to have to look up into his face. I had a sudden urge to take a step backward, but didn’t, largely because there wasn’t room.
“The question is, Sassenach, why have ye come back?” he said softly.
“That’s a hell of a question to ask me!” My palms pressed flat against the rough wood of the door. “Why do you think I came back, damn you?”
“I dinna ken.” The soft Scottish voice was cool, but even in the dim light, I could see the pulse throbbing in the open throat of his shirt.
“Did ye come to be my wife again? Or only to bring me word of my daughter?” As though he sensed that his nearness unnerved me, he turned away suddenly, moving toward the window, where the shutters creaked in the wind.
“You are the mother of my child—for that alone, I owe ye my soul—for the knowledge that my life hasn
