Excerpt of The Guardian by Margaret Mallory

"What are ye doing in my bed, Ian MacDonald?" Sìleas lit the candle and turned furious eyes on him.

"It’s my bed, too," he said.

"How dare ye come in here when I’m fast asleep and think ye can have your way with me."

"You’re my wife," Ian said. "That means I can have my way with ye."

"So I’m your wife now, am I? Ye didn’t think so before." She folded her arms beneath her breasts, and his throat went dry.

"I’ve decided to accept the situation." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and gave her a slow look up and down. "I’m ready to take ye for my wife now. Quite ready."

"Are ye now? And what has made ye come to this decision after all this time?"

She was tapping her foot, not a good sign. Ach, Sìl even had pretty ankles…

"Ian!" she said to get his attention. "I asked what made ye decide ye wanted to be married to me. I thought I ‘disgusted’ ye."

He grabbed a handful of her voluminous nightshift and pulled her closer.

"I know ye heard me say some unfortunate words about ye before I left, and I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. But I find ye appealing now." He dropped his gaze to the lovely, rounded breasts just inches from his face. "Verra appealing."

When he looked up, her eyes were boring holes into him. He couldn’t think for the life of him what he was saying wrong now. What woman didn’t like to hear a compliment?

"What you’re saying is that ye want to take me to bed," she said.

"Absolutely," he said.

"And that’s the reason ye want to be my husband."

"It’s one of the reasons," he said, speaking carefully now. "I’ve also seen all you’ve done for my family and how attached they are to ye. My mother is very fond of ye."

"So ye want to keep me because your mother is fond of me," she said. "That would be a rare comfort to any woman."

The conversation had somehow gone awry. The problem was that there was too much conversation altogether. If he could just get her into bed again, he could make her forget whatever nonsense she was fussing about.

He stood up and pulled her against him.

"I am sorry if I can’t find the right words, but ye feel so good," he murmured against her hair, "and ye smell so good, I cannot think."

She gasped when he cupped her breast. Finally, she seemed at a loss for words.

"We are going to bed eventually, Sìl," he said against her ear. "Don’t make me wait. I want ye badly."

She shoved him away. "There’s nothing special about wanting to take me to bed, Ian MacDonald." Flinging her arm to the side, she said, "Half the men in the clan could say that. At least, I don’t think many would refuse if I made the offer."

Blood pounded in his ears. "If ye offered? If ye offered!"

"Ye wanting me in bed is not a good enough reason for me." She stomped across the room. At the door, she turned and shouted over her shoulder, "You’re not good enough for me."

She slammed the door so hard her pretty rocks on the windowsill bounced.

He was more than a wee bit annoyed himself. If she offered. How could she say such a thing?

He grabbed his shirt from the floor, pulled it over his head as he crossed the room in three long strides, and took off after her down the stairs. "You are the one who wanted to be married to me in the first place. Ye can’t deny it."

"Just stay away from me," she shouted back. "Or I swear, I’ll stick a dirk in ye."

"You planned the whole thing, because ye wanted to be away from your step-da," he bellowed as he followed her through the hall and into the kitchen. "And I wasn’t supposed to have any say over it, was I? Everyone would get what they wanted—but me."

They were in the kitchen now, with the work table between them. When he reached around the side to get a hold of her nightshift, she grabbed a skillet from the table and swung it at his head.

"Now that I want ye to be a true wife, ye change your mind," he shouted. "Just what did ye think you were getting in to? Did ye no expect a husband to want ye in his bed?"

"Perhaps I did expect it—a year ago. Or a month ago," she shouted back. "Or a few days ago, when ye finally decided to bless us with your presence."

"I am prepared to be your husband now," Ian said, gritting his teeth.

"Oh, thank ye." She rolled her eyes and patted her chest. "My heart is all a’flutter over it."

"You picked me, and like it or no, I am your husband," he said. "And I don’t want to ever again hear my wife talking about other men and what they’d do if ye offered."

That was when she caught him on the side of the head with the skillet.