Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Couldn’t sleep. Not even if I wanted to.
The words went around and around Lachlan’s head as he strode his way through the corridor, his mind fixed on one thing and one thing alone.
The harm that he knew he’d done to Innes.
He had sent up that damned trunk, of course. He couldn’t have kept it from her any longer, though Keith tried to convince him to spend some more time going through it. She could not have falsified such hurt, and he knew it. She was stung by his actions and would not be so quickly dismissed again.
He had been pacing the halls all evening, neglecting dinner for whiskey in his chambers. Keith had left him be—everyone had. Perhaps sensing that he would not have taken well to the sudden intrusion on his time, when the only person he wanted to lay eyes on was his wife.
By now, he’d found himself straying down to her end of the Keep.
He was sure that she wouldn’t have wanted to see him anyway, but he could not just stand by and leave her to her feelings all night.
It had been he who was wrong, and he should say something to her to acknowledge it, if not ask for forgiveness.
He had told her that consequences would ensure obedience, but this, he couldn’t help but feel, would only leave her more—
Before the thought could come to a close, a sound caught his ears, something puncturing the silence around him. A crash. And it was coming from Innes’ chambers.
Without a second thought, he made a break for her room, throwing open the door without bothering to knock.
“Innes?”
He called out into the room, at first unable to see her.
For a moment, he wondered if she had somehow scaled the walls and made an escape, but they were at the top of a tower—she would never have been able to manage it.
He strode into the room, cast his eye around, and when he saw what had become of her, terror gripped his chest.
She was slumped over on one arm next to the fireplace, a cup beside her that seemed to have recently been the vessel for some warm tea. A tray with a pot was perched beside the fireplace, and one of the letters he had seen in the trunk had been torn open beside it.
“Innes,” he muttered, reaching down with one arm to try to pull her close and investigating the torn-open packet with the other hand.
Inside, there looked to be dried herbs. A tea of some kind. Her brother had been sending her tea? It made little sense to him, but then, he did not know her clan well…
All at once, he heard a gasp beneath him, and he turned back to Innes. Her eyelids were fluttering, her skin pale, and her lips parted as she tried to draw breath. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her upright, pushing back the dark hair that had fallen into her face.
“Innes, please! Can you hear me?”
At the sound of his voice, she let out a cry and reached out to shove him away. He did not let go of her. He had no choice but to restrain her if she were this erratic so close to the fire roaring away in the hearth between them. If something happened to her…
Her fist balled in his shirt, pulling him forward. And, as she slumped into him, he felt her go limp once more. He tried to pull her back, but she did not stir.
Fear—unfamiliar, clawing—wracked at his chest.
“Come back to me, Innes.”
It came to her in snatches—the smell of the tea, the sound of the fire crackling away beside her, the feel of his arms around her, and the low rumble of his voice as he tried to coax her back to the land of the living.
Her body felt heavy, her mouth dry, as she slowly stirred. How long had she been unconscious? She wasn’t sure. She smelled woodsmoke, and her eyes opened long enough to realize that Lachlan was the one who was holding her.
“What are you…”
She thought to pull herself away from him, but she was too weak to move. She glanced around, trying to remind herself of just where she had been when all of this had happened, and the pieces started to fall back into place.
The tea, yes, the tea. She had been drinking it when this terrible tiredness had risen within her, and she had fallen to the ground, dropping the cup in the process.
“What happened?” she asked.
Lachlan’s gaze was unrelenting, searching her for any sign at all of hurt or discomfort.
“You tell me,” he replied grimly, cupping her face in his hand for a moment as he eyed her. “You had some of yer brother’s tea, and I came in to find you in a faint.”
She ran a hand through her hair and drew her legs to her chest, suddenly distinctly aware of just how close she was to him.
“I took you to the infirmary,” he continued. “The healer gave you an antidote, and I brought you back here to rest. She said the herbs were poisoned.”
“I… the herbs,” she muttered, reaching for the envelope that she had torn open. “These are my herbs. It cannae be.”
