Chapter 5 #2
It didn’t work. Reid frowned. “How can ye be so calm about it all? Does it no’ make ye angry?”
She took a sip of ale and tore off a bit of bread. “’Tis the way it is, I suppose. I’m an outsider in England and in Scotland.”
“So ye have no place to call yer own.”
She’d never thought of it that way before. It wasn’t entirely a pleasant thought.
Clara scooped some stew up with the bread and popped the morsel into her mouth. It was wonderfully hot when all of her was still so cold. Her clothes were dry, but they were still cool on her damp skin, and her heavy, wet braid had soaked through the back. She shivered.
“I suppose I never had anything to compare my life with to think of it that way,” she answered finally.
Reid drank from his mug of ale. “It doesna enrage ye?” he pressed. “How poorly ye’ve been treated? Yer family?”
He scraped up some stew with his bread, and a weighty silence fell between them.
She was no saint. Those ugly words hurtled at her in the past had indeed left their mark. She had been first hurt by them and then angered. The latter of which rose in her with white-hot fury.
But with Drake and Mum already so burdened, Clara could never have unleashed her anger.
It wouldn’t have been fair to. She thought of Kinsey’s rage, which was like wildfire, uncontrolled and all-consuming.
And how Faye had hidden away her own emotions, curling into her thoughts during those trying times and Mum…
she’d been beside herself with the loss of Da, exhausted from working so hard to ensure they all remained fed.
Drake already shouldered the lot of them, working to support them, being there to help always, going without food so they would eat, being the man of the house when he was barely more than a lad.
Nay, it would have been too selfish of Clara to give into her fury when they had already suffered enough, when they had all been through so much. And so, she’d swallowed it down, keeping it tightly bound and undetectable deep within herself.
Clara brushed Reid’s question off with a smile. “’Tis the past.”
“It doesna mean it’s no’ wrong what ye went through.” He tore off another chunk of bread. “What yer family went through.”
There was an agitated clench to his jaw, his brows set in a ferocious expression.
“And what was done to ye?” she asked gently.
He straightened and regarded her with surprise. She stretched a hand across the table and covered his, expressing her sympathy for what he must have gone through with that single touch. His gaze fell to where their hands were clasped and swallowed.
“Ye may want to rush yer sup.” He nodded to her half-full trencher. “Within the hour, ’twill become even more crowded.”
And more crowds meant more drink and more men who might cause problems.
Clara did not need to be told twice. She ate her food and finished her ale. Finally, full and at last no longer shivering, she allowed Reid to lead her up the rickety stairs where the floor sloped distinctly to the right.
Reid paused outside the door and gave her an anxious glance. “I can sleep in the stable.”
Clara shook her head and put a hand on his shoulder. His gambeson was soaked through with rainwater and ice cold to the touch. “Please don’t,” she said. “Ye’re still not recovered from yer injury. From the infection. Yer fever might still return.”
“And what of ye?” he asked in a quiet voice. “Ye’re to be a nun, and ye’ll be sharing a room with a man.”
Well, it did sound quite improper when said aloud in such a fashion.
“I’m not a nun yet.” She met his gaze, and his pupils dilated slightly. There was something sensual in that reminder that she hadn’t intended. Yet, nor did she regret it.
“I’m yer wife, remember?” Her hand slid into his, and she smiled up at him. His hands were huge and rough with the evidence of calluses on his palms from a life of being a warrior.
Finally, he gave a slow nod and opened the door, their grasp slipping free of one another as he allowed her in first before following.
When the door was closed, she faced him once more. “I apologize for the lie about our marriage. I thought it might discourage talk.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Not that I ought to care what people say of us when it’s doubtful we’ll ever see them again.”
Reid narrowed his eyes in doubt. “I wouldna count on that. Scotland is nae as large as one might think.”
Silence settled between them, a poignant reminder of how very alone they were together in such a small, intimate place. But it was not awkward or uncomfortable. Rather, it was quite the opposite.
Being in a room alone with Reid was something she knew she shouldn’t do, like staying out too late at night or exploring an area she’d been told to ignore. It was a taste of rebellion in an otherwise rigid world of rule following. And it was delicious.
Downstairs, a cheer rose, followed by a chorus of laughter. “Ye were right about returning here quickly.” Clara shyly flicked a glance at him.
“I wouldna want ye down there with such rowdy men.”
“I can take care of myself,” she said staunchly.
“I know.” His brows pinched together. “But I dinna want ye to.”
“I wanted to thank ye for earlier too,” she said, feeling suddenly shy. “When ye defended me. I would have just ignored them, but ye spoke up for me.”
His jaw tightened. “I would do anything to keep ye safe.”
The truth behind his words blazed in his hazel eyes. Not that she didn’t believe him. He had put action into his declaration long before making the vow.
Even now, she could not help but relive the way he had appeared at her side before the man even finished his offensive comment. Reid had protected her.
It lit a place inside her that had ached for such attention for far too long.
She wanted to lean against him, to press her palms to his powerful chest, push up on her toes and kiss him.
She wanted to taste the spicy brush of his tongue, to let herself be set alight by his strong hands, to arch against the stone wall of his body.
“I…” She cleared the huskiness from her throat.
“I should see to yer injuries. And ye should probably change out of yer wet clothes.” As the words emerged from her mouth, she could see him clearly in her mind, peeling the sodden clothes from his muscular body, his pale, damp skin glistening in the golden light of the hearth.
He nodded and went to his bag to reclaim his dry clothing.
“I’ll go outside.” She strode toward the door.
“Nay.” He gently took her hand to prevent her from leaving. “’Tis no’ safe. I dinna need to change.”
“Aye, ye do.” His wounds would not do well remaining soaked in the rainwater coming from his gambeson. “I’ll turn ’round.” Clara put her back to him as she spoke.
Not that it did any good. She could recall every shadowed valley on his torso, every band of solid muscle on his flat abdomen. Aye, she knew his body well.
Except, of course, his lower half beneath his trews. But that didn’t stop her mind from trying to fill in the gaps.
When at last the rustling finally stopped, and he announced he’d finished, she turned to him once more to find he wore only his trews and nothing else. He tossed his wet clothing aside to the corner, where it landed with a soft splat, his body flexing with the simple action.
Clara’s palms ached to smooth up over his chest, to wander over his broad shoulders and down his abdomen to where the narrow strip of auburn hair disappeared into his leather trews.
Desire warmed through her, but she forced her mind to stay on the task at hand, a more worthy attention for her thoughts. She must ensure he remained healthy.
Besides, this handsome warrior was best struck from her mind. A nun could have no room for a man in her life, especially not one like Reid, who aroused in Clara such undeniable lust.