Chapter Nine
Brenna stepped back from the door as if Satan waited on the other side.
She looked down at herself, dressed only in her shift. While the nights were cooler, it was still July, and the castle had remained warm after the sunny day. She was pulling on her robe when he knocked again. “One moment.”
Running her hand over her hair, she cursed at the curls.
They’d been bound tightly for the day, but she’d let them loose from their pins as soon as she’d entered her chamber for the night.
She went to the door and slid the bar free, letting out a huff of anger and determination.
What reason did she have to make herself more presentable for the man who’d left her years ago and hadn’t had the decency to spare so much as a few words on a page in all that time?
Even though she’d written to him numerous times.
She did her best to put her anger aside.
It wouldn’t do to lose her temper with her husband during their first private conversation.
Perhaps he planned to apologize for his behavior earlier. Maybe he wanted to explain why he hadn’t cared enough to tell her he planned to leave her behind without so much as a clue as to when he might return, if ever. She shook her head again. So much for putting her anger aside.
Nothing he could say would make her forgive him for forgetting about her for all these years.
Ronan entered the room and looked around, expecting to see someone else in her chamber.
She could have laughed at the irony. The only man who’d been in her chamber since he’d left was his snake of an uncle.
The man Shane had befriended and believed over her.
And he surely hadn’t been invited. But after Ronan was satisfied with the emptiness of the chamber, he turned his gaze onto her and was quite thorough about it.
She told herself she wouldn’t cower from his inspection.
If he was unhappy, he could leave and find comfort elsewhere, just as she assumed he’d done every night he’d been away.
Perhaps he didn’t have a woman in his bed every night. He was at war. She’d seen well enough the way battle wore on even the fiercest warrior. He would have needed sleep. And did he even have a bed, or had he slept under the stars each night?
She had so many questions. She wanted to know so many things about him despite not wanting to care at all. And was he always so handsome? She’d known he was attractive, but surely he couldn’t have been this alluring five years ago when he’d made love to her.
He seemed larger, if that was possible. He’d been a man of eight and ten when he’d left, but now he seemed to carry more muscle.
The room had somehow grown hotter since he’d entered.
She stood straighter and looked him in the eye.
Except he was not looking at her face. It seemed his gaze was hovering on her bosom.
No. Perhaps a bit higher. Her chin? Nay.
Her throat, where the bruises were all but gone.
She cleared her throat to shift his attention. “Is there something you wanted?”
“Aye. I would like…” He paused momentarily before answering with something she didn’t think he’d originally planned to say.
“It’s late, and I’m tired from travel. I wish to sleep.
” He took a seat next to the empty hearth.
She’d not wanted to give him an inch, but she couldn’t help the surprise that had to have shown on her face.
“You wish to sleep here? But you are the laird. Surely, you would be more comfortable in the laird’s chambers.”
“This was my room, and my wife is still in it. I don’t need the clan to think I was cast out of my wife’s bed the first night of my return.”
She swallowed and looked at the large bed. It felt enormous and lonely most nights, but now it seemed too small to hold them both. When last they’d slept there, they had been curled up together.
Why did her body want to feel the warmth of his skin so badly?
Even knowing how much pain he’d caused her?
She’d been upset earlier that he’d forgotten her, but it seemed her heart was already forgetting what he was capable of.
Or at least her body’s need was making it difficult to remember.
Would he expect her to welcome him after he did not want to dine with her?
Without realizing it, she had reached up to tug at the curls at her nape—a nervous habit.
She let go of the strands but didn’t know what else to do. It seemed her hands had no place they belonged. He had utterly befuddled her.
“Calm yerself, lass. I can sleep on the floor. I’ll not make myself a nuisance to ye. I don’t wish to sleep in a bed where you’ve lain with most of the men of the keep anyway.”
She sucked in a breath as if he’d punched her in the stomach. Had he just accused her of taking up with not one man but most of the men in the clan? “I assume you got that information from Ewan?”
“Do you deny it?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. She was sure now he had not been so muscled before.
“Would you believe me if I denied it?” She mimicked his pose. She was not the besotted girl he’d left in the night while she slept. She was a woman hardened by anger.
“I’m not sure.” Again, his gaze drifted down to her throat. The marks were hardly visible any longer. Had someone told him what had happened?
She knew the men wouldn’t have said anything unless Ronan had asked. She only needed him to doubt Ewan, and perhaps there would be a chance to share the truth and warn him of the danger Ewan posed when he was back within the castle walls.
He stood and stepped closer. She noticed his limp was more pronounced than it had been since he’d arrived. Either it pained him more, or he was not trying as hard to hide it. Either way, lying on the chilly floor wouldn’t hurt his injury.
“Your leg is hurting you. It would be best if you slept in the bed. I promise you, it is safe. You might not believe me, but you were the last man to sleep in here with me.”
