Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jeane woke up the next morning to the sound of Fergus pulling on his boots.
She sat up with a start, checking her body to make sure she was not in any state of undress, and a sharp spike seemed to go through her temple.
She groaned, and Fergus glanced at her.
“Good mornin’, lass,” he said easily, clearly not even remotely affected by all the ale they’d ingested the night before.
Jeane herself had nothing but sparse memories of eating rabbit stew and playing cards.
“Daenae ye worry,” he said with a lilting, teasing tone. “I didnae ravish ye in yer sleep.”
She scoffed. “Ye ken better.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps I want ye beggin’ for it before I touch ye.”
Jeane’s cheeks flushed, and her stomach swirled with heat. She ignored him, though, ignoring her headache too as she stood, sliding on her shoes and helping to gather the supplies they’d bought.
She remembered now what she had meant to ask Fergus before the balding man had assaulted her, and she inwardly groaned. She was not exactly feeling up to dress shopping, but she also did not want to have to squeeze into Lottie’s clothes.
“I need some dresses,” she said finally, her voice quiet.
“Oh, aye,” Fergus said simply, nonplussed. “We’ll go by a dress shop before we head back.”
“I’m sorry,” Jeane said, not sure why she was apologizing.
Fergus looked at her, a bold eyebrow raised quizzically.
“Why are ye apologizin’, little mouse?”
“I… I daenae ken.”
He hummed in the back of his throat again, stepping closer to her and trailing a finger along her jawline.
Her breath caught in her throat, but she did not speak. Could not speak.
Then he just took his knapsack and walked out of the room. She followed him.
They rode through the town, stopping next to a small dress shop, one that Jeane had looked into the day before.
“Ye can buy whatever ye want,” Fergus said easily.
Jeane looked at him. “I cannae pay for it. I havenae received my salary yet.”
“I’ll make sure to fix that,” Fergus assured her. “For now, I’ll take care of ye, lass.”
Jeane felt a thrill go up her spine. She had practically been bred to be a wife, but she’d always thought it a chore. She’d never thought of it as something to look forward to. Having someone to take care of her…
It was an intoxicating thought.
Jeane tried on only one dress before she started to feel nauseous, her head still pounding from the ale. She placed three dresses of the same style in different colors into Fergus’ hands and exited through the back, worried she would vomit.
She did not, in the end, and Fergus came out of the back shaking his head.
“Cannae handle yer ale, lass?”
She did not respond, and he took her hand, leading her back to the stables and placing the knapsack full of supplies and now, her dresses over the horse before helping her up.
The ride back to the castle was rough on Jeane’s unstable stomach, and she was so grateful they were back when they arrived that she could have kissed the ground.
She fought a groan as she finally got off the horse and prayed she would not have to ride for a few days.
Fergus left his horse with the stable boy and led Jeane to her chambers, right next to Lottie’s.
Jeane walked into the room, seeing the large four-poster bed and the furs lining it. It was just guest quarters, but it was huge, bigger than her bedroom back at McKay Castle.
“If ye need any help undressin’, Molly will help ye,” Fergus told her. “Simply call for her.”
“I can manage meself,” Jeane said quickly.
“I’m sure ye can.” He turned to leave, but Jeane called his name. She did not want him to go. She wanted him to see her. Wanted him to want her.
He turned to face her.
“Thank ye for comin’ up with that name for me.” The words came out before she knew precisely what she was going to say. She just wanted him near, but she was indeed grateful for his discretion.
“I have a stake in keepin’ yer secret now. If yer father finds out where ye are, he will take ye, and I need ye around.”
“To heal yer sister.”
Fergus looked down at her intently for a moment.
She thought maybe he would say something further. She hoped he might say something further. About maybe how he wanted her, needed her, just as much as she feared she wanted and needed him. But why would he say that? He only wanted her for her healing prowess, nothing further.
“Aye,” he answered simply.
Jeane huffed out a breath. “And I get nay say in the matter?”
“Nay,” he said with a little smirk.
“I have a condition, then.”
Jeane was angry, and she was not quite sure why. She supposed it was because she had been taken, used, and gotten little in return but some harsh words. She wanted… more.
“Did I nae make meself clear, lass? Ye’ll stay in this castle and heal me sister, conditions or nae.”
Jeane tilted up her chin.
“I ran away before. I could do it again.”
She could. She would if she needed to. If Fergus would not give her what she needed, she would find it elsewhere.
