Chapter 5
The bed was far too small.
Ariella stood at the foot of it, clutching her cloak around herself as if the wool might magically transform into a second mattress. The hunting lodge had one narrow frame pushed against the far wall, a straw mattress, and a mound of blankets that had clearly seen better seasons.
Perhaps he will take the floor, she told herself.
Though Maxwell did not look like a man who intended to sleep on the floor.
He unpinned his plaid with efficient movements, folding it and setting it over a chest. His sword went beside the bed, within reach of his hand.
His white shirt stretched over his shoulders as he moved, the linen pulling across the solid breadth of his back.
Firelight picked out the faint shadows of scars beneath the cloth, pale lines that disappeared out of sight.
Her mouth went dry. She stared firmly at the far wall.
“Ye should sleep,” he said, voice even. “We ride early.”
“I ken,” she answered, and winced at how breathless she sounded.
He watched her for a moment, as if waiting for her to find sense. When she did not move, he sighed quietly and sat on the edge of the bed. Boots thumped to the floor. Then he lay back, testing the mattress with his weight. The frame gave a protesting creak.
He rolled to one side, facing the wall, and left a narrow strip of space along the edge.
“Ye can nae sleep standing,” he said, looking at her over his shoulder.
“I am merely deciding which side would be best,” she muttered.
“There are only two,” he replied. “This one is taken.”
The slightest quirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, there and gone.
“Ye could sleep on the other side of the hearth,” she tried.
“I am nae sleeping on the floor like a stray dog,” he said.
“Then perhaps ye could sleep sitting,” she suggested. “Ye look like the kind who does that often.”
“I daenae sleep sitting,” he replied. “I sleep like any man. Flat.”
She swallowed. “Then we must share the bed?”
“Aye,” he said. No shock, no protest. Just that simple agreement.
Her hands fumbled a little at the ties of her cloak. She slipped it off and laid it at the foot of the bed. She left her gown and chemise on. Whatever else had changed today, she was not ready to loosen more than that.
Carefully, as if the mattress might betray her, she eased herself onto the empty side.
Turning her back to him, she lay on her side facing the room.
Heat reached her at once from behind, his body warming the straw and blankets.
She had not realized how chilled she was until that warmth reached the length of her spine.
She tried to keep a hand’s breadth between them.
The bed made that impossible.
Her shoulder brushed his arm. Her hip brushed his thigh. Every small adjustment sent the straw rustling and the frame creaking. Her heart beat fast and uneven, each thud loud in her own ears.
Behind her, his breathing stayed slow and steady, as if he truly did not mind.
She shifted again, drawing her knees up a little. The mattress rolled and brought her that much nearer. She forced herself still, then lasted all of three breaths before her foot twitched against the blankets and she shifted again.
“Stop,” he said at last, voice low and rough with fatigue.
“Stop what,” she whispered.
“Fidgeting.”
“I am nae fidgeting,” she lied. “I am trying to find a place for me elbow.”
“It has had the same arm attached to it all yer life,” he replied. “Surely ye have worked that out by now.”
A spark of temper leapt up, welcome and familiar. “I am trying nae to break one of yer precious rules.”
There was a pause. “What.”
She rolled onto her back in a burst of exasperation, then immediately regretted it when her shoulder bumped his. Heat rushed over her skin. She kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling beams.
“Yer second rule,” she said. “Nay careless approach unless the roof is burning or the world is ending.”
“That is nae what I said,” he muttered.
“It is near enough,” she insisted. “I am trying to lie still and nae touch ye without cause. It is proving difficult, considering the size of this bed.”
She knew she sounded bratty. The long day, the rushed vows, the ride, and now the weight of him beside her, all pushed at the edges of her composure. Sharp words were easier than letting the panic show.
He made a sound that might have been a muffled laugh. “The rule was nae meant for beds.”
“It is where I find meself now,” she said tartly. “With yer shoulder in the way of me honor.”
“Me shoulder has little to do with yer honor,” he said.
“It has everything to do with it if it muddles me thoughts,” she muttered.
He shifted, turning half onto his back. The movement brought him closer instead of farther. She felt the warmth of his side through the blankets, solid and unyielding.
“Ye are right,” he said.
She blinked. “I am?”
“Aye,” he said. “The bed is too small, and I did nae think of it when I set that rule. Yer nearness is nae careless tonight. Ye have nowhere else to be.”
Nearness. The word made her pulse jump.
“So ye admit yer rule is foolish,” she said, because if she did not make light of it, she would have to acknowledge how close his arm lay to hers.
