Page 36 of When a Warrior Woos a Lass
“All men have weaknesses,” she said.
“Aye,” he agreed, crooking his finger at her as he dangled her léine from his fingers. She slowly rose off the bed and went to him. When she stood only a hairsbreadth from him, he said, “Which is why my da also told me nae ever to show my weaknesses. Hold them here—” Alex touched his head “—and here—” he touched his heart “—for none to ken but me.”
“Perchance,” she said, unable to restrain herself, “that is why ye have nightmares.”
His face darkened. “The hour grows late, and I grow weary. Ye must depart to yer bedchamber.”
“Alex,” she said, a desperate feeling rising in her chest. “If ye would but speak of what bothers ye—”
“Nay,” he snapped, cutting her off. His eyes shone with misery. “I kinnae. I’ve told ye.”
He had. He had told her, and she knew she was asking a great deal, but now that she realized just how fully he had captured her heart, she wanted his. She did not think she’d be happy with less.
“I’ll depart as ye asked,” she said, hearing the stiffness of her voice. “but I fear the separation ye place between us now will be as a thorn in my side.” She turned away, but he caught her arm and brought her to face him once more.
“Mo chailin chalma, I am sorry.”
He cupped her cheek with his hand, and she pushed it away. Hurt flashed in his eyes, which made her own gut twist, but perchance if he felt her pain, he’d try to open up and talk of what bothered him. “I dunnae need yer apologies. I need this,” she said, placing her hand on his heart. For now, it was the closest she could venture to telling him she loved him. His eyes widened, and she wondered if he knew, if he understood that he had her love.
His large, warm palm settled over her hand. “Ye have it, Lena. More than anyone ever has.”
“I’m greedy,” she admitted, mimicking his earlier claim. “For that does nae feel enough for me when I ken ye hold secrets there.” Knowing there was nothing more she could say to compel him to confide in her, pledge his love, or even acknowledge with any sort of gladness that he had her love, she raised up on her tiptoes and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, then scurried from the room.
Sleep evaded her alone in her bedchamber. She tossed and turned, her mind awhirl with thoughts of Alex and the Steward; Marsaili, her betrayal, and her problem; and Greer and her brother. She gave her pillow a hard punch to try to get comfortable, deciding that she’d send Broch to deliver a message to Iain the next morning, explaining about Marsaili and soliciting his advice. She’d have to tell Alex in the next few days, too, in case Iain decided to come here to confront Marsaili himself.
Just as she started to drift to sleep, Alex’s tortured voice reached her. The curse words he let fly singed her ears. She scrambled out of bed, threw her plaid over her shoulders, and hurried to the door of his room. She hesitated to enter the bedchamber, but she feared for him. Inside his room, it sounded like a battle was raging. She took a sharp breath and cracked the door open.
He thrashed on his bed, arms pummeling the air in front of him, as he hurled insults. “Spawn of Satan! Ye make me sick. I will rip out yer heart and watch ye die.”
And as shocking as the gruesome affront was, the mottled rage that twisted Alex’s face shocked Lena more. The moonlight streamed in his window, so she could see his face perfectly. Suddenly, he grew still and quiet—all except his breathing, which came in pants. He jerked as if touched on the face or even the chest, then gagged as if he were retching.
Tears sprang to Lena’s eyes, and a dark, disturbing memory of the first time her husband had abused her and her reaction to it hit her. Dear God above! Had Alex been abused?
Bile rose in her throat, and she had to press a palm over her mouth not to retch herself. She breathed deeply in and out, watching him.
He was proud and fierce. If he’d been abused by someone, she could not see how it affected him when he was awake. Yet every person was different, and mayhap he maintained so much control, so much force of will to contain his feelings about the abuse during the day, that at night, when he was asleep and had no way to restrain his emotions, they came out torturing him again and again.
Tears streamed down her face at the horror of the possibility. Her own experience had almost killed her, and it likely would have robbed her of every bit of joy life still had to offer had she not had her sisters-in-laws to talk to and, ultimately, Alex to heal her.
“Ginny,” he whispered, a broken sob from his chest. “Ginny. Ginny. I’m sorry, lass.”
Lena heard her own sobs, unable to control them, feeling her husband’s torment, unsure of what she knew or how to help him.
He shot bolt upright suddenly, scrambled from the bed, and went straight to the wall. He began to pound his fists into it. Lena’s heart exploded as she gaped at him. She had to do something or he’d injure himself.
“Alex!” she hissed. When he did not stop beating his fists into the walls, she called his name louder. “Alex!”
He swung around, fists up, a murderous look upon his face. “Satan’s son,” he roared, eyes wide and unseeing as he stalked toward her.
“Alex!” she screamed, one last time in the hopes to wake him, but when she realized she had not, she turned to escape the room. He caught her by the shoulder and swung her around, his hand coming up, palm open, to slap her. Fear bolted through her, as she cried out his name again.
“Alex!” a voice roared from behind her as the door banged all the way open and Donald strode in. “Release Lena!” Donald demanded, but when he didn’t Donald reared back and punched Alex in the jaw. He released her to bring his hands to his face.
Lena cried out in dismay as Alex blinked, and when his eyes opened once more, shock and horror registered at once. He looked from Donald to Lena, and Donald said simply, “Another nightmare. They’re coming much more frequently now, Alex.”
“Alex,” Lena started. She stepped toward her husband but faltered as he gave her a hard, cold look.
His hand came up in a motion for her to stop. He pointed at the door, turned his face from hers, and said, “Leave me.” It was a command born of fear and shame, she knew, but it felt like a slap to her face.
