Page 25 of In Bed with her Highland Foe

“Ye are dressing up fer him,” Gilchrist observed tightly. Her eyes flicked to meet his and then she sighed, in a resigned sort of way.

“I have tae marry him, Gilchrist. Me councilors like tae remind me I must make a good impression.” Yet as she pulled at the bell-shaped sleeves, she revealed just how uncomfortable she was.

“Ye look very fine in yer usual gowns. Ye should be yerself. Dinnae perform fer a man like Laird Shay.” Gilchrist’s pleading made her fall still, her hands releasing the sleeves.

“Thank ye,” she whispered, her eyes down on her lap. “It wasnae the only thing the council wished tae discuss with me today.”

“Ah, let me guess. The soldiers...” He sat back a little, crossing his feet as he rested his hand on his wounded arm. “What did they have tae say?”

“We came tae an agreement that the soldiers shouldnae be moved from the borders of the clan, nae yet, in case we are attacked. Dae ye agree?”

“Aye, I agree.” He nodded slowly. He longed to assure Kyven that the Gregors would not attack. He knew his brother’s mind, knew the true reasons why the Gregors and the McDowell’s had gone to war in the first place, and he knew his brother would not be incited to battle again. There were other clans that worried him more.

If Laird Shay has come this far, there is nothing tae stop him attacking with his own forces if Kyven were tae suddenly refuse his proposal.

“As we are sharing truths tonight, share another with me,” he pleaded, his voice soft. “How are ye finding the council?”

“Am I so easy tae read?” She sat straight, the slither of a humored smile on her lips. “Is me anger at them that plain?”

“Only tae me,” he confessed. Silence fell in the air between them. For a mad minute, it would have been easy for Gilchrist to fool himself that Kyven felt something for him too in the way that she looked at him. He imagined pulling her to him, so she was in his lap, curling his good arm around her, kissing her, comforting her after what had clearly been a stressful day. The thought of her lips on his made him shudder with pleasure. He fidgeted in the seat, covering it up.

“I dinnae ken what I am doing with them half the time. Councilor Barnaby enrages me, fer he speaks as if we are all expected tae bend tae his will. I cannae stand it,” she muttered, shaking her head as she turned to look into the flames. The orange light basked on her face, revealing the lines of worry pursed around her lips and petite features. Her freckles glowed all the more in that beautiful light. “How tae handle the council is still something I am getting used tae. It is nae something I ever thought would be a part of me life.” She scowled into the fireplace.

With this intimacy open in the air between them, Gilchrist wanted to push it further, to make sure Kyven knew she could trust him with anything.

“Imogen… she left ye with many scars, did she nae?”

Kyven jerked her head around. At once, Gilchrist saw he had said the wrong thing. He sat back again, making the chair creak beneath him as he cursed himself for taking this chance. She clearly had no intention of answering his question as her lips parted and closed, whilst she searched for an answer.

“Ye ken I dinnae wish tae talk about me sister.”

“Ye can. If ye ever wish tae,” he assured her, deepening his voice further. She shifted at his words, fidgeting so much in the chair he wondered what he had done to prompt this reaction. She leaned forward, resting her hands on the arm of his chair, coming so near that he held his breath. It would have been easy to reach out toward her now, to capture her lips with his own and communicate within a single second what he truly felt for her.

Yet her gaze was on her hands on his armchair, and he firmly held himself still. He was not Aaden. He was not bold nor so audacious, and the fear of losing a woman he loved still rumbled deep within his gut.

Love… that is what it is, is it nae?

The truth of the matter shot through him as he gazed at her, looking at her freckled face and the way her lips were now pursed together.

“Sometimes, I think about her,” Kyven whispered. “Even when I cannae talk of her, she creeps into me mind again.”

Her hand shook on the arm of the chair and Gilchrist looked down at it. Maybe he was not bold enough to take what he truly wanted, to communicate to her without hesitating what he felt, but there was something he could do now. Something to show her comfort. Slowly, he shifted his hand from his injured arm and laid it over one of her hands on the arm of the chair. Her chin jerked up, her eyes wide in surprise.

His hand felt scarred from battle, the coarseness plain in his own palm. In contrast, her fingers were soft, practically like silk.

“Sometimes our ghosts haunt us in our minds rather than in these corridors,” he whispered deeply. “If ye ever choose tae talk of it with me, ye’ll find a ready listener, and… a friend.”

She smiled a little.

“I am still yer friend then? Even though I yelled at ye today? And blamed ye fer something that wasnae yer fault?”

“Well, I cannae blame ye fer that, can I?” He shrugged. “I have hardly been welcoming tae Laird Shay. It was a natural assumption.”

“Why dae ye nae like him?” she said with sudden eagerness, leaning forward a little more. Her hand shifted a little between his own.

It would be so easy tae entwine our fingers together now. Tae make this grasp something more than that of friends.

“Ye have yer secrets, Kyven. I have me own,” he confessed, looking down at their hands.