Her lips parted in surprise.
He reached out, slow and deliberate, taking her hand from where it lay atop the blankets, and sighed when she didn’t pull away.
“I didnae stop because I dinnae want ye,” he said, working to keep his voice even. “I stopped because I want ye too much.”
“I thought…” she hesitated. “I thought you only found me… attractive. That it didn’t mean anything more to you.”
He shut his eyes, pained. “Lass, if it meant naught, I wouldnae be layin’ on the cursed edge of the bed fightin’ e’ry urge in me bones tae touch ye again.”
A soft, startled sound escaped her, half laugh, half sigh. He opened his eyes again, holding her gaze in the dim night.
“I’m th’ laird,” he said. “I’ve had tae be hard me whole life. Careful. I dinnae allow people in easily. But ye’re different.”
“How am I different?” she whispered.
He decided to allow them this one small moment of truth. It would dissipate in the clear eyes of morning. But after the day they’d had, and the challenges they’d endured together, he found he didn’t have the energy or the will to fight it.
“Because.” he replied. “I cannae stop thinkin’ of ye. Because ye scare th’ hell out of me. Because ye make me want things I’ve nay right tae want.”
He wished for candle light so he could see the warm blush he knew had crept up her cheeks. He hoped he had done his part to ease the pain she felt.
He squeezed her hand, gently.
“Sleep,mo chridhe,” he murmured.
“I wish I knew Gaelic,” she whispered. “And Halvard?”
“Aye, lass?”
“I don’t understand what I feel either,” she admitted. “But it’s not just physical for me as well.”
His chest tightened painfully. They lay there in silence again.
He didn’t fall asleep for a long time. Only for the first time it wasn’t battle honed vigilance or replaying strategy in his racing mind that kept him away.
This time it was because the lass lying inches from his exhausted body had just become the most dangerous thing he had ever faced.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Ye’re sure ye wish tae leave in this weather?It looks like it is turnin’ and here tae stay, if I ken me lands.”
As if to punctuate Halvard’s words, thunder echoed outside the keep, like the beating of a thousand war drums. And yet, Redfern didn’t seem particularly bothered by it. He was looking much better.
“I best be on me way,” he insisted. “Someone must inform the king of the events… and about Harcourt.”
Halvard raised a curious brow, though he did not ask the question that burned in its intensity in the back of his mind. Redfern had come to this castle as another envoy from the king by Harcourt’s side, and now he was leaving, apparently, as a neutral party in all this.
Perhaps neutral was an understatement, too. If he were to inform the king of Harcourt’s doings—assuming, as Halvard did,that the fire was his ploy—then Redfern was more of an ally to him and his clan than he had thought.
“One more day willnae make much o’ a difference,” Halvard suggested, but Redfern raised a hand. He had made up his mind.
“It is of utmost urgency,” he said.
“Well, in that case, I’ll have the servants prepare some food fer yer travels,” Halvard said as he pushed himself to his feet, standing from his chair. At that time of the day, his study was filled with golden light when the weather was agreeable, but now it was dark, lit only by a few candles and the cold, blue light of the storm. Rounding his desk, he made for the door, but Redfern stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
“You have been a gracious host,” he said. “And I would be failing me duty as the king’s envoy if I didn’t warn you and him of Harcourt.”
Halvard’s eyes narrowed. “There’s nay need,” he said. “I already ken what kind o’ man he is.”
