Chapter 19
For the first time in days, Skye was able to sleep.
Dougal was at the forefront of her dreams. He leaned over her, whispering filthy things in her ear, some things she didn’t understand but made her blush all the same. His fingers trailed down her bodice and slipped under her skirts.
The moment he touched her sex, she woke up panting, her thighs damp. She blushed, burying her face in the pillows.
He touched her in a way that had every nerve in her body on edge. She would not have protested had he swooped down and captured her lips in what she imagined would be a bruising kiss. But he had stuck to her rule.
She didn’t know whether to curse or thank him for that. She was torn between the two emotions. No matter how hard she tried to will her breath to even out, it wouldn’t. It continued coming out in soft pants, her core aching.
She was about to slide her fingers between her legs when she heard the familiar sounds of the servants moving about the castle, getting ready for the day’s chores.
She pushed herself upright, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes until the last traces of the dream faded. The ache between her thighs lingered longer than she cared to admit, but she distracted herself by focusing on getting ready that morning.
It seemed that no matter where she went or what she did, Dougal was never far from her mind.
Carefully, she exited her room and nearly walked right into a young maid carrying a stack of fresh wools. The maid stumbled backward with a gasp.
“Oh, forgive me!” Skye cried, grabbing her elbow. She managed to catch some of the wools that nearly fell to the floor while the maid caught the rest.
“Nay, the fault was mine, me Lady! I wasnae watching where I was going.”
Skye shook her head. “Ye daenae have to apologize. I wasnae watching either, so the blame lies with no one.”
“Or both of us, me Lady,” the maid weakly pointed out.
Skye smiled. “Well, I hope the rest of yer morning goes far smoother than the start. Take care.”
The maid curtsied. “Thank ye, me Lady.”
Skye exhaled slowly once she was alone again, grateful the girl hadn’t lingered long. If she had, she would have noticed the flush on her cheeks. No matter what she did, Skye couldn’t seem to get rid of it.
It seemed fitting that she ran into Kenna soon after that. She only managed a few steps down the corridor before nearly colliding with her.
“Careful, lass,” Kenna said, looking her over. “Ye look as though ye’ve been running from something.”
“Only meself,” Skye whispered, pressing her hands to her still warm cheeks and hoping it would pass for embarrassment at the near collision rather than anything else.
Kenna arched an eyebrow, not looking convinced in the slightest. “Ye didnae sleep well?”
“I slept fine,” Skye blurted out.
The truth was, she had slept fine, but she couldn’t very well admit the cause of her flushed cheeks, and to Dougal’s mother, no less! She would die of embarrassment.
“Did ye quarrel with me son?”
She bit back a gasp. “We didnae quarrel, Lady Kenna. I can assure ye of that.”
“I believe ye,” Kenna said with a sly smile. “Daenae worry, I willnae press ye any further. If ye say ye slept fine, then I’ll take yer word for it.”
Relief washed over Skye. She had never been so happy to hear those words.
“Thank ye, Lady Kenna.”
“Do take care, though, me dear. Wouldnae want ye to collide with anyone else.”
Skye bit back a sigh. “I nearly collided with a maid earlier.”
“Ye really are distracted this morning, are ye nae?”
She paled. “Lady Kenna, I think I hear Lily calling me. It was lovely to talk to ye this morning, but I must get going. We both ken Lily doesnae like to be kept waiting!”
Kenna’s laughter followed her downstairs.
It seemed fate had it out for Skye today because no sooner had she stepped off the stairs than Lily came barreling around the corner and tangled with her skirts.
“Lily!” she cried, catching the girl before either of them could topple over.
She looked her over, noticing the usual grin on her face and Blossom tucked under her arm. Then, suddenly, she heard the faint bleating of a goat.
“Isnae the goat supposed to be kept outside?”
Lily nodded her head. “Da did say he had to sleep outside, but we’re playing chase right now!”
“And yer da does prefer it when ye play inside because it’s safer.”
She giggled. “Exactly why we’re playing chase in the castle. Surely Da will understand.”
“I’ll talk with him if he refuses to see reason,” Skye assured her.
At that, the girl took off.
Skye barely took a step when the goat came barreling down the hall, nearly colliding with her. She pressed herself against the wall with a gasp, wondering if she was going to end up running right into Dougal if she wasn’t careful enough.
The last person she wanted to run into right now was him. The mere sight of him would make her blush even harder than she already was.
