Page 29 of The Highlander's Auctioned Virgin
CHAPTER 8
“We should go to sleep,”she eventually said, and he leaned back. She swallowed and gave him a weak smile. “The storm’s nae stopping anytime soon, and I daenae think ‘tis wise to stay up all night.”
He nodded. “I agree.”
Elinor rose from the floor, her body mildly aching from the remaining cold in the parts of her body that the fire hadn't warmed yet. Her knees trembled as she made her way towards the bed, and she was certain that he noticed.
“Are ye still feeling cold?”
“Nay.”
“Perhaps it’s better if ye stay by the fire until ye– ”
“I am quite all right, Laird MacTraigh. Thank ye for yer concern,” she cut in, almost snapping at him.
She didn’t mean to do it. Ciaran had been nothing but kind to her the entire time. At least kind in his own way, anyway.
She sat on the edge of the bed and watched him gather the stones and sticks before throwing them to the side.
“Ye should take off yer shirt,” she muttered, watching closely the way his wet shirt clung to his body when he moved.
“Ye would very much enjoy that, would ye nae?” he teased, turning to look at her, a grin on his face.
Elinor shrugged, “Ye can pretend the cold doesnae bother ye, but I ken there is nay way ye are comfortable in that shirt.”
He turned away from her and back to the fire. It was slowly dying out, and they had completely run out of logs. The other ones were out in the storm, of no use at that moment.
“I suppose I could dry me shirt before the fire fizzles out,” he whispered, loud enough for her to hear.
“Aye, ye do that,” Elinor agreed.
Perhaps it was her sense of time or the fact that he was making a scene out of it, but she could swear he took his time taking off hisshirt. With his back still turned to her, she had nothing to look at but his back muscles and the way they flexed as he pulled his shirt over his head.
The scars she had seen the previous day came into view again. She wanted to ask him about them. She wanted him to tell her the story behind every scar that marred his body. But she knew better. Not only would he not tell her, but it was likely that the stories per se would be so gruesome that she wouldn’t stand listening to them.
“Is there another blanket on the bed?” he asked, turning to her all of a sudden, catching her off guard.
Her eyes darted away from his back and to his face.
He hadn’t seen her, had he? She couldn’t tell.
“M’Lady? I said, is there another blanket on the bed?”
Elinor looked around the bed. There was nothing else. Nothing except the sheets that covered the mattress.
She looked back at him and shook her head. “Nay. Why?”
“I daenae want to sleep on the bare floor. I thought I might lay something out.”
“Ah…” Elinor trailed off. “I suppose I didnae think that part through when I took the towel.”
Ciaran shrugged, his half-naked body moving in the periphery of her vision, slowly whittling down her resolve not to stare at it.
Of course, they wouldn’t sleep on the same bed together. He had just offered to sleep on the floor between the bed and the door. Why was he being a gentleman? Given his history, that was precisely the last thing he should be. Yet he kept surprising her at every turn.
She watched him walk to the fire and carefully hang his clothes on a line nearby. He shifted her dress just slightly and turned back to her.
“So, I suppose I must say goodnight.”
