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"There willnae be a third."

"I'll believe that in the morning."

She opened her mouth to argue further and found, with some irritation, that she didn't actually have the argument in her. He was right, which was the worst part of it, and she was tired in a way that had stopped being about her legs some hours ago and had become about something deeper and harder to name. And the chair looked uncomfortable, and the bed was warm, and he was sitting there with his arms crossed and his jaw set like a man prepared to sit in there until dawn out of pure stubbornness.

"That chair will ruin yer back," she said.

"I've slept in worse."

"I imagine ye have. I'm nae asking out of concern for yer back." She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them as she continued watching him. "I'm asking because listening to ye fold yerself intae that chair all night is going tae keep me awake longer than the window would have, and I'd like tae actually sleep at some point before we reach yer land."

His expression was that of surprise and wariness.

"Are ye inviting me intae yer bed, Neilina Chisholm."

"I'm inviting ye tae stop being ridiculous about a chair." She felt her own face heat and hated it. "The bed's wide enough. Ye can lie on top of the coverlet like a dog at the foot of it for all I care."

"A dog."

"If the description fits."

"It's a fair size bed," he said, and there was something in his voice now that hadn't been there a moment ago, low and warm and entirely too pleased with itself, "but I'm a fair size man, Neilina, and I'll tell ye now there's nae version of this where I fit at the foot of it like a hound and dinnae end up with my knees somewhere ye'll object to."

"Then dinnae come at all."

"Ye just invited me."

"I'm rescinding it."

"Too late." He was already crossing the room, already working at the buckle of his sword belt, and she watched him do it with a mouth gone suddenly dry and told herself very firmly that the sudden heat climbing her throat was outrage and nothing else. "Ye offered. A MacKinnon disnae refuse a lady's hospitality."

"I'm nae a MacKinnon."

"Ye will be." He set the belt against the wall and looked at her, something wicked settling into the line of his mouth. "Which means ye'd best get used tae how we take our hospitality."

"Is that what we're calling it?"

"What would ye call it?"

"Presumptuous," she said, "for a man who spent the ride here informing me that everything happening tae me was purely a matter of contract and obligation."

"That was before ye asked me nae tae sleep in a chair."

"I didnae ask ye tae sleep in my bed."

"Ye said the bed was wide enough." He sat on the edge of it, testing the give of the mattress, entirely too at ease for a man about to share a single bed with a woman who'd spent the last two days calling him her enemy. "That's an invitation in every language I know."

"Then ye know fewer languages than ye think."

"I know enough tae recognize when a woman's protesting a great deal more than she's actually opposed to."

Her breath caught, just slightly, and she watched him notice it, watched the wickedness in his mouth deepen into something more dangerous.

"Ye're very sure of yerself," she said, "for a man I've known less than a day."

"I'm sure of what I'm watching happen in front of me." He lay back against the pillows, fully dressed, boots still on, close enough that she could feel the warmth coming off him same as she had on the horse, same as she had over the stew. "Ye can call it presumption if it helps ye sleep."

"Naething about this is helping me sleep."