Chapter 9
Sleep came slowly for Bella.
She lay in the too-large bed, wrapped in warm blankets that smelled of lavender and wood smoke, and tried not to think about what had just happened.
She'd been on top of Boyd. Straddling him. Pressed against him in the most intimate way possible, and she'd felt his response against her thighs. Had felt the way his body had hardened beneath hers, the way his breath had caught, the way his eyes had darkened with hunger.
He'd said he did not want her. But his body had told a different story. The thought made heat pool low in her belly. When he'd flipped her, pinned her beneath him, for one heart-stopping moment, Bella thought he might kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her.
But he'd pulled away because despite his body's response, he still did not want her. Not really.
The rejection stung.
Finally, exhaustion claimed her, and Bella drifted into an uneasy sleep.
***
BOYD HAD FINALLY MANAGED to find a position on the cot that did not make his back scream in protest when he heard it.
A whimper.
He went still, listening.
Another sound followed. It was distressed, frightened. Coming from the bed.
Boyd sat up, his warrior instincts immediately alert. But there was no danger. Just Bella, caught in the grip of a nightmare.
She thrashed against the blankets; her face twisted with distress.
"No," she whimpered.
Boyd moved toward the bed cautiously, ensuring there was no blade in sight.
Then Bella cried out, and Boyd's entire world stopped.
"Boyd! Where are ye?"
He went rigid, every muscle in his body tensing. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"Boyd! Dinnae leave me." Bella wrestled with the blankets, tears streaming down her face, caught in whatever haunted her dreams.
Boyd's anger evaporated, replaced by concern. He approached the bed carefully, ready to dodge if she came awake swinging again.
"Bella," he said softly. "Bella, wake up. 'Tis just a dream."
She did not wake, just continued to struggle against invisible demons.
Cautiously, Boyd sat on the edge of the bed. When she did not immediately attack him, he lay down beside her, moving slowly, giving her time to sense his presence even in sleep.
Then, hardly believing what he was doing, Boyd wrapped his arms around her, pulling her trembling body against his chest.
"Hush, mo leannan," he murmured against her hair, the old endearment slipping out unbidden. "'Tis just a dream, sweeting. I'm here."
Bella's breathing hitched once, twice. Then, gradually, it began to even out. Her body relaxed against his, her trembling ceased.
She settled into sleep once more, her head tucked beneath his chin, her body fitting against his as perfectly as it had ten years ago.
As if no time had passed at all.
As if they'd never been broken.
Boyd knew he should move. Should go back to the cot. But his arms wouldn't obey, tightening around her instead.
Against his better judgment, against every wall he'd built around his heart, Boyd held his wife and breathed in the scent of her hair. His lips gently brushed over hers. Then he kissed her forehead and pulled her tighter against him.
They would need to talk once they reached his Keep. There was too much that did not make sense. Too many pieces that did not fit the story he'd believed for years.
But for now, in the quiet darkness, Boyd allowed himself this one moment of peace, this one respite of holding Bella as if she were still his.
"I'm here, My Bella," he whispered.
As if she'd never stopped being his.
***
BELLA WOKE TO WARMTH.
Delicious, enveloping warmth that made her want to burrow deeper and never leave.
She was so comfortable, wrapped in softness and heat, pressed against something solid and safe and—
Wait.
Bella's eyes flew open. She was not in bed alone. She was, in fact, plastered against a very warm, very solid, very male chest. Boyd's chest.
Horror and mortification flooded through her as she realized the situation.
She was sprawled across him like a wanton woman, her leg thrown over his thighs, her hand resting on his chest, her head tucked into the curve of his shoulder.
His arms were wrapped around her, holding her close, one hand splayed across her back, the other tangled in her hair.
Carefully, moving as slowly as possible, Bella tried to extricate herself. If she could just slip away before he woke, maybe they could pretend this never happened.
But Boyd's arms tightened, pulling her closer.
"Bella," he murmured, still deeply asleep. "My Bella."
Bella froze, her heart hammering against her ribs.
My Bella.
The old endearment even in sleep, made something warm unfurl in her chest. Something dangerous and hopeful and terrifying all at once. She tried again to move away, but his grip was like iron. Short of waking him, she had no choice but to stay where she was.
Bella laid her head back down on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath her ear. It was still dark outside, just the barest hint of grey lightening the sky beyond the window.
She decided she could rest a while longer. Just a few more minutes. Then she'd slip away before he woke and realized what they'd done.
Lulled by the warmth and the steady rhythm of his breathing, Bella's eyes drifted closed.
And she slept.
***
BOYD WOKE TO THE DELICIOUS scent of a woman.
Soft skin and lavender. Clean linen and something uniquely feminine that made his body tighten with want.
He was dreaming again. He had to be.
In his dream, Bella lay across his chest, her body warm and pliant against his, her hair spilling over his shoulder like silk. His arms were wrapped around her, holding her close, and she fit against him so perfectly it made his chest ache.
Boyd smiled in his sleep, tightening his arms around her, savoring the dream.
Then his eyes opened.
He realized with a jolt of pure terror that it wasn't a dream.
Bella, his wife, the woman he'd sworn he wouldn't touch, was draped across him like a blanket. One of her legs was thrown over his thighs. Her hand rested over his heart. Her face was tucked into the curve of his neck, her breath warm against his skin.
And his body, damn it, his treacherous body, was responding with ardor to every soft curve pressed against him. He was hard as a pike.
Two things hit Boyd simultaneously: pure joy at waking with Bella in his arms, and pure terror at what this meant. Boyd knew he should move. Should extract himself before she woke and they had to acknowledge this. Should put distance between them before he did something foolish.
Like never let her go.
But for just a moment he allowed himself to hold her. To breathe her in. To feel the weight of her in his arms and pretend that this was real.
Then, reluctantly, carefully, Boyd began to slide away from her. The movement pained him in ways that made his heart ache.
Bella murmured something in her sleep, reaching for him as he moved away, and Boyd had to grit his teeth against the urge to pull her back.
Eventually he stood beside the bed, staring down at her in the pre-dawn light. She looked peaceful. Beautiful.
His.
Boyd rubbed at the sudden, sharp pain in his chest and forced himself to turn away.
He washed and dressed quickly and quietly, then slipped from the room before he could do something unforgivable. Like climb back into that bed, kiss her awake and show her exactly what she did to him.
The inn's courtyard was cold and grey in the early morning light, but Boyd welcomed it. He needed the chill to clear his head. Needed distance from Bella and the feeling of longing she awakened in him.
***