Page 54 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
Amara didn’t stop her.
She hadn’t eaten since the luncheon tray that Rhys had brought up the day before. She had no idea what time it was now. Her stomach had long since stopped complaining, as if her body had resigned itself to not knowing what came next.
Her fingertips skimmed the edge of the hearth. Cold ash. No fresh fire had been lit.
She sighed.
What was the point?
Every version of her future felt blurry. Unsteady.
Returning to her father meant going back to the man who had abandoned her, trader her like coin, and left her to rot in the hands of his enemies.
Could I forgive that? Should I?
And yet staying in the O’Donnell keep was no simpler.
She was not one of them. She’d been mocked, threatened, insulted by even the lowliest of their clansmen. Held at arms’length. And Rhys had her head spinning so wildly in the haze of confusion that she no longer knew if she was drawn to him or simply desperate for any tether in this unfamiliar world.
It would be quite a precarious situation… being unwed and staying with Laird O’Donnell… I wouldnae have a single suitor for the rest of me life who would believe nothin’ happened here….
But something did happen.
The thought of their shared kisses looped like a prayer, or a curse.
Eventually, the weight of exhaustion overtook the storm in her head. She sat on the edge of the bed, arms limp in her lap, the fabric of her nightgown brushing the top of her knees.
She closed her eyes for just a moment.
The fire burned low. The bedside candle flickered and sputtered out.
And Amara, heavy with thoughts and questions too tangled to solve, drifted into sleep without meaning to, and unaware of the footsteps echoing down the corridor.
The soft creak of the door hadn’t stirred her. It was the sound of wood being placed on the fire that had.
Amara’s lashes fluttered open, disoriented, her limbs heavy from sleep. The fire growing now, a warm ember glow against the stone. For a moment, she wasn’t sure where she was until the scent of lavender on the bedding grounded her.
Then she saw him.
Rhys.
Tall and broad in the firelight, his shoulders casting long shadows along the wall. He froze with one hand around a poker, the other reaching for one more log of wood, as though caught in the act of something far more nefarious.
“Forgive me,” he said softly. “I dinnae mean to wake ye.”
She rubbed her eyes and sat up slowly, drawing the blanket around her shoulders. “It’s fine… I must’ve drifted off.”
Rhys finished placing the wood on the fire, set the poker down, and then patted the bark from his hands on his pants. “I figured ye might be asleep by now anyway. It’s been hours.”
“Ye look tired.” Her voice was hoarse, thick with sleep. “Is he… Finn… is Finn all right?”
He nodded once. “Aye. Battered, but he’ll heal. Took three stitches to his brow and a nasty gash to the ribs and his arm, but he’s already trying to charm the town healer who came to help.”
Amara gave a soft smile. “Sounds like he’ll be back on the saddle in no time.”
Rhys stepped forward, and she noticed then that he had brought a small tray. He picked it up from the hearth-side table, and balanced with surprising grace for a man his size.
“I thought ye might be hungry,” he said, setting it down on the small table near the hearth. “Nina said ye havenae eaten since the tray I brought up yesterday. Figured I’d chance me luck at gettin’ ye to eat again with another.”
