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She’d make him listen to her.
“Owen!” she said as she walked through the muddy courtyard. Men glanced at her. Servants stared. Only Owen didn’t react. “Owen!”
She came to stand by him and took him by the biceps, making him turn to her. His mouth tight, he glared at her, making her stomach drop. Was she completely wrong about him? Wrong about the fact he might have some feelings for her, too?
No, she reminded herself. Don’t be discouraged. Just tell him how you feel.
“What is it, lass?” he said with annoyance in his tone. The man he was training threw a curious glance at her.
Mind your own goddamn business, she thought.
“Can I talk to you, please?” she said.
Owen looked back at his student, clearly irritated. “Can it wait, Amber?”
She was digging her own grave. But she couldn’t stop. “No.”
Her hand was still on his arm, the touch so pleasant, like licking a spoonful of warm chocolate.
Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. The sky darkened. A cold gush of wind played with Owen’s hair. It was wet from exercise, but not in a yucky way. In a sexy, masculine, please-take-a-shower-with-me way. She itched to tuck the strand behind his ear and reveal his handsome eyes the color of spring moss.
“Aye.” He turned to the training men. “Lads, continue till the rain starts.”
He reached out and gently removed Amber’s hand from his biceps, making her gut churn.
Not good. Oh man. She was doomed, wasn’t she?
He gestured towards the donjon. He was so cold, so distant, as though they hadn’t lived through life-and-death situations together, hadn’t kissed and told each other about the worst things that had ever happened to them.
She had a really bad feeling about this.
They walked through the courtyard into the tower. There was a storage room on the ground floor, with crates and sacks and barrels. The only light came from three torches on the walls. They stood facing each other.
Two strangers.
A maid came down the stairs. Oh God. Was Amber really going to pour her heart out to him while people were walking around?
“Can we talk somewhere private, please? In your room?”
“’Tis nae proper, Amber. We’re nae marrit. Ye canna be with me alone in a bedchamber.”
Amber snickered. “First of all, you and I have been in much more compromising situations alone. There’s not much you haven’t seen, or that I haven’t.”
Owen’s eyes burned, and his jaw muscle flexed. Finally, some sort of reaction.
“Second of all, I don’t care about my reputation. I’m no virgin, and I have no intention of getting married or whatever it is you guys save your women’s reputations for.”
Owen’s face gained an intensity she hadn’t seen before.
“I just can’t talk to you while people are walking around like this. Please.”
“Aye.”
They climbed up the stairs to Owen’s room, where Amber had been sleeping since they’d arrived at the castle. When they came in, the wind howled and sent a cold rush of air through the single window. It slammed the shutters closed. Another roll of thunder passed through the sky, and the lightning flashed through the slits in the shutters.
Owen looked around. “’Tis dark. I’ll build up the fire.”
He came to the fireplace and put wood in it, blowing on the dying embers. Amber’s hands shook. How could she tell him? Did it even matter? God, was there a way to tell him that wouldn’t result in him rejecting her?