Fergus took a couple of steps toward her, most likely expecting her to back away.
She did not. She stood her ground even though her heart was flipping around in her chest.
“Aye? Is that so?” Fergus murmured.
Jeane felt like she might be trembling all over. She hated to ask for this particular favor, or condition, rather. She did not truly want to ask him what she was about to ask, but she felt she had no choice.
“Aye,” she said firmly, not hesitating.
“Then what is yer condition, Jeane?”
Fergus seemed bemused instead of angry, his half-smirk infuriating her, but his closeness, the way his chest rose and fell so close to hers… it made her knees weak.
She shivered slightly, but she kept her eyes on his.
“After Lottie is better, ye’ll help me find a husband.”
The words fell on Fergus like a hammer, and he blinked at her, stunned. Shock and something like rage swept over him. He gritted his teeth, his shoulders straightening.
“What did ye say?”
“A husband,” she insisted. “I want to be protected from me father. I need a husband to do that.”
A husband?
Fergus could imagine it now. Jeane inviting over suitors and him removing their heads from their shoulders.
He would have to do it in secret, of course, because the little mouse might run off to keep others from being hurt.
He was not much for stealth, but he would manage.
There was no way in hell that Fergus would let another man look at Jeane, let alone touch her, marry her.
The idea of searching for another man to marry Jeane was laughable, given how Fergus already felt about her. He barely knew anything about the lass, but every touch, every fiery word from her, ignited him.
He felt alive in a way that he had not in a very long time, and he would be damned if he would hand that over to another man willingly.
He drew in a sharp breath, his chest tight, rage rushing through him at the very idea of this hypothetical husband.
“That I willnae do, lass.”
“Why nae?” Jeane asked, her eyes wide. “Is it so much to ask?”
“Aye, it’s a lot to ask,” Fergus blurted out, frustrated, his skin seeming to heat from the jealousy rushing through him. “Because nay other man can touch ye.”
Jeane’s eyes widened even further, those doe eyes, and Fergus could not help but close the distance between them, cupping her cheek with one hand. He drew his thumb across her bottom lip, and Jeane shuddered, melting against his chest.
“What do ye mean?”
“I mean, if ye need a husband, I will be the one to marry ye,” Fergus said with no doubt or hesitation in his voice.
“Ye cannae be serious.”
“Do I nae look serious, lass?” he asked, putting an arm around her waist to draw her closer, his hand still caressing her face.
“I—”
Fergus did not let her finish, crashing his mouth down on hers. Jeane made a noise against his mouth, another squeak that made his mouth turn up at one corner. He licked along her lips, bidding for her to open up, and when they parted, he slid his tongue across hers.
Jeane moaned into his mouth, and Fergus felt his manhood harden at the sound. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her tight against him, knowing she could feel his hardening member but not caring.
She made that little mouse squeak that only made him harder, and he groaned against her lips before pulling away, looking down into her eyes.
“Ye belong to me, lass. If any man dares even look at ye, he will die by me hand.”
Jeane stared at the closed door for a long moment after Fergus left, her heart still hammering in her chest. She pressed her fingers to her lips, remembering the way his mouth had felt against hers, the way his hands had touched her so intimately.
What am I doin’?
She changed into her shift with shaking hands, her body still humming from his touch. When she finally lay down on the furs, pulling them up to her chin, she found sleep elusive. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Fergus’ dark gaze looking down at her, felt his fingers sliding across her skin.
Eventually, exhaustion won out, and she drifted into an uneasy sleep.
“Come now, Jeane. Ye’ll be a good lass and put on yer weddin’ dress,” her father’s voice echoed through the stone halls.
Jeane ran, her bare feet slapping against cold floors. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to get away. Had to escape.
“There’s nowhere to run, daughter,” Bennet called, his voice closer now. “Laird Fraser is waitin’ for ye.”
She burst through a door and found herself in a great hall. At the end of it stood a man in fine clothes, his back to her. When he turned, his face was shadowed, but his smile was cruel.
“There ye are, wife,” Lord Fraser said, his voice oily and wrong. “I’ve been waitin’ for ye.”
“Nay,” Jeane whispered, backing away. “Nay, I willnae marry ye.”
“Ye have nay choice,” her father said from behind her, grabbing her arm hard enough to bruise. His fingers dug into her flesh like claws. “Ye belong to me, and I say ye’ll marry him.”
