Page 61 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
It was undeniably a scream. A man’s scream at that, filled with terror and pain.
Marion sat bolt upright. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she threw her covers down.
It came from the adjoining room.
Anselm.
Without thinking, she flung back her covers. Adrenaline surged through her as she flew to her feet. She barely paused to pull on her dressing gown before rushing to the connecting door and throwing it open.
She burst into his dimly lit room. The faint glow from the dying fire illuminated the scene. Anselm thrashed in his oversized, four post bed. He was clearly caught in the throes of a violent nightmare.
She looked on while his face contorted with agony, sweat beaded on his brow, and his cheeks grew red. He murmured incoherently as his hands clawed at the air as if he were fighting a ghost.
“Oh, Anselm!” Marion cried as she rushed to the side of the bed. She reached for him hesitantly.
Do I let him wake on his own? Do I shake him? Aye, I daenae ken how to handle these things, but I cannae stand to watch him suffer so!
“Anselm, wake up! Tis only a dream!” She said as she shook him gently.
He gasped, creating a sharp, choked sound as his eyes snapped open. They were wild and unfocused, glazed with the terror of his dark dream. He stared at her confused. His breathing was ragged and his body trembled.
“Mother…” he rasped. “I… I couldn’t save you… I couldn’t… He was too quick… I…”
His eyes flickered around the room. The delirium still clung to him until he finally remembered where he was. Marion watched him lay back down and dig his hands into the covers as if tethering himself to reality.
“It is all right,” Marion murmured, her voice soft and soothing. She reached out and gently touched his hot forehead. “It wasnae real. Ye are safe. I am here.”
Without another thought, driven by an instinct to comfort, she leaned over him and sat on the corner of the bed. She reached to hold him and pulled him into her arms. He stiffened for a moment, surprised by the sudden embrace, but then, with an exhale, he collapsed against her. He rested his head on her shoulder and his arms slowly circled around her waist.
She felt his body tremble against hers. The fluttering was fast at first but then it began to slow. This bodily reaction was a stark contrast to his usual formidable composure, which shocked her. She had no idea that he was this haunted.
She felt the desperate grip of his hands and the weight of his grief on her body. She held him and stroked his rich, dark hair.
“It is all right,” she cooed while stroking his bearded cheek.
He stayed in her arms. His breathing gradually slowed and the tremors in his body subsided. After a long moment, he pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her. She noted that his eyes were still shadowed, but clear as he released a shaky breath.
“Forgive me,” he rasped. “To show such… weakness. You shouldn’t have witnessed me in this way.”
He tried to pull away fully, surely to put distance between them, to put up his usual barriers but Marion held him fast.
“There is no weakness in grief, Anselm,” she whispered, her voice gentle but firm. “Only humanity. Ye lost someone ye loved. There is no shame in that. I ken what that feels like. Ye can trust me.”
Her gaze met his as she bared herself to him, hoping he could see what was inside of her. She was open and willing to look past the formidable Duke.
Her eyes searched his. There was a raw vulnerability between them that made her heart ache.
He leaned in and captured her lips in a slow, tender kiss—less about lust, more about something deeper, something unspoken but utterly understood. In that moment, the walls between them crumbled, and resistance felt impossible.
She responded gently at first. His lips were soft and searching, then they moved with growing urgency as she pressed closer.Their bodies instinctively molded together recognizing a silent admission of the bond they’d long denied.
The kiss deepened and heat flared between them. His tongue slid against hers with confident insistence, and she matched him, swirling and tasting, as the fire built fiercely. His hands tangled in her hair when he tugged her closer and drew her down into the bed.
With a swift, fluid motion, he turned her onto her back. His weight settled over her as his mouth left hers only to trail searing kisses down her jawline, along the delicate curve of her neck, and finally to the swell of her chest. Each kiss ignited a trail of shivers across her trembling skin.
His hand moved to the sash of her robe. His fingers were deft and practiced as he loosened the silk. The fabric slipped away effortlessly, unveiling the delicate nightgown beneath, and then, the pale expanse of her skin. His touch was feather-light, tracing the graceful line of her shoulder, down her arm.
Her breath hitched as her own hands instinctively reached up, grazing the top of her breasts which were aching for more. He slid the gown from her shoulders, letting it pool around her waist, before exposing her completely.
