It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.
Swallowing hard, she let her eyes travel around the room, landing on the chair where Evander had slept.
No, not slept. He’d been lounging there when she fell asleep, as far as she knew, his eyes glittering in the candlelight. He’d promised to stay until she fell asleep, and now there was no sign of him.
Abruptly, fear rushed back in and refused to be reasoned away. She briefly considered her options.
She could lie down and try to sleep again.
Impossible.
She could sit up in bed and stay awake, but stay where she was.
Boring and pointless.
Or she could find Evander.
Yes, the last option seemed the safest.
Drawing in a breath, she threw back the blankets, easing her legs out of bed. Her borrowed nightdress was rough, scratchy, and clean but not particularly pretty or comfortable. At the very least, it was long and demure, the hem rolling up around her bare feet as she walked.
Padding across the room, every breath, every creak of the floorboards seemed to echo. Her fingers curled around the cold brass of the doorknob. Turning it, she eased open the door.
The hallway outside was brighter than her room. Candles burned at intervals along the hall, set deep in alcoves. And in front of the door, sprawled across the threshold, was Evander.
His legs splayed out in front of him, his back resting against the doorframe. Arms folded across his chest, he looked anything but restful. His eyes were closed, and for a moment, she was sure that he was asleep.
Suddenly guilty, she made to retreat into the room to battle her fears alone when he spoke.
“What ails ye, lassie?”
She flinched. “I… I thought ye were asleep.”
He opened his eyes, dark and heavy, and glanced up at her. “Aye, I was. The first creak of the floorboards when ye got out of bed woke me.”
She grimaced. “Sorry.”
“Daenae be. I sleep lightly, and tonight is no exception. A mouse squeaked up the stairs and disturbed me earlier.”
He shifted, crossing his legs, and narrowed his eyes. With a rush, Skye realized that she was just standing there, staring down at him.
Was his hair that messy before? I daenae believe so. Has he been running his hands through it?
To her horror, she realized that she was imagining herself reaching down and carding her fingers through his hair, tidying it up a little.
To resist this urge, she curled her fist into the side of her nightdress, wrapping her fingers around coarse linen.
“I had a dream,” she blurted out, feeling like a child.
He did not scoff or even smile. Instead, his eyes widened.
“A dream, or a memory?” he asked, leaning forward.
“I daenae ken. Both, maybe. It was of our wedding day.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Me braither was there, and me maither. Did we have anything special planned for our wedding celebration?”
