Page 44 of The Forest Bride
“You have grown a sharp tongue since I saw you last.”
“I was a child with dreams. Now I know dreams do not usually come true, and I must be bold to defend myself. That needs a sharp tongue sometimes.”
“And a sharp arrow.”
Instinctively her hand went to the pendant at her throat, the ancient arrowhead that brought her a sense of comfort and safety. “You said you would leave soon. I am tired and would sleep.”
“In a while. Quiet now.”
Lying in the darkness, she wanted him to stay, so much that she felt the pull of that desire. His solid presence eased loneliness and fear. She was tempted, in the quiet and dark, to tell him she was glad he was alive. But he began to snore, and soon enough, her eyelids grew heavy.
Chapter Eleven
Sometime later, shewoke to a murky near-dawn, feeling so warm and cozy that she curled sleepily under the blanket. Then she startled, realizing with a gasp that Duncan Campbell still lay beside her. Not only that, he had turned while she slept, his head beside her small pillow. She stared at his shoulder haloed in the brazier’s glow.
Reaching out, she tapped his back. “Campbell,” she whispered. “Donnchadh!”
“Mmhh.” He rocked a little as she pushed.
“You are still here,” she whispered.
“Shh.” His hand came over his shoulder to pat her fingers. Turning around to face her, the mattress sagged and rustled. His eyes were closed. “Shh. Tired. Sleep now.”
“You cannot stay.”
The suffused light of near dawn showed his closed eyes, his lashes thick dark crescents. His tousled dark hair drifted over his brow. His chin was bristly. He was beautiful. He had to leave. She poked his shoulder.
“Donnchadh!” Somehow his Gaelic name kept coming to her lips.
He lifted his hand to soothe it over her hair. “Hush, my dear.”
“I am not your dear,” she whispered. “I am your captive. Your prisoner.”
He gave a sigh, his fingers sliding to her jaw, tracing there. “That is unfortunate.”
“What?” She waited. He was silent. She poked his chest. “Are you awake?”
He huffed. “I am now.”
“You must go. What is unfortunate?”
He blinked, opened his eyes, dark blue, heavily lashed. Her heart seemed to flip. He had to leave. “Duncan!”
“Did I say—damn. Listen now, aye?” His quiet voice poured out like dark honey. “What happened between us long ago was unfortunate. It caused you trouble and hurt. I regret that.”
She caught her breath. “It is done. Leave it be.”
“If you are upset still, I understand.” His hand cupped her shoulder. “But you are right. It is done.”
“You could have let me know you were—not dead.”
“If I had known you thought it, I might have done so.”
“We all thought it. We heard you were taken and died in captivity. Your own kin were unsure when my father sent word to ask.”
“There was no way to send word and we did not know what word was out there when we were prisoners. I was kept in England for a long while with other Scottish knights. Then some of us were sent to Flanders to fight for Edward in another war.”
“Flanders?”
