Page 62 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

But then he lifted his head, his breath brushing across her mouth. His thumb slid once more along her cheek before his hand dropped away.

“Good night, Ceana.” He turned away.

He pulled on linen drawers and a shirt, while she stood beside the bath, her lips tingling. He placed Lennan’s report beneath his sword, then carried both to the stool beside the bed. He lay on the far edge of the mattress and faced the wall.

Ceana changed into her nightgown while he kept his face turned away. The linen brushed the tender place between her thighs as she climbed into bed beside him. A narrow strip of sheet separated them.

Oscar held himself so still that the tension showed in his shoulders. A few minutes passed, and still his breathing did not change.

Ceana did not answer. The marriage bed had given him something new to fear.

CHAPTER 16

Oscar cut the same slice of meat into smaller pieces.

The knife scraped across the pewter plate as he turned one square and divided it again. None had reached his mouth. The ale he had poured remained untouched beside his right hand, and his sword rested within reach on his left.

Lennan had not sent another report from the eastern border, and Ceana’s empty chair stood close enough for Oscar to touch its carved back without leaning.

He had come down to put stone walls and a flight of stairs between himself and their bed.

Their chamber had been dark when he dressed. Ceana lay beneath the blanket, one hand curled near her face. Oscar had fastened his belt by the dying fire and left before her eyes opened. Sleep had claimed him only in brief stretches. His body had remained painfully aware of the woman beside him.

It remained so even now.

He remembered Ceana rising into the soft kiss he had given her. Her lips had parted against his, and her fingers had tightened on his bare chest when she tried to draw him back.

He could return upstairs. He could cross their chamber, pull aside the bed curtains, and find her awake on the pillow.

In his mind, her mouth softened when she saw him, and without thinking twice, she reached for him. He then climbed over her and pushed her nightgown above her knees. Her legs opened around his hips, warm and inviting.

He remembered the broken sound she had made when he pushed into her on their wedding night, and he could feel his length harden with the knowledge that he could hear it again.

Suddenly, the image changed. Now, the white linen gathered at Ceana’s thighs darkened with blood, and a newborn cried against his chest. Blood spread beneath her and soaked through every cloth the midwife pressed between her legs. One limp hand hung beside the mattress, while he held a child he could not return to the woman who had borne it.

Nay. Nay, nay, nay, nay.

A clump of dark hair covered the pillow now. Ceana’s mouth had turned blue, and her closed eyes did not move when he spoke her name.

The knife scraped against his plate. His fist tightened until the handle dug into his palm. His erection still pressed against his breeches even after the vision, while his stomach twisted hard enough to hurt.

He set down the knife carefully. “Nay, nae while I draw breath.”

The door hit the wall, jolting him out of his reverie. He immediately wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword before he recognized Paisley.

He rose and searched the passage behind her. No stranger followed. His daughter stood alone in a gown pulled hastily over her shift, one hand holding the loose front closed. Her hair hung around her wet face.

“What? What is it? Are ye hurt?”

“I need Ceana.” Her voice broke on the name.

Oscar stepped around the table and checked her face for bruises. “Did someone enter yer chamber?”

Paisley shook her head, more tears running down her cheeks.

“Did someone frighten ye?”

“Ye daenae ken anythin’. I need her, nae ye.”