Jeane shook her head against his chest. She couldn’t tell him about Lord Fraser, couldn’t explain the full horror of what her father had planned for her. Not yet.
“Me faither,” she whispered instead. “He was… he was forcin’ me to marry someone. Someone cruel.”
Fergus’s arms tightened around her, and she felt his jaw clench against the top of her head.
Fergus was silent for a long moment, just holding her, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and deadly serious.
“Nay one will ever hurt ye again, Jeane. Nae while I draw breath. Do ye understand me? Yer faither cannae touch ye here.” He pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his own blazing with fury. “If he even thinks about ye, I will separate his head from his shoulders.”
“Fergus.”
“I mean it,” he said fiercely. “Ye’re under me protection now. Ye’remine. And I protect what’s mine.”
The possessiveness in his voice should have frightened her, should have reminded her of her father’s controlling nature, but it didn’t. Because Fergus wasn’t trying to control her—he was trying to keep her safe.
“Ye’re safe here, little mouse. Ye’re safe with me.”
Jeane searched his scarred face, looking for any sign of deception, but found only fierce protectiveness.
“Will ye…” She hesitated, embarrassed. “Will ye stay? Just until I fall back asleep?”
Something softened in Fergus’s expression. “Aye, lass. I’ll stay as long as ye need me.”
He moved to the chair near her bed, but Jeane caught his hand.
“Nae in the chair,” she said quietly. “Just… on top of the furs. Please.”
Fergus looked at her for a long moment and then nodded. He lay down on top of the furs, on his back, and Jeane curled into his side, her head on his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, and it calmed her racing pulse.
His arm came around her, holding her securely, and she felt safer than she had in years.
“Thank ye,” she whispered.
“For what?” His voice rumbled in his chest beneath her ear.
“For comin’ when I called out. For… for makin’ me feel safe.”
Fergus pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Always, little mouse. I’ll always come when ye need me.”
She believed him.
As her breathing evened out and sleep pulled at her again, she heard him murmur something in Gaelic that she didn’t quite catch.
She wanted to ask, but sleep was already dragging her under, and this time, there were no nightmares.
Only warmth and safety and the steady beat of Fergus’ heart beneath her cheek.
When Jeane woke again when it was still dark outside, Fergus was gone. The furs beside her were cold, as if he’d left hours ago. For a moment, she wondered if she’d dreamed the whole thing—the nightmare, Fergus holding her, the tender way he’d stayed until she fell asleep.
But then she saw it: a single foxglove flower on the pillow where his head had been.
She picked it up carefully by the stem, a small smile playing at her lips.
He had stayed. He had held her. He had kept the nightmares away. And maybe, just maybe, she was starting to trust that he always would.
And she went back to sleep properly.
CHAPTER NINE
