her face. “What d’ye mean you hate being called MacSorley? I’ve always called you MacSorley.”
She let out an awkward, wet snort. “That wasbefore.”
He blinked, still fogged with sleep but frowning now. “Beforewhat?”
“Before…” The words pressed at her tongue, but she couldn’t force them out.Before I realized I loved you.
“Before we were together. Before you made me feel this way.”
At once Calum was wide awake, pushing up to his knees. “What way?”
Aggravated, she felt herself about to snap, the words rising. “Like I want you, Calum. I dinnae ken what tae do. Ye look my way, or touch my hand, or make me laugh, and it’s all I can do no’ to kiss ye. Like I want tae be your…” Her voice cracked. She clutched her throat, mortification burning through her. “Like I want tae be your woman. You say the loveliest things to me, then tack on a teasing ‘MacSorley,’ and I think ye dinnae mean them at all.”
His eyes were huge. “I’m sorry, I willnae call you MacSorley.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She tugged her skirt down, embarrassed, but he caught her hand and pushed it back up. With startling reverence his fingertips traced the brown, puckered flesh splashed across her thigh, then curled them beneath her knee. His thumb lingered at the smooth edge of the scar, a powerful look overtaking him. Their eyes locked in the flickering firelight.
“I havenae seen them since they healed,” he said thickly.
Shame stung anew, and she tried to push his hand away, but he cupped her leg, steady, unyielding.
“They’re horrible,” she whispered. “I hoped they’d fade, but they haven’t. They’re ugly.”
A strangled expression flickered across his face as his hand lingered. His gaze pierced hers.
“Lass, they’re?—”
“Ruined.”
He shook his head. “…Incredible.”
She looked away, unable to bear it. “They’re not.”
“Why are you so cruel to yourself?” He tugged at the ties of his braies.
Flustered, she shut her eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you something.”
