Page 34 of The Runaway Bride and the Highlander
“Nae at all. In fact, Lady MacTavish was more than relieved when the wedding was called off.”
Skylar looked at him with wide eyes of surprise.
“Och, aye,” Bram continued. “Sure, she didnae want the marriage in the first place. Her father pressed her intae it tae unite the clans. It wasnae anything…” Bram continued, but Skylar’s mind once more wandered. All she could think about was having to put a cloth in her mouth so she did not scream while the full weight of Maxwell pressed down on her, crushing her tiny frame.
“Skylar. Skylar.”
Skylar suddenly realized that someone was speaking her name, and turning toward the sound, she noticed Maxwell looking at her with a concerned expression. “Are ye all right?”
“I’m fine,” she answered automatically.
“Ye dinnae look fine.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated again.
“Perhaps it might be better if we talk somewhere a little more private. Come. Let’s retire early.”
A panic washed over her as he stood, holding out his hand out for her to take it. No matter how much she wanted to, she could not refuse it, and the nauseating feeling that had nearly overtaken her that morning returned to her once more.
By the time they had reached his chambers, Skylar was practically shaking. Stopping outside the door, he turned toward her.
“Skylar, what is wrong?” Maxwell asked, a concerned yet soft tenderness to his voice.
“I’m fine,” she said again.
He gazed at her for another second before opening the door and leading her into the room. Closing the heavy wood behind them, he once more turned toward her, only this time, he took her hand in his, looking first at its intense trembling before bringing his gaze to meet hers.
“This doesnae look fine tae me. Tell me, what’s happening?”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine. I’m ready.”
He raised his other hand then and softly stroked her cheek. Skylar dropped her gaze and tried to look anywhere but at him. It was difficult, given he stood so very close to her. Hooking his finger under her chin, he lifted her face, forcing her to look at him. Once more, she saw the tender gaze he had given her earlier that day at the altar.
“Are ye certain ye dinnae want tae ask me anything? We dinnae have tae rush intae this.”
“Nae.” She shook her head fervently. He was only dragging out the inevitable, and even though she was terrified, a part of her wanted him to get it over with.
“Are ye sure?” he pressed, his fingers still holding her face gently. “If I had tae guess, I’d say yer trembling has tae do with us lying together tonight.”
“I dinnae need tae ask anything. I ken what has tae happen.” She couldn’t take the tension any longer and just wanted to get on with it. Maybe if she showed him that then all these questions would stop. With that in mind, she turned her back to him, offering him the back of her dress. “Can ye help me?”
Maxwell understood what she asked of him and began to unfasten the dress at the top. It was a small and awkward hook and eye fastening that Skylar could not undo on her own. The sensation of his fingertips against her skin sent shivers down her spine, a sensation she might have enjoyed under any other circumstances. Once it was loosened, however, she walked away from him and stood beside the bed. Slowly and with her hands still trembling, she pushed the dress off her shoulders, the heavy garment falling to the floor at her feet in a crumpled mess. Her cheeks bloomed a bright red as she noticed him watching her every move.
Sitting on a nearby chair, she pushed off her pretty shoes and, one leg at a time, rolled down her stockings, all the while knowing his eyes were upon her. Eventually, she raised herself from the chair again and stood beside the huge bed, dressed in only her shift.
Skylar noticed his expression had changed, for gone was the tender concern. A smoldering desire now danced in his eyes, and looking at her as though he wanted to devour her, he took a step forward.
“Wait!” she demanded, holding a hand up to stop him.
Frowning slightly, Maxwell did as he was bid and stopped in his tracks, though his confusion was evident. Bending down to reach the dress once more, Skylar searched in the pocket for the piece of cloth she had brought with her. Grabbing it in her fist, she then turned to the bed. In the most unladylike fashion, she threw herself onto the furs, lying straight as a poker, and wondered if this was how someone who pretended to be dead might appear.
Does it matter?she reprimanded herself.
Taking the cloth in her fist, she stuffed it in her mouth, lay both hands straight by her sides, and stayed perfectly still. Her stomach twisted, and she felt the nauseating sensation clash with her utter terror before she finally called out to Maxwell.
“Aw wight, I’m weady,” she said, her voice muffled and distorted through the material.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
