Page 24 of The Highlander's Illicit Bride
Struan laughed and clapped his hands together. “Relax, lass. I’m jestin’ with ye,” he said. “I’m just takin’ off me boots. I’ve got nay plans tae share this bed with ye. I’m perfectly fine on the floor.”
Her expression of outrage melted away and she shook her head, a small, rueful laugh bursting from her mouth as she realized he’d gotten under her skin. Struan took his boots off and set them beside the bed, then grabbed a spare blanket and started to lie down. Isolde tossed one of the extra pillows from the bed to him.
“Thank ye,” he said.
As he settled in, the room was wreathed in silence for a long moment. As he lay facing the door, he felt Isolde’s eyes on him. Her gaze had a physical weight and pressed down on him, growing heavier as the seconds ticked by. He sighed and turned over to find her staring at him, an inscrutable expression on her face.
“Why are ye starin’ at me like that?” he asked.
“Dae ye have tae lie right in me line of sight like that?”
He sat up. “And where would ye have me lay then, eh?”
“Somewhere else?” she said, her voice soft. “Maybe on the other side of the room?”
It was a ridiculous request, and he shook his head as he chuckled wryly. “And why would ye have me sleep on the other side the room?”
“Because havin’ ye sleepin’ in me eyesight is… distractin’. And I usually sleep on this side. Sleepin’ on me other side is uncomfortable.”
His eyebrow crept up. “Distractin’, eh?”
She rolled her eyes. “Nae in the way ye think. Calm yer ego.”
“In what way am I thinking?” he teased.
She huffed. “Just… move. Please.”
He shook his head and his face grew serious. “Nay. Ye’re under me protection. ‘Tis a vow I take very seriously. And I’m sleepin’ between ye and the door,” he said. “If anybody were tae come intae this room, they’ll have tae go through me tae get tae ye.”
His hand found the sword and dagger he’d acquired, a stricken expression crossed her face, but she remained silent. Isolde rolled over in the bed, her back to him, but not before Struan had seen her cheeks color and a small smile play upon her lips.
Grinning to himself, Struan laid down and closed his eyes. And it wasn’t long before he drifted off into a deep, peaceful sleep free of the horrid dreams that had plagued him since Rhona’s murder.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sleep did not come as easily as she had hoped, and Isolde lay awake staring at the ceiling. Her emotions churned wildly, making her muscles tense as her stomach roiled with guilt and fear. Fleeing from her father’s castle had not been the journey she’d expected. Not that she had really known what to expect. When she had dreamed of escaping, she certainly hadn’t imagined, not in her wildest thoughts, of being on the run with a man her father had imprisoned. A man her father considered a dangerous, rogue laird and enemy. Of course, she had taken everything he said with a grain of salt—even before meeting Struan. She’d learned long ago that her father considered anybody who did not bend their knee to him to be a danger and a threat and took steps to ensure they could not challenge him.
While gruff, and at times inappropriate, she could see that underneath that battle-scarred, tougher-than-boiled leather exterior, Laird Cameron had a good heart. He had put himself in harm’s way to protect her more than once and seemed to begoing out of his way to keep her safe. To keep her out of her father’s clutches, just like she had asked him to.
Of course, Isolde knew part of the reason for that was because she knew where his brother was. Whilst snooping in her father’s study, she’d found a letter addressed to Laird Dougal MacPherson. Rather than risk keeping both the Cameron brothers at Moy Castle, her father had sent Struan’s younger brother Finlay to Cluny House.
But even beyond that, Isolde hoped her knowledge of Finlay’s whereabouts wasn’t the only reason Struan was keeping her safe. When she looked into his eyes—something she did far more frequently than she should—she saw something deep within them. A sense of anticipation or perhaps expectation that crackled in the air whenever their gazes met. Neither of them had dared mention it but she swore she could see the same recognition in his eyes.
“Are ye all right?”
His voice sliced through the darkness like a scythe, startling her. She hadn’t realized he was awake. Isolde turned over on her side and saw his eyes glittering in the dim glow of the braziers that warmed the room.
“I’m fine,” she replied.
“Why are ye nae sleepin’?”
“Why arenae ye?”
His chuckle was a soft, deep rumble that sent a warm shudder through her body. Isolde bit the inside of her cheek, struggling to keep the feelings coursing through her veins in check.
“I dinnae sleep much,” he said.
Isolde paused before speaking the question that formed in her mind. She knew she should not ask questions. She knew she should accept that this arrangement was purely transactional—she was going to tell Struan where his brother was in exchange for him keeping her safe until they were well away from her father and Laird MacPherson. That was the extent of their relationship.
