Page 121 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

Oscar led Ceana into the former morning room beside the Great Hall. A desk stood near the fireplace, with a cushioned chair and footstool arranged behind it.

“Ye may resume yer duties after ye have rested,” Oscar said.

“I will begin with the cottages tomorrow mornin’.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to think better of it.

At the main staircase, Ceana placed one foot on the first step. Oscar moved in front of her.

“Two days of travel have tired ye.”

“The carriage hasnae taken the use of me legs.”

He lifted her into his arms before she could take another step. Tommy laughed behind them, and Mairi hid a smile with her hand.

Ceana wound an arm around his neck. With every step, her breasts brushed his chest. His hand splayed across her back, holding her firmly enough to stir every place that had gone a month without his touch.

“I can climb an ordinary staircase,” she insisted.

“This is an exception.”

“Ask before ye carry me again.”

“Next time, I will ask.”

Oscar carried her into their chamber and set her carefully on her feet. The bed had been aired and prepared. Fresh bedding also covered the small sofa near the hearth. Much later that night, Ceana watched him unfold a blanket there.

“Do ye intend to sleep on that?”

“Aye. Daenae worry, I daenae intend to share the bed with ye.”

Ceana let the matter rest that night and climbed into bed alone. When she looked across the chamber again, Oscar’s eyes were open, and his hand was curled on his stomach. Less than two paces separated him from the bed, and yet he did not cross them.

By the third morning, she had the petitions from the cottages open beside the household ledgers.

Mairi stood across from the desk, one finger resting on the figures. “The timber set aside will mend both roofs,” she said. “The steward intended it for new panelin’ in the west guest chamber.”

“That chamber has stood unused for six years.”

“Aye, me Lady.”

Ceana checked the measurements again. Enough seasoned timber remained for both cottages if the decorative work waited.

“Release it to the tenants,” she ordered, dipping her quill. “The roofs must be repaired before the next rain.”

The door opened before she could sign the instruction, and a maid entered carrying a tray, with Oscar close behind her. Dark circles rimmed his eyes. He had spent two nights on the floor, watching her whenever she stirred in bed.

“How long have ye been workin’?” he asked.

“Since after the mornin’ meal.”

“So, nearly two hours.”

Ceana looked up. “Ye were in the trainin’ yard when I came here.”

His gaze shifted to the tray. “Ye left most of yer breakfast.”

“How do ye ken that?”