He didn’t smile. “Of late, we havenae fought much at all.”
“That doesn’t mean we won’t.”
“A fight isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”
“It is, if you’re always the winner,” she retorted acidly. “You’re stubborn and used to getting your own way.”
Another tilt of a russet eyebrow. “And you’re not?”
“Well, that alone promises disaster.”
“You don’t think you’re strong enough to hold your own in an argument? That doesn’t sound like you.” No, it didn’t, curse him. “By God, Marina, you underestimate yourself, if that’s the case. Or is it that you don’t think I’m capable of seeing reason?”
She was being unfair. They both knew it. He was arrogant and sure of himself, but she knew him well enough by now to admit that there was a reasonable man hidden inside the all-powerful laird. His motives were generally good, even if at times, he was a little too blunt in expressing them.
Marina twined shaking hands together in her lap. “You don’t like to compromise.”
“Nor do you. That doesn’t mean I cannae compromise when I have to.” He paused. “I’m compromising right now, in fact.”
“How?” The word was a challenge.
A grim smile twisted his lips. “You’re speaking to a man whose ancestors grabbed what they wanted and asked pardon later. Do you think I’ve never considered stealing you away like Fair Mhaire and locking you in my tower until you consent to stay with me?”
Despite everything, forbidden excitement tore through her at the idea of Fergus forcing her hand. “Then why don’t you?”
He narrowed his eyes, and she had a shameful inkling that he guessed her wish to have the decision wrenched away from her. “Because I respect ye too much. And because I ken that unless you come to me wholehearted, this won’t work, magnificent as the battle between us will be if I defeat you in bed.”
Oh, Madonna santa, that would be a magnificent battle indeed. One he’d lose in the end because, while some reckless part of her thrilled to the thought of him snatching her away like a maiden of old, her independent soul would eventually revolt at the coercion.
“You seem to have come to know me well.” That
terrified her, too.
“Aye, lassie. That’s why I’m not touching you right now.”
“If…if you touch me, I’m lost,” she admitted, the few feet between them bolstering her courage enough for honesty. At least about this.
When his long body tautened, she braced for him to take her in his arms. He was right. If he kissed her, she couldn’t hold out. And she’d never forgive him.
She was almost sorry when he subsided back into that watchful readiness.
“I know. But that willnae win me what I want.” He paused. “Marina, we can overcome whatever divides us. Tell me why you’re so set on running away. Tell me what’s really frightening ye about marrying me. I won’t believe you’re afraid of a few clashes of opinion.”
“You think you know.” Her voice was unsteady.
“I can make a guess.” When she didn’t speak, he went on. “Your talent has singled ye out, mostly from other women. You’re Marina Lucchetti, the great artist, raised high above the rest of her sex because you paint like an angel.”
She flinched away from an accusation she resented, perhaps because it held enough truth to sting. “You make me sound so conceited.”
Fergus shook his head. “It’s not conceit to recognize your worth. But you fear if you stay here with me, you’ll dwindle into a mere wife. You’ll lose your art.”
She sucked in a breath that combined shock and relief. When he’d asked her to marry him, the urge to flee had been instinctive. She’d hardly understood it herself. Now the sick dread coiling in her stomach eased, and the painful tension drained from her shoulders.
“I suppose you condemn that as unwomanly.”
For the first time, a trace of temper lit his gray eyes to flaring silver. “Stop putting words in my mouth, lassie.”
Odd this should annoy him when until now, he’d been remarkably even-tempered about her refusal. He went on before she could object to his tone. “You’ve succeeded in the world you inhabit by laying claim to a freedom like a man’s. You’re afraid you’ll betray your talent if you stay.”