He took them from her, peering in with a furrow in his brow.
“Ye’re sure there’s nothing different about them?”
She peered in again, blinking.
“Not in the envelope,” she said. “But when I was drinking my tea…”
She looked down to where the liquid had pooled beneath them.
Yes, there it was again, the slight golden shimmer that she had seen on top of the tea before she had taken a sip.
She had thought it was nothing more than her memory lending a welcome side to a pleasant haze, but perhaps there was more to it.
“Fetch the healer,” he barked, looking over his shoulder to where Annabelle had come to check on the commotion. “Surely she is done examining the herbs by now.”
“My brother would never have done something like this to me,” she told him weakly, reaching for his hand in an attempt to draw his attention.
He did not reply.
“You dinnae truly believe that Arthur would do this, do you?” she whispered.
He remained silent, instead carefully helping her to a seat before he grasped the herbs and waited at the door for the healer to arrive.
She did, a few minutes later. The healer was draped in a heavy greyish-brown robe, her long, dark hair woven through with strands of grey. She cast a look over at Innes and made her way towards her, placing the back of her hand on her head.
“She’s still running a little warm,” she remarked. “Annabelle, fetch a cold compress fer the Lady.”
Annabelle sprung into action, and the healer moved to the door, where she entered into hushed conversation with Lachlan. Her mouth was set into a grim, hard line when she talked. Innes watched with some concern, wondering just what kind of story they were spinning about her brother.
“There’s indeed poison in the herbs. Foxglove. The pollen gives it a golden look. Fortunately the antidote I provided helped, but I’ll prepare something stronger just in case.”
“Anderson,” Lachlan muttered. “He sent this for me. To—”
“He wouldn’t have done anything of the sort!” Innes protested desperately, but he was already pacing, his mind clearly attached to whatever fiction he had managed to invent for himself.
He shook his head. “He wanted to poison me,” he continued, his hands clasped behind his back. “And you were the one to take the drink. It could have—”
“She needs rest!” the healer exclaimed, her voice booming through the room and insisting on a quiet that neither of them could argue with.
They exchanged a glance as Annabelle returned with a cold compress and brought it to Innes’ head. Innes smiled at the girl, still feeling rather weak, and the healer planted her hands on her hips and looked between them.
“The foxglove pollen is potent,” she warned. “She’ll no’ suffer much, given that she took the antidote, but she’ll need to sleep.”
“Then go,” Lachlan allowed, lifting a hand to dismiss the healer and the maid. “I’ll take it fae here.”
The two women left the room as Innes pressed the cold compress to her forehead and closed her eyes. She still felt rather shaky and weak, though not as awful as she had when she had fainted earlier.
“Come here,” Lachlan murmured to her as he stooped down, pulling her into his arms and carrying her towards the bed.
“I can walk,” she protested, but she wasn’t sure if it was even true.
Besides, she was too exhausted to do anything other than let him hold her.
There was a comfort to his arms, something about his touch that made it hard for her to think of anything but how much she wished for his presence.
She should not have been so quick to trust him, she knew that.
But in the midst of what seemed to be an attempted poisoning, he was about all she had to cling to.
“Aye, I’m sure you can,” he cooed, as he laid her down carefully on the bed, reaching for the covers and drawing them up and around her.
She peered up at him for a moment and was surprised to find genuine concern on his face that seemed to be aimed at her.
She was sure she was just mistaking it for something it wasn’t, looking for an inch of kindness in this man who had been nothing but cruel and confusing to her since they had met, but still, she took some comfort in the fact.
He glanced over to the trunk, his mouth set in a hard line.
“I’ll have that taken fae here,” he muttered. “Cannae have you sleep so close to poison.”
“It won’t fly in my mouth, ye know.”
He shot a look at her, daring her to continue testing him.
“Either way.”
He rose to his feet, closing the lid of the trunk and going to lift it. Before she could stop herself, she spoke again.
“Wouldn’t it be easier fer you to just let me succumb to the poison in my sleep?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at him. “The great Lachlan Fraser would finally have broken the Anderson Clan.”
