Page 16 of When the Laird Claims
“Are you sure that you will be all right down there? You have already said that there will be a long ride tomorrow morning,” Victoria asked, sitting up in bed with the blankets pulled up around her.
While his linen shirt came down nearly to her knees, she was too aware of her exposed, stockingless legs beneath those blankets. It was still immodest to be so disrobed with a stranger present. Then again, how much had he seen while she was in the bath? He claimed not to have seen anything, but what if he had?
Did I want him to look?
It was strange even to think about. She supposed that over the course of the last Season, she had just become somewhat accustomed to being the center of attention and having so many eyes on her. Every move she made and word that she had spoken had been under constant monitoring and scrutiny. She had not asked to be the Diamond, but she fully understood the weight that came with it when she was named as such. Now? She felt… casual, and it was uncomfortable.
“I’ve slept in worse places,” Arran answered.
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in the stables with the rest of your men?”
Perhaps then, she would not be so restless.
“Ye need guardin’. I trust me men to guard the outside, while I watch over the inside.” He punched the bag he was using as a pillow to fluff it up some. “It is those that I daenae ken that I daenae trust.”
“Do you think that something is going to happen?” she asked. “Or is it that you do not trust that I will not smother you, as I said I would?”
“I think that one solid kick would knock any of these old doors right off their hinges. I’d rather nae risk it. At least this way, they will have to stumble over me body to get to ye.” Arran chuckled at his own joke, but she did not know how it truly made her feel. “As for yer other question, I’d feel ye creepin’ across these floorboards before ye ever got a pillow over my face.”
He grew silent after that, and she attempted to settle back into the bed. She could not stop feeling rather guilty for the way that he had refused any of the bedding. He had his tartan stretched out beneath him like a bedroll and that saddlebag under his head. Personally, she did not care if that was how he often slept while he was traveling; it felt so spartan to her. Not to mention, she was certain that she would wake up with a headache and a terrible crick in her neck if she were to attempt it.
He smells lovely for someone who has traveled so much in recent days.
The linen shirt that she wore carried his scent. It was not unpleasant in the slightest, certainly cleaner than she would have expected. Various sections of the soft fabric had been crudely sewn and patched, making her curious as to what they covered up, but it showed that he cared for the things that he had.
As she lay there, mind racing, she found herself rather intrigued about what life in Scotland must be like on a day-to-day basis. Certainly, it could not bethatdifferent from her own life, could it?
To say that she found herself confused at her own thoughts and the situation that she found herself in would be putting it mildly. Again, she knew that she ought to be frightened, but she was just so… relieved that she did not have to marry Charles.
“Arran?” she asked after a while.
Sleep would not come to her, no matter how she tried. It was so dark beyond the window, the impenetrable black of the countryside, that there was no way to know how long it was that she had been tossing and turning in her bed.
“Arran… are you asleep?”
If he was, or if he was just ignoring her… then perhaps that would be fine. She would just have to squeeze her eyes shut and try a little harder to drift off without the glow of any city lights to comfort her.
Then, after a long stretch of silence, came his exasperated sigh and a rustle of fabric from the floor by the door. Even if she sat up, the fire was burning too low for her to see him properly.
“No,” he finally grumbled.
“Um, I just… I feel terrible that you are on the floor. You have done more than enough for me… you do not have to sleep there.” She spoke as her hands wrung uncomfortably around the fabric of the blanket that she was holding.
Why did she feel so nervous? It was not as if she were asking him toshareher bed. Not like that anyway. The moment the thought crossed her mind, her face flamed with embarrassment.
“Daenae tempt me, lass,” he answered gruffly, and she did not hear him move again.
She attempted to settle back down into the bed but could not get comfortable. With a huff, she dropped her arms heavily to either side of herself and stared up at the dark ceiling.
“How long are you planning to have me stay with you, then?”
Arran sighed again. “Until our common enemy is ruined.”
“What if you never find him? Am I supposed to just rot in your dungeons?” she huffed right back.
“I already told ye that ye’re nae my prisoner.”
Victoria sat upright once more. “But I am not free to go, either. That, by any description, makes me a prisoner.”
