Highlander Untamed by Monica Mccarty Page A

Margaret, I didn’t realize. Should I address my requests to make some changes to the chamber to her?” Even though she asked politely, Isabel knew that by all rights she should be insulted—his refusal to bestow the position that was her due as his bride was a serious affront. She was the new mistress, and as such she should have the duties of chatelaine. Her smooth features betrayed nothing of her feelings, but suppressing her natural propensity for argument was more difficult than she had anticipated.
    He was obviously displeased by her request. “Tonight, Eoin Og O’Muireaghsain will entertain us with his verse of the history of the clan. I will ask that Margaret sit with us for the evening meal.”
    “Wonderful.” She couldn’t hide the eagerness from her voice.
    “Was there anything else?”
    She twisted her hands. He certainly wasn’t making this easy on her. “I’d hoped that we would be able to spend some time together to get to know each other,” she ventured.
    “Why?”
    Was he serious? She bit back a sarcastic retort, tamping down the flicker of anger. She was trying to make him fall in love with her, after all. She must do her best to be charming and complacent, even if it killed her. “It just seemed natural that we would get to know each other since we are recently handfasted.”
    “I’m very busy, Isabel. You must know that as chief I have responsibilities and duties that require my attention. We take meals together, what more can you require? I assumed, as the daughter of a chief, you would understand the limited time I have to engage in mere frivolity.”
    Mere frivolity! The arrogance of this man was beyond compare. So much for compliments and platitudes. This conversation was not progressing at all as she had hoped. Her mind raced, searching for what had gone wrong. Perhaps he misunderstood her intent.
    She reached out and touched his arm imploringly, her fingers momentarily shocked by the heat of his bare skin. He was just as hard and strong as she’d anticipated. She could feel the power radiating under her fingertips. She noticed that the hairs on his arms stood up at her touch, almost as if she chilled him.
    “I’m sorry, I did not mean to imply that I am not familiar with the demands upon your time. Indeed, my father is a very busy man and did not spend much time with me—I mean us,” she corrected hastily, “as busy as he was with his duties at Strome Castle. It’s just that I have not had much company other than Bessie this last month, and I was hoping you might spare a few minutes to show me around.”
    Rory lifted a dark arched brow. “I am not a nursemaid and did not realize that you would require one.”
    Isabel felt her cheeks grow hot with indignation. “Well, perhaps if you could spare a moment to glance in my direction now and again, you would see that I am well past the age for a nursemaid.” She resisted the feminine urge to stick out her chest and force him to notice just how far from a child she truly was.
     
    Ah, Rory thought, there was the spark. He was beginning to think that he had imagined the spirit he’d glimpsed before. She’d been acting remarkably sweet in the face of his increasing rudeness. She seemed to be trying awfully hard to please him. Her blandishments might have amused him if he weren’t so aggravated. He hadn’t set out to provoke her, but finding himself face-to-face with the recent source of his woes did nothing to improve his already bad temper.
    The memory of her soft backside pressed snugly against his groin was not easily dismissed. Nor was the constant reminder throbbing beneath his plaid.
    Being so close to her at night and not being able to do anything about it was wearing on him. Rory damned himself for his unusual impulsivity. Moving Isabel to his room had been a hasty decision brought about by her interest in his kitchens and his swift reaction to touching her in the storeroom. His error in judgment, his unreasonable