Page 105 of Blood of the Thistle

Bram frowned. “I was already in charge.” He reconsidered, in light of her wide eyes. “Of Craig na Coille.”

“And...?”

“And therefore, to some extent, of everyone within it.”

Her mouth twitched, but he saw no humor in her eyes. “Wow. Last night made you even bossier.”

Bram frowned. “Last night changed matters.”

“Nothing has changed.” She sat up, holding the bed linen to her delectable breasts.

Bram sat up as well. “Ye cannae possibly believe that.”

Anna rose from the bed, and he momentarily lost track of his thoughts. The dawn light fell across her in pale strips through the narrow window, and she was entirely bare, and he found he could not look away from the line of her spine, the curve of her hip, the unhurried way she moved as though she had forgotten, or did not care, that he was watching. But then she dragged the shift over her head, emerging from it with her hair in considerable disarray.

“Why not?”

“Because we have lain together.”

Her hands paused briefly upon the linen before she began straightening it down her body. “Yes.”

The coolness of the answer irritated him enough that Bram threw aside the coverlet and rose to retrieve his own clothing.

“Dinna stand there and tell me it signifies naught.”

“I didn’t say it meant nothing.” She snatched up another garment. “I said it doesn’t change anything between us.”

“Those are verra nearly the same words,” he snapped.

“No, they aren’t.”

Bram hauled on his braies with a violence that nearly tore the worn linen. “Then explain the distinction.”

Anna turned her back upon him as she dressed. “Last night happened because we wanted it to happen. I don’t regret it, but we still have the same problems we had yesterday. I’m still from a time you aren’t convinced exists, and you rather pointedly informed me that you’ve kissed plenty of women before me, so I’m not sure why you think what we did last night suddenly makes me special. Sleeping together didn’t magically solve any of that.”

“Bluidy hell.” Bram reached for his tunic, hating that she had thrown those words back at him, and hating more that he’d ever spoken them. “It changes matters considerably, Anastasia. I have responsibilities toward ye now.”

She turned slowly. “Responsibilities?”

“Aye. I have lain with ye. I willna simply carry on as though—”

“Oh, God.”

Bram frowned. “What?”

“Nothing. Please, continue. This is awesome.”

He dragged his tunic over his head, increasingly irritated by her tone. “We will be wed, Anastasia.”

She went still on the opposite side of the bed.

“You want to marry me?” Her voice had gone strangely small.

“Aye.”

Something in her expression changed, a flicker of sudden vulnerability that disappeared almost before he could examine it.

“Why?”