Page 30 of When the Laird Claims
“Ye look sleepy, lass,” he said, laughter in his voice.
“Do I?” she replied and promptly stifled a yawn.
With the same amusement in his eyes, he drew back and pulled her with him. Slowly, carefully, he grasped her disarrayed skirts and raised the dress up and over her head. Tossing the garment onto the back of a nearby chair, he just… looked at her for a moment, his green eyes wandering from the inward taper of her shift’s collar to the glimpse of bare ankle where the undergarment was not quite long enough.
Victoria held her breath. Did he mean to continue? Did he plan to ruin her so completely, so wonderfully, that she could never return to polite society?
He lifted her fully onto the bed and joined her there. He tucked her in rather sweetly and moved to leave.
“Stay,” she blurted out. “Please.”
Arran paused, a smile on his face as he gazed back at her. “I told ye I wasnae that sort of man.”
She frowned in confusion. Back at the inn, she had thought he was referring to… something else when he had said that he wasn’t that sort of man. A truth he had sort of proven to be false tonight. Had he meant that he wasn’t the sort of man who stayed and actually slept at a woman’s side?
“Just lie here for a while,” she said, patting the space beside her. “It is cold tonight, and I think your warmth might help me sleep.”
His eyes narrowed briefly, as if he did not believe her excuse. Nevertheless, he lay down beside her and curved his arms around her. She curled onto his side, her cheek to his chest, and marveled at the heat of him. It was like having her own personal furnace to chase off the chill of the night, far better than any blankets.
“How many battles have you fought?” Victoria asked, breaking the silence that had descended.
With a weary laugh, Arran tightened his arm around her and gently covered her mouth with his hand. An act that should have brought bad memories surging back into her head, but there were none; there was only a smile that shaped against his rough palm.
“Sleep,” he grumbled, a playful note in his voice. “Icouldbore ye with stories of war, but I’d rather nae give ye nightmares for when ye do fall asleep.”
He withdrew his hand from her mouth, though his grasp on her did not loosen. It was an embrace of safety and security, letting her know that no harm could come to her as long as he was holding her.
Wriggling a little to get into the most comfortable position, she draped her arm over his stomach and closed her eyes.
13
At some point in her engagement, Victoria had resigned herself to the fact that she would likely never be happy again, reluctantly accepting that she would have to endure her ‘wifely duties’ with her husband, and certainly not enjoy any of it. That sort of life was clearly not for her.
And then last night happened.
She rolled lazily in her bed, stretching her limbs out after the first restful night of sleep that she had had in weeks. She never wanted to sleep on the hard, cold ground ever again, shackled to any floor. In fact, after last night, she only ever wanted to sleep in Arran’s warm, safe arms. She did not think that she had had a single nightmare, and she had slept soundly after her release. A residual tingle pulsed between her legs as she stretched, and the tenderness in her thighs where they had locked around Arran instead of straddling a horse was a very welcome change.
If this is ruination, then ruin me completely.She grinned at the thought.
Sunlight streamed in slowly through the parted curtains. A clean dress was laid out and waiting for her at the foot of the bed, with no sign of the one that Arran had carefully removed from her body.
She had no idea what time it was, but she hoped that she had not missed breakfast, for she felt ravenously hungry now. Her maids must have been in here at some point during the morning to have laid things out for her. There seemed to be a fresh bowl of rose water for her to freshen up with on the vanity as well.
A sudden sense of alarm struck her: had the maids seen her in bed with their Laird? Now that she thought about it, wherewasArran? The space was empty where he had lain beside her, yet she could not remember him leaving. He must have been discreet, untangling himself from her without waking her.
He is a busy man, she reminded herself. He cannot lie in bed, having a lazy morning with me, when he has a clan and keep to run.
The thought deflected any worry that might have crept in, that he might have changed his mind and considered last night another mistake. He would not have humored her by holding her if he had regretted it.
With the ghost of last night’s smile still on her lips, she rose and dressed herself as best as she could. It was certainly more layersand fabric than she was accustomed to, but it was not wholly unwelcome. She could have summoned her maid, but somehow it felt wrong to do so when she wanted to remember Arran’s hands on her more than her maid. She pulled her slippers onto her feet and headed out into the hallway.
It was only the second day here, but it still felt novel that nobody was corralling her back into the bedroom where she had to stay all hours of the day. Victoria was even more pleased about the fact that voices were coming from the great hall, and when she arrived, there were still a handful of people milling about the room. Most importantly, two women were sitting at the head table: Kristin and her mother, Sophie.
Ruby was cradled in Kristin’s one arm while she ate slowly with the other. When she noticed Victoria, she smiled brightly and motioned for her to come over.
Smothering her guilt, Victoria moved to join the women. They were both so welcoming to her now that she could only hope that she was not somehow being obvious about what had happened the night before. She did not wish to give them the wrong impression or anything of the sort.
But also, if Arran was not there, then where had he gone off to so early in the morning?
