Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
"Are ye certain ye dinnae want me tae stay?"
Catherine lingered in the doorway of Liliane's bedroom, her eyes too knowing fer Liliane's comfort.
"I'm fine. Just tired." Liliane forced a smile.
"Aye, well," Catherine grinned, "The tension between ye and yer husband is thick enough tae cut with a dirk."
"There's nay tension."
"Tell that tae everyone else." Catherine moved toward the door.
"Catherine!"
She paused at the threshold. "Just... try nae tae kill each other before mornin', aye?"
After she left, Liliane moved quickly to the small cabinet where she'd hidden some pennyroyal she had slipped into he pocket when she had been in the healer’s room and had been caught by Tòrr.
Her hands shook slightly as she prepared the tea, crushing the dried leaves and pouring hot water from the kettle over the hearth.
The leaves would force her to have her monthly way of woman.
It was not that she didn't want to consummate her marriage to Tòrr. God knew how badly she did. But her conversation with him the night before had convinced her she had to get to Nessa as soon as possible, and being intimate with him might mess up her plans.
I ken ye said ye would help me get me sister. But I ken me faither. I cannae wait fer ye, Tòrr. Fergive me.
She swiped a tear from her eye, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand.
The bitter scent filled the room, and she wrinkled her nose as she waited for it to steep.
This would buy her time, a few days at least. Time to hatch her plan clearly without the pressure of consummation hanging over her head.
"Ye look like ye're plottin' murder."
Liliane jumped, spilling the tea in her cup. She'd thought she was alone in the chamber, but Catherine had returned now dressed for bed. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.
"I'm nae plottin' anythin'," Liliane said quickly, setting the cup down on the table by the hearth.
"Then why are ye drinkin' tea in the dark like some kind of witch brewin' potions?" Catherine moved into the room uninvited. "What is that anyway? Smells... medicinal."
"Just somethin' fer sleep." The lie came easily. "I've been havin' trouble restin' proper."
"Hmm." Catherine's knowing look suggested she wasn't fooled, but she didn't press. "Well, try nae tae drink too much. Tòrr will be up soon, and ye daenae want tae be fallin' asleep before he gets here."
"Catherine." Heat flooded Liliane's face. "That's none of yer concern."
Catherine grinned. "Now I'll leave ye tae yer... medicinal tea. Good night, sister."
After she left Liliane closed the door and cursed. The tea was mostly spilled. By the time she cleaned up the mess she feared it was too risky to make more lest her husband walk in on her too. Thus, she tucked it back into the cabinet. No evidence. No questions.
By the time she'd changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed, her heart was racing. Tòrr would return eventually, and she had to look asleep. She needed him to believe she was too exhausted for anything more than rest.
She arranged herself carefully, forcing her breathing to slow and deepen, every muscle deliberately relaxed. The minutes stretched, the fire crackled and popped. Outside, she could hear distant voices from the courtyard, the clang of the gate being secured for the night.
Then, footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, unmistakable. Liliane closed her eyes and willed her body to stillness.
The door opened. Lamplight spilled across the floor, the latch clicked shut. Then she heard footsteps and some rustling.
"I ken ye're awake, lass," Tòrr said after a few minutes.
His voice was low, rich with amusement. She didn't respond, didn't move.
"Yer breathin's too controlled. When people sleep, their rhythm's nae so... practiced." She heard him moving about the room. "But if ye want tae play at sleep, I'll nae spoil yer game."
Damn him and his observant eyes.
More rustling. The clink of his belt buckle, the soft thud of fabric hitting the floor. Her curiosity burned, but she kept her eyes firmly shut.
"Though if ye're goin' tae pretend, ye might want tae stop bitin' yer lip."
Her teeth released her lower lip immediately. His low chuckle sent an unwelcome flutter through her stomach.
"That's what I thought." She heard the whisper of linen, the sound of him removing his shirt. Every instinct screamed at her to look.
Nay! Absolutely nae.
But her eyes cracked open just the tiniest bit, just enough to—
Sweet Lord.