Fraser approached, and as he got closer, Jeane could see his previous wives standing behind him like ghosts, their eyes hollow, their throats slit.
“Daenae worry, me dear,” Fraser crooned. “It only hurts for a moment, and then ye’ll join the others.”
“Nay!” Jeane screamed, struggling against her father’s grip. “Please, nay!”
Fraser’s hand reached for her throat, and she could feel his fingers closing around her windpipe—
“Nay! Please, I willnae marry him!”
Jeane bolted upright in bed, her shift soaked with sweat, her breath coming in harsh gasps. Her hands flew to her throat, feeling for fingers that weren’t there.
It was just a dream. Just a nightmare.
But her heart wouldn’t stop racing, and tears streamed down her face.
The door to her chambers burst open with a bang, and Fergus rushed in, sword drawn, his eyes wild as he searched for a threat.
“What happened? Who’s here?” he demanded, and when he saw her alone in bed, trembling and crying, his expression shifted from warrior to something softer.
He sheathed his sword and crossed to her in three long strides.
“Jeane?” His voice was gentle now, concerned. “What’s wrong, little mouse?”
She couldn’t speak, could only shake her head as sobs wracked her body. She felt foolish crying over a dream, but she couldn’t seem to stop.
Fergus sat on the edge of her bed, and after a moment’s hesitation, he pulled her into his arms. She went willingly, burying her face against his chest as he held her.
“Shh,” he murmured, one large hand stroking her hair. “Ye’re safe. I’ve got ye.”
“I’m sorry,” she gasped between sobs. “It was just a dream. I dinnae mean to wake ye.”
“Daenae apologize,” he said firmly. “Tell me what ye dreamt.”
Jeane shook her head against his chest. She couldn’t tell him about Lord Fraser, couldn’t explain the full horror of what her father had planned for her. Not yet.
“Me faither,” she whispered instead. “He was… he was forcin’ me to marry someone. Someone cruel.”
Fergus’s arms tightened around her, and she felt his jaw clench against the top of her head.
Fergus was silent for a long moment, just holding her, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and deadly serious.
“Nay one will ever hurt ye again, Jeane. Nae while I draw breath. Do ye understand me? Yer faither cannae touch ye here.” He pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his own blazing with fury. “If he even thinks about ye, I will separate his head from his shoulders.”
“Fergus.”
“I mean it,” he said fiercely. “Ye’re under me protection now. Ye’re mine. And I protect what’s mine.”
The possessiveness in his voice should have frightened her, should have reminded her of her father’s controlling nature, but it didn’t. Because Fergus wasn’t trying to control her—he was trying to keep her safe.
“Ye’re safe here, little mouse. Ye’re safe with me.”
Jeane searched his scarred face, looking for any sign of deception, but found only fierce protectiveness.
“Will ye…” She hesitated, embarrassed. “Will ye stay? Just until I fall back asleep?”
Something softened in Fergus’s expression. “Aye, lass. I’ll stay as long as ye need me.”
He moved to the chair near her bed, but Jeane caught his hand.
“Nae in the chair,” she said quietly. “Just… on top of the furs. Please.”
Fergus looked at her for a long moment and then nodded. He lay down on top of the furs, on his back, and Jeane curled into his side, her head on his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, and it calmed her racing pulse.
His arm came around her, holding her securely, and she felt safer than she had in years.
“Thank ye,” she whispered.
“For what?” His voice rumbled in his chest beneath her ear.
“For comin’ when I called out. For… for makin’ me feel safe.”
Fergus pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Always, little mouse. I’ll always come when ye need me.”
She believed him.
As her breathing evened out and sleep pulled at her again, she heard him murmur something in Gaelic that she didn’t quite catch.
She wanted to ask, but sleep was already dragging her under, and this time, there were no nightmares.
Only warmth and safety and the steady beat of Fergus’ heart beneath her cheek.
When Jeane woke again when it was still dark outside, Fergus was gone. The furs beside her were cold, as if he’d left hours ago. For a moment, she wondered if she’d dreamed the whole thing—the nightmare, Fergus holding her, the tender way he’d stayed until she fell asleep.
But then she saw it: a single foxglove flower on the pillow where his head had been.
She picked it up carefully by the stem, a small smile playing at her lips.
He had stayed. He had held her. He had kept the nightmares away. And maybe, just maybe, she was starting to trust that he always would.
And she went back to sleep properly.