He made a sound between a sniff and a snort. “I’m sorry to say I’m good for nothing tonight. If you had any designs on reuniting, I’ll have to put you off to another night,” he said as if this information caused him more discomfort than the pain in his leg.
She shook her head quickly, putting him at ease. “I assure you, that suits me fine. I have no interest in…that,” she managed to say without making it sound like the lie it was.
“That?” he repeated with a chuckle.
She turned away to the bed as her face burned like fire.
Rather than remove her robe, she got in bed with it still tied around her waist. It only took a minute to realize she’d never be able to sleep, so she shifted under the blankets to free herself from the garment without exposing herself to the man unbuckling his weapons belt.
She turned away so as not to be tempted to watch him.
But while she couldn’t see him, she could still hear.
The clink of his weapons as he hung them on the peg by the door.
He took heavy steps as he approached the bed and set something on the nightstand where she kept her dirk. Should she have moved it?
Nay, he’d not use it on her. At least, she didn’t think so.
The heavy thud of a boot made her jump, but she was prepared for the one that followed. Then the quiet hiss of fabric slipped over his body as he removed his kilt.
She hadn’t breathed as she listened for the quieter sound of his shirt being pulled over his head. Instead, she felt his weight on the bed and the shifting of the blankets as he got settled on the other side.
A soft moan left his lips, and she couldn’t help but ask at least one of her many questions. “Are you in pain?” she whispered.
“Nay. The opposite. It’s the first time in a long time I’ve slept on a mattress. I’ve forgotten how wonderful it feels not to have the hard earth as a bed.”
“It seems you’ve forgotten many things,” she said, unable to hold her tongue.
If she thought to prod him into a conversation, she would have failed for no longer had she made her biting remark than his breathing evened out in sleep.
She was even more irritated that he could find peace so easily while she lay there, unable to settle.
It didn’t help when his calm breathing picked up and turned to frantic cries for help.
His body tossed and jerked as he fought off the demons that haunted his sleep.
Unable to let him suffer, she reached out and placed her hand on his arm and rubbed his sweaty skin.
“Shh,” she said. “You’re safe now, Ronan.
” She repeated the words several times until he stilled and relaxed with a soft whimper.
She wasn’t sure what had happened to her husband in the five years he’d been gone, but it was clear he had been injured, and the damage was not just in his leg.
***
Ronan woke late in the morning. He hadn’t slept so soundly since he’d been fevered from the wound to his leg.
Shane had worried he wouldn’t wake up, so close Ronan was to death during those days.
Eventually, he came through it, feeling like the devil himself and wishing maybe he hadn’t.
This morning, he wasn’t weakened or in great pain.
Just the average amount of pain he’d become accustomed to.
His wife was gone; he wasn’t surprised. Not only did she not seem the type to laze about in bed, but he imagined she had been counting down every minute until the sun rose so she could flee the room they’d shared.
He didn’t know what he’d expected when coming to their room the night before, but it wasn’t the shy woman who removed her robe under the covers. She appeared to be the same untried lass he’d bedded five years ago, in actions rather than looks.
His wife had grown beautiful—not in the way a man noticed right away, but in the way that made her more lovely every time he looked at her. He wondered briefly if it would continue to be like that as they grew older. Maybe his uncle was right, and she was a witch who’d cast a spell on Ronan.
Thinking such a thing made him question Ewan’s other claims that his wife had bedded half the warriors.
He hadn’t missed how she’d worded her answer the night before.
That no man had slept in the room since him.
Ronan knew well enough that one didn’t need to spend the night sleeping to take part in bed sport.
After all, he’d never slept with a woman the night through until his wedding night. Not that it had been the whole night.
He’d dozed for some time with her in his arms, and then, as the sky was just being touched by the first light of the new day, he’d slunk from the bed, grabbed his knapsack, and headed downstairs.
His grandsire had been waiting for him, and Ronan recalled how he’d worried the man planned to return his offer to allow Ronan to go to France.
But while he’d asked if Ronan was sure he wished to leave his young bride’s bed for a life as a soldier, he’d merely nodded and asked Ronan to be careful and come back when he wrote for him.
Ronan had done precisely that. But now he wondered what his wife had been up to all that time. The men had followed her and stood by her door, but the way they watched their lady was not with the admiration of a lover but that of a protector. Ronan had seen how fiercely they respected her.
He didn’t know the younger men but remembered Will and Hugh. They wouldn’t follow a leader who hadn’t earned the right to rule the clan.
So which was it? Was she a power-hungry witch, or did his grandsire trust her over his son to care for the clan until Ronan returned to claim his birthright?
He’d looked for bruises on her throat the night before but saw no sign of the injury her guard had spoken of.
Had Ewan threatened her life as the man had said?
Someone was lying. But if it had been Ewan, why hadn’t Brenna told him the truth? The answer whispered in his ears. She knew I wouldn’t believe her. The guard had asked if Ronan was ready to hear the truth.
“Yes,” he said as he dressed. “Yes, I bloody well am.”