“Come now, Aiden.” Lucas leaned forward and gestured with what remained of his sausage. “The lass may well care for ye right back.”
“Oh, aye?”
Aiden wanted to believe such a thing. What would it be like, really? To wake up next to somebody who cared for him? Not to hustle them out of the door in the morning, or engage in a quick last-minute roll in the sheets before one or both of them left for good, but simply to wrap his arms around them and doze again.
I never thought I had a flair for domestic life. Breakfast in bed and sleepy kisses and all that. But ye never ken. It might be nice.
He allowed himself a faint smile, a scene spreading out in his mind.
I bet she spreads her limbs all over the bed when she sleeps. I bet she hogs the sheets.
Clearing his throat, he gave his head a small shake and glanced up to find Lucas eyeing him curiously.
“Nay, I daenae think so, lad,” he answered briskly. “Believing that people love ye is a slippery slope. It always leads to harm. I thought me braither cared for me. I thought me people cared for me.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I’ll save us the trouble of fanciful thinking.”
“Aiden—” Lucas began with a sigh.
“The ill in the villages,” Aiden said firmly, giving him a meaningful look. His friend grimaced and finished his sausage. “Tell me how the healers have done.”
“There is a marked improvement,” Lucas replied, understanding that he was not to keep up his inquisition. “The villagers seem quite grateful to ye.”
“Aye?” Aiden laughed. It was a joyless thing. “They’re grateful until they’re nae.”
Hearing noises outside the room, both men shared a suspicious look and stood, striding to the door. Aiden reached it first and yanked the heavy wood open.
A maid in the hallway jumped, nearly dropping the vase of flowers she was holding. “Oh!” she yelped, face blanching.
Aiden felt his stomach drop for the second time. He’d been secretly hoping Hannah had come back to him, again. He hid his disappointment.
“Apologies, lass. Didnae mean to frighten ye.”
“I-I’m sorry, me Laird. I was simply freshening the—” The maid lifted the vase with shaking hands.
“Of course, daenae fash yerself. Go about yer business.” Aiden waved a hand. “Ye’ve done nothing wrong.”
The maid curtseyed, set down the vase, and practically ran down the corridor.
Lucas chuckled. “We’re getting paranoid.”
“Aye,” Aiden said, then paused. “But we may nae be wrong in doing so.”
16
Hannah dreamt about the scrape of stubble against her inner thigh, of a soft tongue sliding higher and higher up her goosepimpled skin, coming tantalizingly close to her core. She dreamt about fingers sliding against her, and the razor-sharp peak of pleasure hovering just out of reach.
She woke with her nightdress sticking to her in places. Despite the unsettling dreams, she had to admit that sleeping on feathers was perhaps better than fresh straw. She almost didn’t want to get up, and spent several minutes luxuriating in the bed.
Eventually, she knew she needed to get out of bed and return to her sister, who was likely to be in an absolute panic at this point.
Hopefully, Violet hadn’t worked herself up so much that she’d fallen ill again. While she was doing better, she had always been more prone to illness than normal. When she did get ill, she tended to stay ill longer than others in the family would.
Hannah sighed loudly and rolled free of the warm blankets, gathering her kirtle and sliding it back on over her shift. Tugging her stockings on—as it had been so warm with the coal-fueled brazier that she hadn’t needed to sleep in them—she tied the tops firmly in place.
With her feet in her slippers and her hair in a braid, she left the room. She ran into a maid almost immediately.
The girl was carrying an armful of linens and looked surprised to see her. “Oh! Me Lady.”
Hannah chose not to correct her. It wasn’t worth it when she was about to leave. “Is the Laird awake?”
