Determined to vanquish him, Caterine scooped Leo onto her lap, snuggling him close against her, her gaze on the three arch-topped windows set into the opposite wall.
Unlike her own chamber, the solar boasted windows of glass. Small, round panes set in lead and of an indiscernible opaque color. Hard to see through, but a luxury all the same.
As were the thickly strewn furred skins covering the cold stone floor. An extravagance Niall had allowed himself, and one that kept the room much warmer than hers.
So why couldn’t she banish the chillbumps?
Even the hearth’s low-burning peat fire failed to warm her.
Fighting the urge to chatter her teeth, she glanced at the Highlander. He’d rolled onto his side and flung one well-muscled arm over his face. But still, he slept.
Relieved, she turned back to the windows. Gloaming neared and the light, what little there was on such a storm-swept afternoon, had changed, lending a rare, luminescent quality to the milky window glass.
The skin on her nape prickled, for the color of the panes came very close to the pale gray of her late husband’s eyes.
Eyes that peered at her from the rain-streaked glass.
Hundreds of pairs of Niall’s eyes.
Caterine’s heart slammed against her ribs and a cry rose in her throat, lodging there when the image shifted and the silver rivulets of rain became tears, the hundreds of staring eyes, her own.
A loud crack of thunder shook the room, rattling the fragile glass panes and sending Leo bolting from her lap to seek refuge under the great four-poster bed.
The thunder’s still-echoing rumbles banished the disturbing image as well.
Once again, the three tall windows appeared as they always had, with nothing but a fine layer of dust and a sad build-up of grime to distinguish them.
A great shudder ripped through her, streaking clear to her toes. Amazingly, the young Highlander slept on, blissfully unaware of the storm raging outside, blessedly ignorant of the one warring within Caterine’s own breast.
Only Leo sensed her ill-ease. He peered at her from beneath the bed, his round eyes quizzical and tinged with sympathy she didn’t want. Not even from dear sweet Leo.
She alone crafted her nightmares, and she alone would besiege them.
Chapter 16
Determined to conquer her demons, Caterine ignored the storm raging outside her late husband’s solar and twisted around on her stool to stare hard at Niall’s oaken great chair. If anything in the chamber wished to haunt her, it would be his throne-like chair.
But the empty chair stood mute.
Harmless.
A hulking mass of dark wood in the farthest corner, well-hidden by shadow.
No image of an aging husband reclined in the chair, his gaze anxious and hopeful, manifested to torment her.
Her pulse slowing somewhat, she started to turn away, but the cresset lamp’s flickering light flared bright before she could. She stared, spellbound, as the lamp’s soft glow spread into the murky corner to mesh with the echoes of days and nights long past, and sprang to life in the massive oak chair.
But it was not Niall’s sprawled form her imagination conjured.
It washis.
Her champion’s.
And wearing his fur-lined great cloak with nothing beneath!
He’d flung one powerfully muscled leg over the side of the chair and held a magnificently jeweled chalice to his lips. His cloak gaped slightly, its heavy folds draped open just enough to give a glimpse of his hard-trained body in all its masculine glory.
For it was the glory part of him the parted mantle revealed.