He paused and then looked at her again.
“No pride in that,” he explained. “Just bloodshed. I’d find no honor in butchery.”
His words were short, but there was a softness to his tone, something beneath it she could not ignore.
“You truly wouldnae wish me dead?” she asked, and a curl of satisfaction wound its way around the base of her spine.
It was hardly asking for much from her husband to at least wish for her alive, but there was a relief to hearing those words from him that she had not known she’d needed till then.
“Of course I wouldnae,” he denied as he moved to the edge of her bed. “I couldnae stand to let a woman as beautiful as you go to her grave so soon.”
She smiled, distinctly aware of the weight of him in bed next to her. The warmth of his thigh pressed against hers beneath the covers.
Did he know the effect he had on her?
Did he enjoy it?
She almost wished she had the nerve to ask, but she wasn’t sure she’d have wanted the answer.
“You think me beautiful, husband?” she whispered.
He hesitated for a moment, and his eyes dropped to her mouth. “Aye,” he relented, his tone roughening. “And far too proud fer yer own good, too.”
Before she could part her lips to protest, he kissed her. A kiss meant to silence himself as much as her, she was sure of it.
And this time, she kissed him back, drinking in the feel of him. She had wanted to do the same back in his chambers. But instead, she had found herself so overwhelmed by everything that he demanded from her she could do nothing but let herself be swept along with his desires.
He slipped his hand beneath the covers, moving closer to her, planting one arm on the other side of her so that there was nowhere she could squirm away to.
As if she would have. She reached up tentatively, touching his chest, feeling the pound of his heartbeat beneath his tunic.
Oh, she wished she could tear it off and toss it aside so she could feel him even closer…
But instead, she sensed his fingertips along the inside of her thigh, her legs opening to welcome him just like they had before.
“I think ye’ve earned yer pleasure this time, Innes,” he murmured against her mouth, drawing her bottom lip between his teeth and tugging on it lightly to draw loose a sigh of pleasure.
His fingers, this time, moved with a practiced ease, parting the petals of her sex as they sank inside of her.
Her body was accustomed to him now, prepared for the spinning pleasure that coursed through her when he laid hands on her.
It was all she could do not to forget entirely where she was as he drew the sensation to the surface once more.
And this time, it moved quickly, the want inside of her, as though her body was all too aware of how easy it would be for him to take it back if he wanted to.
His tongue was soft against hers, speaking into her mouth a new language that she was keen to learn every word of.
The ease with which he guided her, taking control of her pleasure like it was nothing but what she deserved, she knew she could not help herself.
Her hand clasped the back of his neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer still, half-wishing that he would entangle himself with her beneath the covers and give her all that she had been imagining since he had kissed her in that chapel…
Her hips were rising now against his hand, and he moved the other beneath the covers, pinning her lower belly to the bed as he continued to move his fingers within her.
Their breath mingled, hers growing more erratic and needy with every moment, her body rising and rising like a tide on a stormy night, so close to breaking over the shore she could think of nothing else but—
She gasped against his mouth as she felt the sudden rush of pleasure getting the better of her, her ankles crossing as her thighs closed around him.
Her skin prickled, the heat rushing from her neck to unspool all the way across her body.
Her mouth parted against his, and she flickered her eyes open, just long enough to see the look on his face as he drank her in.
A grin curled up his lips, clearly enjoying the sight of her so utterly and completely lost to the pleasure that he was now gifting her.
“Rest, wife,” he whispered as he withdrew his hands from her body, pulling the covers up almost chastely over her panting form.
Even though she was not undressed, she could not help but feel entirely exposed. More than just a physical sensation, but something deeper, more profound, something that she was not sure she should have been in such a hurry to share with him.
He leaned down to brush his lips across her temple, and she felt her eyes growing heavy again. The excitement of the day just past had rendered her tired beyond belief, and, as sleepiness rose to overtake her, she swore that she would have a better chance of making sense of it all in the morning.