Chapter Sixteen
Aidam’s head was pounding like the drummer in a blasted English military brigade. He moaned as he rolled over onto his back. He did not want to open his eyes, but the dawn light creeping through his bedchamber window told him it was time to awake.
What in th’ devil came over me last night,he thought to himself, trying desperately to remember how he arrived back at the keep.
He had been in the village with Damon, that much he remembered clearly. It had been a pleasant time. He rarely spent time with his friend. Life had become complicated. Damon had Wynne and their boy and Aidam. Well, Aidam had spent too much of his time pining after something he could not have. But in the village, they had been able to enjoy each other as friends again, brothers even.
He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his chamber, throwing one arm over his aching head. It was unlike him to partake in so much whisky. It was also unlike him to fret so after a woman. But Ellie was not just any woman. She had bewitched him body and soul. He had been a fool to think he could abandon the feelings of his youth. Being around her was torture. Knowing she was to marry his uncle caused a pain in his chest deeper than any enemy’s twisted knife. And that he could bear, but being around her each day, knowing he could never touch her, never kiss her rosebud lips, never experience a laugh from her meant just for him, never possess her mind and body, that was his breaking point. It was beyond a cruel twist of fate. It was torture.
A low soft moan came from his side. Breaking into his thoughts and turning to look, he saw Ellie sleeping beside him. She was curled into a chair at his bedside, her head delicately resting on her arms on the side of his bed. Her braids loose and her chestnut locks tumbling free along her fair cheeks. She smiled, and Aidam wondered what it was in her dreams that caused her to do so. It was as if he conjured her by pure desire alone.
“Ellie…” he whispered, and she moaned again, stirring slightly in her slumber. What he wouldn’t give to lift her up, limbs still heavy in sleep, and wrap her in his arms. They could laze the day away in bed together. He would show her pleasure she had never known. He imagined what it would be like, her soft skin against his rough, battle-hewn body. The noises she would make as he teased and caressed her. His manhood twinged in longing. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. She couldn’t see him in such a state.
She moaned again, and Aidam knew she would wake soon. He should get himself dressed and in a better state than he was. Why was she even in his chambers? He tried to move, and a sharp, searing lightning bolt ran up his leg. He bit down on his lip to avoid screaming out in pain as the previous night’s events came rushing back into his memory.
“Aye th’ laird got ‘imself a nice young piece,” the brute had said, laughing with his companions.“What I wouldnae give tae take a nip at that thirsty young lass.”
“Och, I’d do things tae her th’ laird couldnae think of,”his friend said. Aidam seethed.
Damon had tried to keep Aidam from reacting, but as the men disrespected Ellie more and more, he knew he could not easily let the slights pass unchecked. He did not know who threw the first fist, but he would not be surprised to learn it was him. It was at that moment, as their insults of Ellie turned crude and violent, that Aidam knew he loved her, and he would die defending her.
But that didn’t explain why his leg hurt. His memory, although blurry and fogged, told him he had dispatched the cretins with little effort. They left the tavern nursing wounds with his warning never to utter Ellie’s name again, or he would see them hanged, clan or no. He barely blamed them for their comments. While their Mams should have taught them to treat women with more respect, his uncle held the blame. Suppose his uncle had treated Ellie with more respect in front of the clan. If he had stuck around during the engagement feast and given the lass more than one perfunctory dance, then maybe the men of the clan would treat her name with more reverence, the very least of what she deserved.
Aidam tried to sit up again, this time succeeding despite the pain in his leg, and that is when he saw the jagged cut running from his knee up through his thigh.
“Th’ devil take it,” he muttered through gritted teeth. His head was offering up another level of throbbing as the blood rushed through his body. Had he been run over by a stampede of angry stallions, he would feel more himself than he did at that moment.
“Is such foul language truly necessary?” Ellie surprised him. Her voice husky, still heavy with sleep, he turned to see her smiling at him from the bedside chair.
“I dinna mean tae wake ye, Ellie,” he replied.
“Ye feelin’ that cut on yer leg then?”
“Aye,” he said. “Do ye ken how it happened?”
“Ye mean ye dae nae remember yer evening?” She chastised, but he could tell by the glint in her eye she was enjoying herself a tad. He groaned.
“I may have indulged a wee bit much. I remember some of it, but not how I came tae be sliced through.”
She stood and straightened her gown. She reached up to twist her loose hair back into braids. Aidam reached out, stopping her.
“Leave it,” he said. “I like it when yer hair is loose.” Her cheeks reddened, but he was pleased to see she lowered her hands. “Help me up?”
She moved around to stand in front of him, allowing him to place the weight of himself on her shoulder as he rose. Her delicate arms wrapped around his bare middle, and even though he knew she only meant the touch to assist him in his stability, he could not stop himself from pulling her closer. They stood a hair’s breadth away from each other. For an agonizing moment, he could feel the heat radiating from her, and she smelled sweet of vanilla and warmth. Her eyes closed, and she arched her neck up ever so slightly. Aidam leaned in, wanting desperately to taste her again, to feel her give in and allow him the luxury. Their lips barely touched, the softness she promised a mere dream before wisdom took hold, and Ellie stepped back, looking anywhere in the room but at him directly.
“Damon said ye fell on a rusty ax,” she finally said, breaking the tension that had formed between them. He exhaled, allowing himself to come back into the moment, though his aching manhood would not be so easily calmed. “We were worried ye’d catch a fever or infection.”
“So ye stayed with me all night?” He gave her a sideways grin.
“Aye, ye could nay be left. I’ve kent ye long enough, ‘twas nothing improper. I couldnae let ye die,” she snapped. “Yer uncle left ye here and ordered the healer tae leave ye, but I couldnae. At least not until I kent ye would nay succumb. Jemina helped as well.”
Nothing improper? She spent the night in his chamber, unchaperoned. Were his uncle to find out…His heart swelled. She risked not only her reputation, but her standing with the Laird just to see to his foolishness?
“What did my uncle say when ye refused tae leave? Were ye nay worried about his anger?”
“I doubt he kent I stayed. Mathilda and I had words,” she replied. “I suppose I shall pay for that later. At the moment, it seemed tae matter naught. Aidam, ye would’ve done th’ same. It’s what friends do.” She moved toward the fire and used the iron to move the wood around, reigniting the flames, still avoiding his eyes.
Aidam let out the breath he had been holding. “Would I have?”
