Voyager - Diana Gabaldon [101]
He stiffened, and turned a very cold blue look on her, over the pages in his hands.
“You’ll not use that name to me,” he said. She lifted the pointed chin a trifle more and raised her plucked brows.
“Why not? It’s yours. Your sister calls you so.”
He hesitated for a moment, then deliberately laid the letter aside, and bent his head to the laces of his breeches.
“I’ll serve ye properly,” he said, looking down at his working fingers, “for the sake of my own honor as a man, and yours as a woman. But”—he raised his head and the narrowed blue eyes bored into hers—“having brought me to your bed by means of threats against my family, I’ll not have ye call me by the name they give me.” He stood motionless, eyes fixed on hers. At last she gave a very small nod, and her eyes dropped to the quilt.
She traced the pattern with a finger.
“What must I call you, then?” she asked at last, in a small voice. “I can’t call you MacKenzie!”
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly as he looked at her. She looked quite small, huddled into herself with her arms locked around her knees and her head bowed. He sighed.
“Call me Alex, then. It’s my own name, as well.”
She nodded without speaking. Her hair fell forward in wings about her face, but he could see the brief shine of her eyes as she peeped out from behind its cover.
“It’s all right,” he said gruffly. “You can watch me.” He pushed the loose breeches down, rolling the stockings off with them. He shook them out and folded them neatly over a chair before beginning to unfasten his shirt, conscious of her gaze, still shy, but now direct. Out of some idea of thoughtfulness, he turned to face her before removing the shirt, to spare her for a moment the sight of his back.
“Oh!” The exclamation was soft, but enough to stop him.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Oh, no…I mean, it’s only that I didn’t expect…” The hair swung forward again, but not before he had seen the telltale reddening of her cheeks.
“You’ve not seen a man naked before?” he guessed. The shiny brown head swayed back and forth.
“Noo,” she said doubtfully, “I have, only…it wasn’t…”
“Well, it usually isn’t,” he said matter-of-factly, sitting down on the bed beside her. “But if one is going to make love, it has to be, ye see.”
“I see,” she said, but still sounded doubtful. He tried to smile, to reassure her.
“Don’t worry. It doesna get any bigger. And it wilna do anything strange, if ye want to touch it.” At least he hoped it wouldn’t. Being naked, in such close proximity to a half-clad girl, was doing terrible things to his powers of self-control. His traitorous, deprived anatomy didn’t care a whit that she was a selfish, blackmailing little bitch. Perhaps fortunately, she declined his offer, shrinking back a little toward the wall, though her eyes stayed on him. He rubbed his chin dubiously.
“How much do you…I mean, have ye any idea how it’s done?”
Her gaze was clear and guileless, though her cheeks flamed.
“Well, like the horses, I suppose?” He nodded, but felt a pang, recalling his wedding night, when he too had expected it to be like horses.
“Something like that,” he said, clearing his throat. “Slower, though. More gentle,” he added, seeing her apprehensive look.
“Oh. That’s good. Nurse and the maids used to tell stories, about…men, and, er, getting married, and all…it sounded rather frightening.” She swallowed hard. “W-will it hurt much?” She raised her head suddenly and looked him in the eye.
“I don’t mind if it does,” she said bravely, “it’s only that I’d like to know what to expect.” He felt an unexpected small liking for her. She might be spoiled, selfish, and reckless, but there was some character to her, at least. Courage, to him, was no small virtue.
“I think not,” he said. “If I take my time to ready you” (if he could take his time, amended his brain), “I think it will be not much worse than a pinch.” He reached out and nipped a fold of skin on her upper arm. She jumped and rubbed the spot, but smiled.
“I can stand