He groaned, raking his fingers back through his hair. There was some kind of marking on the top of his arm, but that wasn’t what made her suck in every gasp of air in her lungs. Good God in heaven! The flex of muscle in his arm…
Her stomach did a little flip and dove straight for her toes.
“Can nothing be done?” he asked.
She forced her eyes from the ripped ball of arm muscle, trying to grasp a thread of coherent thought in her head. “Uh, the healer gave us a poultice, and warm blankets seem to help. But from the sound of it, Lizzie has it under control now. She sleeps in the room with her.”
His gaze pinned hers. Obviously, he didn’t like something she’d said. “And who doyousleep with, Caitrina? Why do I find you coming out of John’s room?”
It took Cate a moment to realize what he meant. When she did, all she could do was stare at him with her mouth open. He thought she and John…?
She straightened. How dare he! Unlike certain people in this corridor, she did not share her bed with whoever happened to be conveniently around. She had not been the one spoon-feeding Màiri bites of food all night. Food that Cate had gone to all that trouble to have prepared, including the special sugar-and-cinnamon biscuits she’d made herself. All his favorites. Everything perfect. Not that he’d noticed, blast it. How could he, when his face had been in Màiri’s bosom all night?
He wasn’t usually so obvious with his liaisons, but this time was different. It was almost as if he wanted her to notice.
Now Cate was the one clenching her fists. She wanted nothing more than to tell him exactly what she thought of his accusation, but her mother’s (and Lady Marion’s) words came back to her as they had all night long. “Ladies don’t have tempers, Caty. Men don’t want a shrew for a wife.”
Apparently men wanted a giggling ninny with big breasts! But Cate kept her unkind thoughts about the widow to herself.
Cate’s smile was so forced and brittle she thought her face might crack. “I moved down here to make room for the children. John slept in your chamber until Maddy became sick, when he decided he preferred the barracks.”
“So you are sleeping in the…”
“In the room next to yours, yes,” she finished. Why did he look so gray? “Is there something wrong with that?”
The muscle below his jaw started to tic from being squeezed so tightly, but he shook his head. “Nay.”
She frowned. “Are you all right? It sounds like you have something in your throat. Oh goodness, I hope you are not coming down with a—”
“I’m fine,” he growled, grabbing the wrist of the hand that was reaching for his forehead.
He shoved her hand back to her side and let go, but she could still feel the imprint of his hand around her wrist like a manacle.
“You don’t sound fine, you sound angry. If it’s about the sleeping arrangements or you holding me in your arms earlier—”
“I wasn’t holding you in my arms, damn it!”
Cate tried not to smile, but his reaction made her so happy, she couldn’t help it. If he hadn’t felt anything, he wouldn’t be so angry.
Hehadnoticed her. He might not like it, but he had.
“You weren’t?” she said innocently. “I could have sworn your arm was around my waist and my chest was against yours for a good three minutes—”
His face darkened. “Cate…”
Heeding the warning, she grinned and slipped back into her room. She’d made her point. “Good night, Gregor. Sweet dreams,” she couldn’t resist adding, closing the door in his face.
It was a thick, solid door, but she could still hear him curse as he moved away.
Cate flopped back on her bed and gazed up at the wooden beams and trestles of the ceiling in the moonlit darkness with a huge smile on her face.
She wasn’t going to wait for lightning to strike after all. Nay, she was going to make a little storm of her own. She could afford to be patient, but the children could not. They needed him. He would see it…soon.
Six
Thanks to the short days of winter, it was still dark when Gregor woke to the sound of movement in the hall below. Although “woke” suggested sleep, which he’d had precious little of the past few days.
If it wasn’t Maddy’s crying (which had improved since he arranged to have a healer stay with her), it was his own dreams disturbing him. Sinful dreams. Wicked dreams. Dreams from which he’d wake hot and hard, poised on the edge of release. Hell, he’d taken himself in his hand so many nights this week, he felt like a sixteen-year-old lad again.