“I admit it needs exception,” he replied.
“Beds,” she said.
“And perhaps doorways,” he allowed. “Halls. Kitchens. Any place where the world is nae ending and yet ye still manage to find me.”
“That is most places.”
She risked a sidelong glance. Firelight drew strong lines along his jaw, across his cheek, over the pale scar that cut through his brow. His hand rested on his chest, fingers curled as if he were holding himself still by force.
“I was nae trying to bother ye,” she said, quieter now. “With the questions earlier.”
“I ken,” he answered. “Ye were trying nae to think too hard about the fact that ye married a stranger and left the only home ye have ever kenned.”
Her chest tightened. “I said I would nae ask about yer past. I said nothin’ about mine.”
“Fair,” he said.
Silence settled for a few beats. The fire cracked. Something outside bayed at the moon, sound faint through stone and shutter.
“Ye daenae seem nervous,” she ventured. “About being wed. About sharing a bed with a woman ye barely ken.”
“I am nae the one trembling,” he said.
“I am nae trembling,” she lied.
The back of his fingers brushed her forearm as he shifted. Gooseflesh chased up to her shoulder. “Nae now,” he said.
“Ye have done this before, then?” she blurted, then nearly choked on her own forwardness. “Shared a bed, I mean.”
Another pause. “I am nae a monk, Ariella.”
“I did nae say ye were,” she muttered, burning.
He drew his arm back then, so their skin no longer touched. The absence felt like a cold draft across her whole side.
“I will nae touch ye without yer consent,” he said. His voice had changed, deeper and slower. “Nae tonight. Nae any night. Whatever the priest said, ye have a say in that much.”
Some of the tightness in her eased. The nervous flutter did not vanish, but it shifted, less like fear and more like standing too close to the edge of a cliff.
“Thank ye,” she said quietly.
“Sleep,” he replied.
She tried. Truly she tried. She lay still, counting his breaths, tracing cracks in the ceiling with her eyes.
Her thoughts walked in circles. The vows.
The look on her brother’s face. Her mother’s hands.
Maxwell’s eyes in the yard and his hand under her chin in the alcove. The heat of him now, inches away.
At last her body refused obedience. She rolled again, drawing her knees up a little, trying to ease the ache in her lower back. Her hip brushed his thigh. The mattress rocked with the movement.
He sucked in a breath.
“That,” he said in a low voice, “is fidgeting.”
“I am trying to sleep,” she whispered.
“Ye are very poor at it,” he replied.
“If ye have suggestions, I am listening.”
“Lie still.”
“I have been lying still for hours,” she protested. “Me limbs feel like wood. Me mind feels like a runaway cart.”
“If it were that simple to quiet the mind,” he said, “I would be out of work. Nay one would need a laird if they could simply tell themselves nae to think about raids and debts.”
She huffed a faint laugh. “So ye do think.”
“Occasionally,” he said. “Daenae spread it about. It will ruin me reputation.”
She rolled onto her side again, unable to help it, and her shoulder brushed his chest. Heat flared along that line of contact. She went motionless.
He did not move away.
For a long heartbeat they lay like that, barely touching, the thin linen between them feeling like nothing.
Then he exhaled, a long, measured breath.
“I will take the floor,” he said abruptly, and shifted as if to rise.
Panic flared so suddenly it pushed words out of her.
“Nay!” she blurted.
He paused, half risen. “I thought ye would prefer it,” he said.
“I prefer warmth over pride,” she replied, reaching out before she could think better of it. Her fingers wrapped around his forearm.
He went very still. His skin was hot beneath her hand, hard muscle under her grip. She felt his pulse jump, or perhaps it was only her own.
“Is that what ye think this is,” he asked quietly. “Pride.”
“What else would make a man leave a perfectly good bed,” she said, trying for lightness and landing somewhere closer to pleading.
“Restraint,” he said.
Her mouth went dry. “Restraint from what.”
His gaze dropped to her hand on his arm. Firelight caught in the green of his eyes, turning them dark.
“Ariella,” he said.
The way he spoke her name this time sent something fluttering wild beneath her ribs. “I ken I am being ridiculous,” she admitted in a rush. “I ken it is only a bed. I ken we are wed and there is nothin’ shocking in sharing it. It is just…”
“New,” he supplied. “For ye. For us both.”
She had not expected him to include himself in that.
“Aye,” she whispered.
Slowly, he sank back down onto his side, facing her fully this time. Her hand slid from his arm because she did not trust herself not to cling.