Page 38 of The Duke's All That
He lurched to his feet, bounding across the room in two strides. Seraphina thrashed about on the bed, the covers tangling about her, her face contorted in a panic so severe it sent ice through his bones. Dropping to the mattress, he gathered her in his arms, alarmed at the cold clamminess of her skin.
“Seraphina.” He brushed a hand over her forehead, pushing loose strands of hair from her face, wiping the sweat from her brow. “Seraphina, can you hear me?”
She opened her eyes, but though she looked at him, he knew she did not see him. Her gaze was flat with fear, her hands gripping tight to his arms with unimaginable strength.
“Please let me go,” she pleaded, her voice hoarse and rough. “I don’t belong here. I need to get back to my sisters.”
By the saints, she was still dreaming. Worse, she thought he was whoever was hurting her in that dream. With infinite care, he released her, placing her against the pillows, hoping she would somehow sense by his actions that she was safe. Instead she scrambled back against the headboard, as if she could not get far enough away from him.
His heart cracked. What torment was she trapped in? And why the hell did it seem as if it was the echo of a very real event?
“Seraphina,” he said, soft and low, praying he could reach her, “you are safe.”
She shook her head, eyes wild, her knuckles white as she gripped the headboard.
“Seraphina,” he tried again, “I vow it, you are safe.” Andthen, the two words dredged up from the very depths of his soul, “Mo bhean.”
“Mo bhean.”
The words reached out to her, remnants of a happier time, breaking through the thick fog that strangled her.My wife.
The stark cell she was trapped in melted away, the manacles about her wrists dissolving, the twisted face before her changing. And there was Iain, his beautiful visage contorted with worry as he gazed at her.
She blinked, looking wildly about, disoriented. Yes, the cell was gone, the putrid stink of feces and vomit and the cries of the other women gone with it. The room she was in was small and dark, the mattress beneath her soft, faint moonlight shining through a window devoid of bars.
“Iain?” she asked hoarsely, looking back to him, blinking to disperse the last fragments of the dream.
Relief washed over his face. “Aye, Seraphina, it’s me.”
It came back to her then in a flood, the trip to Scotland with Iain, the overcrowded inn, being forced to share one small room. And Iain, telling her of the past thirteen years, revealing he had found family, sleeping on the floor so they did not have to share a bed… and the worry on his face that had transformed into relief as she woke, with those two achingly gentle words extracting her from a nightmare that had been all too real and consuming.
He watched her carefully now, the low fire catching in his irises, his hands clenched tight in his lap, as if he feared to move too quickly and frighten her. “Do you know where you are?” he asked quietly.
She nodded, releasing her grip on the headboard, handsshaking as she smoothed her rumpled nightgown. “Yes, I know,” she replied, the words a mere whisper of broken sound.
He exhaled, the rigid lines of his shoulder relaxing. One hand came up, as if he were about to brush it against her cheek, but he quickly corrected himself and returned it to his lap.
“I’ll just leave you to your sleep then,” he said, making to get up.
Panic tore through her, that she might find herself back in that place once he returned to his makeshift bed. Without thinking, her hand shot out and gripped his arm. He stilled, staring down at it, white-knuckled fingers against the pale white of his shirt.
“Seraphina?” There was confusion and what seemed to be longing in his voice.
“Stay here with me,” she choked out.
His gaze flew to hers. “What?”
Her cheeks burned hot at what her request might imply, and what he might think about her bold invitation, but she could not back down. Her fear was too great.
“There’s room enough on the bed,” she said, the words coming fast and desperate. “I’m not asking for sex, of course. And I know after last night you cannot want to be near me. But I think I will sleep better if you’re in the bed. I don’t often have such violent nightmares. And I am sorry I woke you because of it. But I think if you were to stay in the bed with me it might help.”
She was beginning to babble, her tongue tangling as she attempted to persuade him to remain with her. Before she could draw breath and continue in what would have no doubt proven to be a humbling example of bruised pride,he took hold of her hand. His fingers were warm about her own chilled ones, sinking into her bones, stopping her desperate words in their tracks.
“Let me fetch my pillow and blanket,” he replied softly.
She swallowed hard and nodded, forcing her fingers to release his sleeve. He moved quickly, gathering his things, returning to her. Yet every second was like an eternity. Finally he slid in beside her, his large frame taking up a good portion of the sparse mattress.
She had never been so happy to be crowded in her life.
