Page 38 of The Guardian's Bride
“We will not blow away. Though we might reach Fife faster that way.” His thumb caressed her palm, sending shivers through her. Then he let go.
Her hand felt cool, lonely. What she needed she could not ask for—it was not in her nature. But she deeply wished for the comfort of an embrace. She was ever the one comforting another. Yet when he touched her, it stirred a yearning that grew. She wanted more than comfort and companionship. Widowed so young, romantic affection had been only a brief light in her life.
He touched her shoulder, stroked her arm. She felt it everywhere, an easing of tension, a building of awareness. Thunder rumbled. Water dripped at the window. She wished he would never release her. But he did, and sat back a little.
“When I was at Holyoak,” he said, “I was not aware of much. Later I wanted to thank you, but you had gone. I wanted to apologize. I seem to remember thrashing about and pulling on you.”
“You were agitated, but you were fevered. I was worried for you.”
“Listen now. I will repay you for what you did. I will,” he insisted as she shook her head. “If only with loyalty and protection. And a poor joke or two.”
A little sob caught in her throat. “I just need to go home to be with my family should the king’s threat come to our gates. But so do you.”
“Crossroads, lass. I ask a little patience. And do not hie off on your own, hey? Good.” His quick smile lifted one corner of his mouth, wicked and delightful. His lips were full and lovely. She wanted to taste them—
“We should rest,” he went on. “Though I could talk with you all night.”
She could too, wanting to know his fears, hopes, all of it. “We must wake early.”
He stood, nimble for a tall man, and reached down to help her to her feet. Then he raised her hand to his lips and dropped a light kiss on her hand. It rippled through her like a strand of lightning. She caught her breath.
“Pardon. That was loutish.”
“That was chivalrous.” Her hand was poised, almost begging another kiss, and now she yearned for a true kiss, lush and deep. Yet she would not cross that gap here, nor would he. “I will take that as a pledge, Sir Knight.”
“Do. If you prefer, I can sleep outside the door.”
“Stay,” she said quickly.
“Fine then. Good night, Grizel, bluebell.”
“Good night, Hamish.” She sat on the thin straw mattress, which gave off hints of lavender and must. Aedan shuffled about making his simple bed on the floor.
In the reddish glow of the brazier, his profile had a finely drawn masculine handsomeness, his chest and arms sculpted and gleaming. Beyond the unkempt hair, scruffy beard, rough clothes, brawny build, and the brusque humor that masked his thoughts, the reddish light revealed the quiet power of a man who endured much, yet carried all with steadfast ease. She glimpsed the beauty of his nature, made of courage, integrity, and humility. She felt a sense of safety, of gratitude—and something deeper, something expansive. Months ago, she had cared for him. Now she cared about him, and realized it was deepening.
“I hope you can sleep there,” she said.
“I can sleep anywhere, lass.” He lay back, quieted.
She busied herself with blanket and pillow and rested too. Sometimes her pragmatic nature surrendered to romantic ideals. She had spent one day with him, and her thoughts were straying in ways that rarely happened with her. She hardly knew him, yet felt as if she had always known him.
A bond existed with him that she did not have with any other. It expanded, insisted. She had to express it somehow.
“Aedan MacDuff,” she said, “I think you want others to believe you are a lout. But you are a good man. You just do not want anyone to know. But I see it.”
“Ah, she plumbs my secrets. I look like an ox, but I am a pup seeking affection.”
“Well, I could trim your hair. I have scissors,” she offered.
“You terrify me.” He crammed the pillow under his cheek, turned on his side.
She pulled up the blanket, listening to the rain on the roof, a sleepy sound. Before long, a new noise began, louder, distracting.Drip, drip, splash, drip—
“Damn.” Aedan sat up. “The roof is leaking. In my face.” He scuttled away, dragging the plaid with him.Drip, drip.With a muttered oath, he moved again.
“Aedan.” Rowena peered toward him. “Come up here.”
“I am fine.” The drips splashed on the floorboards, on something soft, cloth or man. He swore softly and swiped the edge of the plaid over the wet floor.