Tòrr stood beside the bed, his back to her, bare from the waist up. Lamplight played across muscles that spoke of years wielding weapons, of constant training and physical labor.
Scars marked his skin, a long one across his ribs, a smaller one near his shoulder blade. Each one a testament to battles she'd never know about.
He bent to remove his boots, and she watched the way each muscle rippled beneath his skin, completely transfixed despite every intention to the contrary.
Her breath caught, barely audible, but not quiet enough.
Tòrr stilled, one hand resting on his knee. He turned his head slightly, not enough for her to see his expression, but enough to tell her he knew she was awake.
"Ye should be sleepin’, lass," he said softly, voice roughened by exhaustion.
Liliane squeezed her eyes shut, heart hammering. "I am," she whispered.
A quiet chuckle, low and brief. "Aye. Of course ye are."
Then turned, catching her staring directly at him. She snapped her eyes shut a heartbeat too late.
"Enjoyin' the view, wife?"
Her face exploded with heat. "I wasnae lookin' at ye."
"Nay? Then how dae ye ken what I'm referrin' tae?" The bed dipped as he sat on the edge. "Maybe I meant the view from the window. Lovely night out there."
"I—ye—that's nae fair!"
"What's nae fair is ye pretendin' tae sleep while sneakin' glances at me like some curious lass at a market." The amusement in his voice was insufferable. "If ye want tae look, just look. We're married. Ye've a right tae inspect what ye've been saddled with."
He pulled off his trouser, and Liliane got a glimpse of his tight buttocks before she slammed her eyes shut.
"I didnae… " She swallowed, paused to draw a breath, then tried again. "I didnae saddle meself with anythin'. Ye bought me at auction, remember?"
"How could I forget? Ye remind me every chance ye get." He stretched out on the bed, on the bed, not in the chair. Wearing nothing but loose sleeping trousers. "Best coin I ever spent, turns out."
She sat bolt upright, clutching the blankets to her chest. "What are ye daein'?"
"Gettin' intae bed. It's late, I'm tired, and tomorrow's another long day."
"But, ye've been sleepin' in the chair!"
"Aye, and me back feels like I've been sleepin' on rocks. I'm done with it." He settled against the pillows as if he belonged there. Which, technically, he did. "This is me bed, lass. In me chamber. I think I'm entitled tae use it."
"But I'm in it!"
“Aye, I noticed. It's a large bed. Plenty of room fer both of us."
"Ye're half naked!"
"Three-quarters clothed, actually. Though I usually sleep without the night trousers. But if ye'd prefer I take them off…"
"Nay! Keep them on. Definitely keep them on."
"Whatever ye say." His grin was absolutely wicked. "Though I should warn ye, I tend tae run warm at night. Might get uncomfortable."
"Then sleep in the chair."
"Nay."
The flat refusal made her sputter. "Nay? Just... nay?"
"Just nay. I'm sleepin' in me own bed from now on. If ye dinnae like it, ye're welcome tae take the chair." He laced his hands behind his head, the picture of masculine ease. "Though I wouldnae recommend it. That chair's murder on the spine."
"This is ridiculous. We cannae just… There need tae be rules!"
"Rules?" He turned his head to look at her, eyebrow raised. "What manner of rules?"
"Boundaries! Like, like nay kissin'!"
"We already kissed. At the weddin', in front of God and the entire clan."
"That was different. That was fer show."
"Was it? Because the way ye kissed me back didnae feel like any show I've seen. Felt pretty damn real tae me."
Her face burned hotter. "That's beside the point. From now on, nay kissin' without explicit permission."
"Explicit permission. Right." He nodded solemnly, though his eyes danced with mirth. "What else?"
"Nay touchin'."
"Bit difficult, considerin' we're married and sharin' a bed."
"Nay unnecessary touchin' then."
"And who decides what's necessary?" He shifted slightly, the movement drawing her eyes to his bare chest before she could stop herself. "Because I'd argue that a husband touchin' his wife is pretty necessary. Biblical, even."
"Well, I'd argue it's nae."
"We could argue all night, or ye could admit what's really botherin' ye."
"And what's that?"
