“They left without me. And for almost a sennight, I didn’t know where they’d gone.” Laren gripped her elbows, taking a breath. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to join them. But my chance is gone. Alex won’t ever let us leave.”
“But the fighting has stopped, hasn’t it?”
Laren’s expression tightened. “Oh, I’ve no doubt it will start up again. It always does.” Murmuring a farewell, she returned to her girls.
Nairna was left to wonder what she meant by that.
Bram wasn’t inside the grain hut when she first arrived, but he returned within minutes. Nairna didn’t know if he’d spent the time talking with Alex, but his hair was wet, as though he’d washed in the stream. The dark strands hung against his neck, contrasting against his face.
When he reached her, she saw that his beard had grown ragged. It appeared that he’d tried to cut it, but had failed to do a good job of it. Nairna reached out to touch his face. “Do you want me to shave you?”
He hesitated, rubbing the rough surface. Then he nodded.
“Let me get some warmed water,” she offered. “Sit and wait a moment.”
When she went to fetch the shaving soap and blade, she wondered if tonight would be the night when they consummated their marriage at last. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that there was no reason to be afraid. It was simply a matter of lying still, accepting his attentions and praying that their union would result in a child.
But the more she thought of it, the more her nerves tightened. What if she didn’t please him? The other night, he’d stopped when she’d reacted badly to his touch.
Stop worrying, she warned herself. It might be for nothing anyway. After all the training Bram had done earlier and the time he’d spent constructing the house foundation, he had to be exhausted. He might prefer to sleep instead.
When she returned with the shaving supplies, Bram was sitting upon a large sack of grain. Weariness was evident in his lowered shoulders and in his eyes. She unwrapped the cloth bundle and when he stiffened at the sight of the sharp blade in her hand, she finally understood his reaction. The weapon disturbed him, and it likely evoked memories of the soldier cutting his throat.
“Do you trust me?” she asked quietly, setting the blade down within reach.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. A dangerous smile played at his mouth, and Nairna wet a piece of linen in the hot water.
“I’ll stop, any time you ask me to.” She lifted the linen to his cheeks, wetting the surface. The faint wisps of steam rose against his face and she let the warmth penetrate his skin.
“Close your eyes,” she murmured. When Bram obeyed, she took the soap and lathered her hands, bringing them to his cheeks. Gently, she soaped his face, letting her fingers move across the beard and down his neck. It was strange that such a common touch evoked feelings inside her own body. It was as if she were touching herself instead of him.
Though Bram kept his eyes closed, his hands moved around her waist, bringing her to stand between his knees. Nairna used the dagger to shave him, and at the first touch of the blade his thumbs dug into her side.
Instinct still ruled his mind, so it seemed.
“It’s all right,” she whispered. “Just remain still.”
He obeyed and she spoke of mindless matters while she shaved him, revealing the smooth masculine skin. She didn’t know if he even heard a word of it, but not once did he relax. His expression was grim, as though she were torturing him. Then her blade slipped, and his eyes flew open.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping at the tiny nick on his skin. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
His gaze had gone cold, as he stared at the weapon. His eyes were like glass, hardly seeing her at all. The way he was looking at her, she wasn’t certain she should touch him again.
When there came no answer, she repeated, “Bram?”
Bram took a deep breath, then another. He didn’t want to feel the kiss of the blade against his skin. The scars upon his back itched in memory, though he knew Nairna meant him no harm.
“Finish it,” he ordered, steeling himself. He didn’t want to look like a half-shorn animal, just because he couldn’t control his response to a knife.
Nairna’s fingers moved over the shaven skin, as if searching for any other cuts. Her light touch seared him, setting his senses on edge.
He wanted to remove her gown, seeing every part of her. Having her stand so close and not being able to do as he wished was honing the edge of his frustration.
Her green eyes regarded him with apprehension, as if she could read his thoughts. A shaky breath released from her lungs, but she raised the dagger to the curve beneath his chin, gently cutting away at the ragged surface.
The glint of the knife entranced him, and he found it hard to keep his gaze fixed upon her. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until she moved the knife away, and he expelled a sharp breath.
“I’m almost finished,” she whispered, soaping the underside of his throat. Her gentle fingers moved to touch one cheek while her hand brought the blade against his skin, removing the last bits of beard growth.
