Page 53 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

“Please.”

He shuddered as he spilled inside her. One breath passed, then another. The hand on her waist tightened until his fingers pressed into her skin. Every trace of pleasure had vanished from his face. He stared at a point above her head, breathing through parted lips.

Ceana touched his cheek. “Oscar?”

His gaze returned to her, and his grip on her waist loosened at once. “Did I hurt ye?”

“Just a little at first.” She brushed her thumb across the scar near his jaw. “I am sore now, though I can bear it.”

He withdrew ever so slowly. The movement stirred a tender ache, and Ceana flinched before she could conceal it. Oscar, however, saw it.

He climbed off the bed and crossed to the washbasin. There, he grabbed a cloth and dipped it in the water. Ceana pushed herself upright and reached for it when he returned.

He kept hold of the cloth. “Let me.”

She looked at his face, then lay back and opened her legs again. “All right.”

Oscar tested the damp cloth against the inside of his wrist. His touch was practical as he cleaned her, each pass gentle over the tender skin. When her left thigh tensed, he stopped and moved the cloth to a less sensitive spot.

“There?” he asked.

“A little sore.”

He reduced the pressure.

Those same hands could draw a sword, bind a wound, or wash dirt from Tommy’s scraped knee without making the boy feel helpless. He worked quietly, watching her response more closely than his hand.

When he finished, he rinsed the cloth and then grabbed a fresh nightgown from the chest.

“Can ye stand?”

“Aye, though I willnae do it gracefully.”

Oscar offered her his arm. The first step pulled at tender muscles, and his grip shifted beneath her elbow until she could stand straight. He gathered the nightgown and guided her arms through the sleeves, then drew the linen down her body. Her hair caught beneath the collar, and he freed it strand by strand before smoothing it over her shoulders.

Before returning her to bed, he pressed a cup into her hands. “Drink.”

Ceana drank.

When she finished, he took the empty cup, helped her back to bed, and pulled the blanket over her.

He restored order to the room in silence. He covered her wedding gown where it lay on the chair, leaving Paisley’s embroidered ribbon visible on top. His sword remained on the chest. After pulling off the stockings he had left on in his haste, he extinguished all but one candle and came back to bed.

He lay on his back beside her. Ceana waited for his arm, then understood from the rigid line of his shoulders that he had no embrace to give. Still, he remained. He reached across once to free a lock of hair trapped beneath her cheek and raised the blanket under her chin.

The space between their bodies troubled her more after his care. She knew now what those hands could offer when he allowed them to work. She also knew just how far he could close himself off if determined.

“Good night, wife.”

Oscar laid his hand on the blanket between them and slowly curled it into a fist. He did not sleep.

CHAPTER 14

Ceana turned toward Oscar’s side of the bed before she was fully awake.

The tenderness between her thighs checked the movement. She sucked in a sharp breath and lay still beneath the blanket, conscious of the unfamiliar heaviness in her limbs and the linen sheet brushing her hip. The deep hollow beside her remained; the blankets were rumpled at the foot of the bed.

Oscar stood near the fireplace, fastening his shirt. The morning light caught the scars across his hands as he worked each tie into place. Ceana watched those hands, now aware of the care they could show.