"Ye're terrified ye might actually like it if I touched ye."
"I'm nae terrified of anythin'!"
"Nay? Then why the panic? Why all these rules?" He sat up slightly, his gaze intent. "If ye truly felt naethin', ye wouldnae need boundaries. Ye'd just... nae care."
She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it.
Damn y, fer being right.
"I just think," she said carefully, "that we should maintain some... propriety."
"Propriety." He repeated the word like it was foreign. "We're married, Liliane. Sharin' a bed is pretty much the least improper thing we could dae at this point."
"That daesnae mean…"
"What? That I'm goin' tae ravish ye the moment ye stop makin' rules?" He lay back down. "I've already told ye I willnae force ye. Me word's good on that."
"Is it?"
"Aye." His voice went flat, serious. "I may be many things ye dinnae like, but I keep me promises. When I say ye're safe from unwanted advances, I mean it."
The sincerity in his tone caught her off guard. "Oh."
"Though I reserve the right tae want advances. Just willnae make them without encouragement."
"There willnae be encouragement."
"We'll see."
"There willnae!"
"If ye say so." But his smile suggested he wasn't convinced. "Now, are ye goin' tae lie down, or are ye goin' tae sit there clutchin' those blankets like they're the only thing standin' between ye and ruination?"
"Maybe they are."
"Trust me, lass. If I wanted tae ruin ye, blankets wouldnae slow me down." He patted the space beside him. "Come on. Lie down. Get some rest. I promise tae keep tae me side of the bed."
She wanted to argue more, to set additional boundaries and build higher walls. But exhaustion was pulling at her, and the bed was large enough that she could stay on her side without any contact.
Probably.
"Fine." She lay down stiffly, staying as far to her edge as physically possible. "But I'm stayin' on me side."
"Noted."
"And if ye cross that invisible line in the middle…"
"Ye'll what? Stab me with a hairpin?"
"Maybe."
"I'll keep that in mind." He turned onto his side, facing her. "Though fer the record, I've survived worse threats than angry women with hairpins."
"I'm nae angry."
"Nay? What are ye then?"
"Confused. Frustrated. Terrified." The admission slipped out before she could stop it.
His expression softened slightly. "Of me?"
"Of everythin'. Of what this means. Of what happens next."
"Naethin' happens next that ye didnae agree to." His voice was quiet now. "I mean that, Liliane. Whatever else ye think of me, believe that."
She wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to.
"We should sleep," she said instead.
He yawned. "Good night, lass. Try nae tae murder me in me sleep."
"Nay promises."
His low chuckle was the last sound before silence settled over the room.
Liliane lay rigid, hyperaware of every breath he took, every small shift of his body. The bed was large, but somehow he seemed to take up more space than should be physically possible.
Minutes passed. His breathing began to slow and deepen.
"Tòrr?"
"Hmm?"
"Why did ye really bid fer me? At the auction?"
A long pause. "Ye already ken why."
"The political reasons, aye. But was that all?"
Another pause, longer this time. "Go tae sleep, Liliane. That's a conversation fer another day."
"But I want tae have the conversation now."
"Sleep. That's an order from yer laird and husband."
"Ye cannae order me tae sleep."
"Watch me."
She huffed but fell silent, rolling to face away from him. Behind her, she could feel the warmth of him, the solid presence that was somehow both threatening and oddly comforting.
The room grew quiet except for the crackle of the dying fire. Her eyes grew heavy despite her racing thoughts.
The festival was almost there and she'd have her chance to escape if she truly wanted it. But lying here in the dark, listening to Tòrr's breathing slow into actual sleep, she found herself questioning whether escape was what she wanted anymore.
The pennyroyal tea would work. Her courses would come, buying her time. But time for what? The question followed her down into sleep, unanswered and increasingly complicated.
The last thing she was aware of was the steady rhythm of Tòrr's breathing beside her, and the treacherous warmth that came from not being alone in the dark.
Then sleep claimed her, and for a few hours at least, she didn't have to think about impossible choices or dangerous feelings or the man who'd bought her and somehow made her want to stay.