Later that night, Skye decided to try to write. She had felt a burst of inspiration earlier but wasn’t sure if it was fleeting. So she waited, and the inspiration grew.
It seemed she had gotten over her writer’s block, or so she hoped. She wasn’t sure if anything would come out once she sat down and started writing, but it was worth a try after going on too long without finishing the latest chapter of the story.
She lit a candle and pulled the pages toward her, dipping her quill before she’d even decided what she meant to write. The words came slower than usual, careful, like she was picking her way across unfamiliar ground.
It wasn’t the same as not being able to write, which had plagued her for so long. She wanted to be careful with her words, to ensure that she would be able to write down all the words that were forming in her mind.
The Lion did not roar at the child. He knelt before her instead, cutting her meat into pieces small enough for her tiny hands, patient in a way no story had ever painted him.
She stopped, staring at the lines, unsettled by how easily they had come to her.
This was not the Lion people whispered about.
This was not even the Lion she had imagined, cold and solitary, answerable to no one.
This was something else entirely, something she wasn’t certain she was allowed to put to paper.
She had not intended to write this when she sat down, but it seemed her mind had different ideas. Freya had once told her to let inspiration flow and never fight it, that sometimes the best writing could come when one pushed forth without much of a plan.
So she wrote on, deciding to take her sister’s advice to heart.
He was gentle with his captive, too, though he’d never call her that. Gentle in ways that frightened her more than his temper ever could, because temper she understood. Gentleness from a man like him, she did not know what to do with.
She set down her quill and pressed her palms flat against the desk, trying to steady the thoughts crowding too fast behind her eyes.
It was only a story. It had always been a story.
Until it wasn’t. Until the man behind the mask had become someone she thought of long after the candle burned down, someone whose voice she heard in the quiet moments between waking and sleep.
She thought of Freya’s warning.
“Guard yer heart, Skye. Even if he’s nae the monster they say he is.”
Perhaps that was the problem. Dougal wasn’t the monster people said he was.
He was something far more dangerous, a man who could be cruel and kind in the same breath, who locked his daughter behind stone walls out of love rather than malice, who touched Skye like she mattered and pulled away the moment she asked for more than he was willing to give.
She was leaving in less than a month. It was such a short time, but it felt longer the more she thought about it. How was she going to last a few more weeks under this roof and guard her heart?
Skye reminded herself of that fact the way she’d reminded herself every night since arriving, though it felt flimsier each time she said it, like a rope fraying thread by thread beneath her grip.
Perhaps she should listen to him, she thought as she dipped her quill once more. Perhaps she should keep her distance, the way he’d warned her to from the very start, before whatever this was between them grew roots too deep to pull free without losing something of herself in the process.
She wrote another line, unable to stop herself.
The lass never meant to yearn for the Lion. But some things, she was learning, could not be helped no matter how carefully one guarded against them.
She read the lines back once more, quill hovering, before finally setting it aside for the night. However, sleep felt further away now than it had on any night since her arrival.
Freya was going to be cross that she hadn’t listened to her advice. She had warned her several times before she got into the carriage that day until Skye grew irritated with her and begged her to stop.
“I ken!” Skye assured her.
Freya frowned, shaking her head. “I daenae think ye do.”
It seemed Freya had been right.
Emily had given her similar advice but didn’t repeat it as many times.
Skye set the memory aside, along with the guilt that came with it.
There was no undoing what had already been agreed to, and dwelling on her sister's warnings would do nothing but keep her awake longer than she already meant to be.
Better to turn her thoughts toward the one thing that had finally, blessedly, come easily to her.
Skye was thrilled that she had finally overcome her writer’s block. She had been struggling with it for so long that she never thought she would be able to finish the latest chapter of her story.
Her readers were going to be surprised by the turn the story was taking. Some might not be thrilled, but she had already written it out, and she was not going to change her mind about the ending.
Not for Freya, who would surely have opinions the moment she read it. Not for the readers who had grown so attached to the cold Lion she had first encountered, the one who bore no resemblance to the man she had come to know beneath the mask.
Whatever rumors ended up following the pages once they found their way into the world was beyond her control. She was going to finish writing, release the pages, and let whatever happened happen.
She’d spent long enough letting other people’s whispers shape her thoughts, tiptoeing around what she truly wanted to write, what she wanted to say.
But no more. If people wished to gossip about the Lion who knelt before children and touched her as if she mattered, then so be it.