Chapter seven #2
He knew. I knew he did. But he had no proof, and I’d eat worms before I’d give it to him. Without it, he’d be forced to keep our bargain. Ride hard. Ride fast. Sleep on the ground. It might kill me. If it didn’t, in a sennight I’d face Morgana. Fear and anticipation tangled tight in my chest.
“Are ye deaf now?”
I jerked my gaze to him, and my treacherous heart stumbled at the amusement on his face.
“Nay,” I said, lowering myself slowly into the chair.
Pain exploded. I shifted onto one hip, but even that sent a sharp wave through me.
My vision dimmed. I gripped the table’s edge, the rough wood biting into my palm as nausea rose hard and fast.
Suddenly, James’s warm hand settled over mine, and I dragged my eyes open as heat slid up my arm from where his skin met mine.
The concern swimming in his eyes almost loosened my tongue, but I’d spent twenty summers holding secrets far bigger than this one, and I wasn’t about to let a pretty Highlander undo me.
“Lass, tell me the truth. Are ye injured?”
His low, rough voice did wicked things to my resolve. It made me want to climb into his lap and confess everything. Thank the gods I was too sore to move.
“I’m nae injured,” I lied stubbornly as the innkeeper approached with a jug in one hand and a tray laden with food in the other. She set the tray before us, her gaze fixed on James as she smiled at him like a daft fool. “I brought mutton, wine, and potatoes,” she said.
The smells wafted toward me, but my stomach lurched unexpectedly. I was reaching for my goblet of wine before the innkeeper had even finished pouring it.
“Someone’s thirsty,” she said with a chuckle.
I shot her a look, but she was already watching James as if he were a feast. He dragged bread through gravy, unbothered, while I swallowed wine to settle my stomach, the sharp burn grounding me.
As she peppered James with questions about where he was from and gushed that he must train ‘so verra much’ given his body, I gulped my wine and prayed my stomach would settle.
From her nonstop chatter, I gathered that her name was Irma, that her husband, Jacob, may the gods rest his soul, had died last winter, and that she was now running the inn alone.
From the looks she was giving James, it was clear she wished he could be her next husband.
When Irma paused to catch her breath, James locked his gaze first on my untouched platter and then on my face.
“Feeling unwell?” he probed, his look not smug but assured of what he thought he knew.
I forced myself to take a bite, but I had to follow it with more wine because my stomach wasn’t in agreement with my willful, stubborn nature. “Nay, I’m tired and road-weary, so my appetite is nae great. Mayhap I could go wash off while ye stay and chat with Irma.”
Irma beamed. “That’s a sound idea. I put fresh water in yer wash basin before I brought the food out to ye, and I’m happy to keep yer husband company.”
The most shocking surge of jealousy ripped through me, which I shoved down with dismay as I carefully pushed my chair back.
Irma told me where to find our room as I rose, and with James’s gaze steady on me, I bid Irma goodnight, shot James a scowl, and did my best not to hobble toward the stairs.
I was anxious to get to the room and tend to my wounds, but I had barely climbed two steps when James called from behind me, “I’ll join ye, my bonnie bride. I do nae want to leave ye alone.”
I had to clench my teeth against the scream that filled my lungs, and it took all my will to jerk my head in acknowledgment.
That devil was trying to catch me in a lie, but I’d be damned if I’d let him.
Then he was there, behind me, all heat and hard Highlander.
I jerked in surprise. He’d moved as swiftly as a fox and as silently as a ghost. He smelled of sweat, dirt, fire, and wine, and it was the most intoxicating combination I’d ever caught.
“I can nae allow my wife to go to bed alone,” he teased, his lips by my ear, the warmth of his whispered words tickling my lobe and sending gooseflesh down my neck.
If I could have moved up the stairs faster to put some distance between this enticing, irritating man and me, I would have, but I was too sore. Instead, I said, “Do nae come to the bedchamber on my account. I’d actually welcome the time alone.”
“I’m certain ye would, so ye could tend yer aches,” he said, his teasing gone.
I gritted my teeth. “They are almost gone now.”
“Just admit the ride was too hard and too fast, lass. Ye do nae want to hurt yerself further.”
“I’m fine,” I bit out, reaching the top of the stairs and our door, the first one in the corridor.
The room was small, the bed even smaller, and my heart sank at the sight of the bed.
James stopped behind me, his heat brushing my back, close enough that I could feel the solid line of him without him ever touching me. For one reckless, foolish moment, I nearly leaned into that warmth, into him, but I did not. I could not.
Instead, I forced myself toward the washbasin, each step a quiet reminder of the pain I was trying so desperately to conceal.
“Mama said to bring the wash tub up.”
I turned to find three half-asleep lads hauling in a wooden tub and steaming buckets, their boots scuffing softly on the floor.
“Thank ye,” James said easily, as though such things were expected.
Of course, he’d arranged it.
Irma would do anything for him.
The boys worked quickly, pouring steaming water until the room filled with warmth and mist, the chill driven from the air, before slipping out again and closing the door behind them.
I stared at the tub, at the curling steam, and at the promise of relief I wanted far more than I cared to admit.
“And where am I to go whilst yer naked in it?” I asked, bitterness slipping through despite my best efforts.
He smiled softly, too softly. It made something in my belly flutter despite my pain. “It’s for ye, lass. I’ll sit with my back turned until ye’re abed.”
That stunned me more than any teasing remark ever could.
“Thank ye,” I said, the words quieter now, real, even as dread coiled low in my belly at the thought of taking off my boots without betraying myself.
“I’m nae the ogre ye think,” he said, settling onto the bed with his back to me, granting me the privacy I had not trusted him to offer.
I watched him a moment longer than I should have, staring at the breadth of his shoulders and the dark fall of his hair catching the low firelight. Something tight and unfamiliar tugged deep in my chest.
What would this night have been like if my life were different?
The thought came unbidden, unwelcome, and treacherous. I cut it off before it could take root, turned away, and made my way to the bed, lowering myself carefully as I reached for my boots. The moment I bent, pain lanced through me, sharp and unforgiving, stealing my breath.
I froze and tried again, but the pain was worse this time.
Each movement sent another hot, throbbing, impossible-to-ignore wave through me.
My breath hitched. My hands trembled. Sweat gathered at my brow, sliding slowly down my temple as frustration and pain tangled tight inside me. I could not do this. Not alone.
The realization hit harder than the pain itself. And that, more than anything, broke me.
Tears spilled free before I could stop them, hot and helpless, slipping silently down my cheeks as I fought for control I no longer had.