Page 48 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

Ceana paused on the first step when she saw her mother and Paisley step out of the hall. “I expect to see ye at breakfast,” she said.

Paisley searched her face, glanced back into the hall, then looked at her again. “Aye. Good night, Ceana.”

“Good night, Paisley.”

Ceana climbed up the stairs. At the turn, she looked back despite herself. Oscar stood beside her father while an elderly clansman spoke to him, his eyes fixed on her. A fresh pulse of heat curled low in her belly.

His gaze followed her until the staircase blocked the hall from view. Inside her chamber, she closed the door and left the latch raised.

A low fire burned steadily in the grate. Fresh water waited in the tub, and candles lit the turned-down bed. Ceana untied the ceremonial ribbons from her waist and laid them on a chair. Paisley’s silver stitching glinted in the candlelight. She smoothed it flat before her fingers rose to the laces of her gown. One pull would loosen it.

But then she lowered her hand and poured herself some water. The cup touched her lower lip twice before she managed to take a proper sip. After setting it down, she crossed to the fireplace and shifted a log that required no attention.

She sat on the edge of the bed, felt the folded blanket beneath her palm, and rose. The bedding made every uncertainty too easy to picture. At the dressing table, she checked the pins that had been loosened by the dancing and pressed them securely into place.

She and Oscar had agreed to live separate lives. After the kiss outside her chamber, he apologized and refused to say whether he regretted it. The wedding kiss and his command in the hall had proved his desire, but neither indicated how he would speak to her at breakfast.

She touched Paisley’s ribbon again. She had chosen Oscar before witnesses and claimed a place with his children. Her sister and clan’s safety could explain her choice, but waiting alone in her chamber wasn’t something she could blame anyone else for.

The music below continued. One tune ended, and another began before the main doors opened. Voices sounded in the lower corridor as guests departed.

“Take two men and see him safely home,” she heard Oscar instruct.

The music carried on after his order, but he did not come to her.

Later, Tommy’s voice sounded in the corridor outside her chamber. “I only wished to say goodnight.”

“Ye already said it,” Oscar answered quietly. “Back to bed, lad.”

Their footsteps retreated, and the tightness beneath her ribs eased. Oscar had gone to his children before coming to her.

For a time, she only heard the slow music below. Footsteps sounded in the corridor again, and her fingers closed around the back of the chair she stood beside. But they passed her door and continued toward the servants’ stairs.

Perhaps Oscar had regained control. Perhaps he also regretted his command.

She caught the laces of her gown between her fingers. She could undo them and go to bed. Doing so would make the decision for him and conceal the answer she meant to give.

She released the laces and crossed to the door. Her hand hovered over the raised latch. Lowering it would end the wait.

She left it untouched.

Footsteps entered the corridor again, slower and heavier than the last. They stopped outside her chamber. The door opened, revealing Oscar in his wedding attire.

He stepped inside, his eyes glinting with something she couldn’t describe. Then he closed the door behind him and lowered the latch.

CHAPTER 13

Oscar dropped his hand.

It hung at his side while the music below beat faintly through the floorboards. His shoulders remained rigid beneath his coat, and his chest rose and fell with deep breaths. His gaze moved from her face to the laces she had touched while waiting, and one scarred hand opened and closed.

He had commanded her upstairs. And now that he was here, with no one watching, he held himself several paces away.

“If ye want me gone, say it.”

Ceana blinked. “Ye ordered me to wait for ye.”

“That was downstairs. Ye have the freedom to choose again.”