Page 89 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

He brought warm water and a fresh cloth from the washstand before gently cleaning between her thighs. His shoulders had relaxed, though his gaze still returned to each breath she took.

Afterward, Oscar slipped the warmed night rail over her head. He guided her bound hand through one sleeve and settled the linen around her body without catching her wrist.

When he leaned across her to pull back the covers, Ceana saw the hard bulge beneath his plaid. Instinctively, she reached for the fastening at his waist.

Oscar laid his hand over hers.

“And ye?” she asked.

“I have what I need.”

Her gaze moved to his face and then back to his groin. “There is nay way that is comfortable.”

“It will pass.” He raised her fingers to his lips. “Let me hold ye.”

She searched his face and found no withdrawal there. His gaze moved over her with open hunger, softened by the care in his hands.

“All right.”

Oscar washed the remaining blood from his face and throat. He stripped away his ruined shirt, cleaned his chest, then pulled on fresh linen before joining her beneath the covers.

“Will ye stay?” she asked.

He settled beside her and curved one arm around her waist. “Try to send me away.”

She rested her cheek over his heart while his palm lay open against her stomach, and each breath moved them together. Eventually, exhaustion pulled her under to the slow strokes of his thumb.

She couldn’t tell how long she had been out for. All she knew was that the room had become brighter when she woke up, and another unusual weight had pinned her to the mattress.

Her eyes snapped open. Something lay across her lower torso, and another weight covered her left arm. She tried to draw a deeper breath and stopped when her ribs protested.

“Easy,” Oscar whispered behind her, his voice sending chills down her spine.

The morning light showed Tommy asleep across her hips, one arm flung over her. Paisley had curled up against her uninjured side with both hands wrapped around her forearm. At the foot of the bed, Ness lay across the blanket. One hoof had become tangled in the fold near Ceana’s ankle.

Oscar was awake beside them, his head propped on one hand. Ceana turned to look at him and saw the glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Should I be offended that all of them chose yer side of the bed?” he muttered.

She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. The movement, however, still jarred her sore ribs. “Ye must have let them in.”

“They arrived at first light. Tommy reminded me of me promise.”

Ness shifted, and her trapped hoof pulled the blanket tighter around Ceana’s feet. Oscar reached down and freed it without disturbing the goat.

Ceana poked Tommy’s cheek, and his face burrowed deeper into her night rail.

“We only wanted to make sure ye were all right,” he mumbled without opening his eyes.

Paisley tightened her hold as though she had heard him.

Oscar placed his hand on Tommy’s back and left the boy where he was.

Eventually, Ceana reached across the children, and Oscar turned his palm beneath hers and laced their fingers together.

At that moment, she didn’t know if she had ever been as happy as she was. And frankly, all she could see going forward was this level of happiness.

CHAPTER 22