Page 33 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
“There are several here that speak of roses twining together.”
“Aye. They sometimes speak of lovers. Most often tragic.” He reached for the instrument and held it by his side, strumming one or two of the strings.
His words immediately brought to mind Duncan’s mention of Ewan’s previous marriage and the loss of his wife. Succumbing to curiosity, she decided to ask him about what had occurred.
“Is it that ye have also lost someone dear tae ye? Yer braither mentioned tae me that, before, ye had a wife.”
As she spoke his face changed. His jaw tightened and something dark glinted in his eyes. She could see it was not easy for him tospeak of it. Yet, surely, she had a right to know what had become of his first wife.
He pulled in a breath, gazing into the fire, not meeting her eyes. “Aye. I was married.” He nodded, a sad smile on his lips. “Me loss was more than five years ago now.”
A wave of compassion swept over her. “What happened?”
He shook his head and turned away. After a few moments he reached into a box on the desk and rummaged through it, searching for something.
Tyra sat in silence, rebuffed by his terseness, regretting her questioning and the cooling of the warmth that had been building between them. Chagrined, she felt like upping and leaving the study. But instead, she held herself in check, aware that if she appeared to flounce out now, things would worsen between them.
He located a large quill in the box, took up the lute across his knees and began to pluck the strings, drawing forth a soft and mellow, lilting, tune. He slanted her a gentle smile as he played and her heart lifted. It seemed the pain of his past brought into being by her ill-thought words, had retreated. As his music filled the room, the mood between them slowly softened.
“Why, it sounds like the humming of the breeze blowing through the willows by the burn. It conjures a spring day.” Tyra smiled, leaning back in the chair.
He played on, delighting her. She closed her eyes, the sweet, soothing, melody gradually drifting her to sleep.
Ewan studied her as she slept. Her bonnie face was peaceful. The wary look she sometimes held had faded, leaving no trace of her customary frown. Her brow was smooth, her plush lips curved in a tiny smile. He observed the long lashes curled on her alabaster cheeks, her pert nose with its smattering of freckles, the lush fall of her hair. As he watched her sleeping, a deep sense of protectiveness surged over him. He wanted her to maintain that peaceful expression and for her always to feel safe and protected, with him by her side.
He'd been surprised at the pleasure he took in her company. He pictured them together, sharing their love of music. She would sing one of his ballads and play the clarsach while he strummed his lute. He chuckled, holding fast to the image.
But as he watched her breasts rising in falling with each breath she took, he became uncomfortably aware of the womanly curves of her body, her long legs curled around her, the wisps of hair falling across her shoulder and the hardening of his lusty arousal as he soaked in her beauty.
He itched to smooth her hair, to run a finger down her cheek and along her delicate throat, and to kiss those ripe, red lips.
But no matter his desire for her, he had to keep it in check. It would never do for him to let his feelings for her flow. The risk toher was too great. He’d been reminded again tonight of the fate of Marjorie and his wean and the pain and guilt of it cut him to the bone as cruelly as any blow from a claymore.
A soft snore issued from Tyra’s lips as he gazed down at her unwilling to disturb that rare, peaceful moment. He lifted her gently in his arms, strode through the door of his study and along the passageway leading to her bedchamber.
Once inside, he crossed the room on soft feet, determined not to wake her, and lowered her carefully onto the fur coverlets on the bed. He removed her slippers and managed to tuck her under the covers.
As he made to leave her, sliding his arm out from under her, she stirred, her lips moving in muffled words, her brows suddenly drawn in a frown.
As he slid his arm out from under her, she cried out, “Nay. Harris. Nay,” in a voice filled with terror.
He leaned over her, trying to reassure her. “Hush lass, ‘tis a nightmare. Ye’re safe. I’m here beside ye. It’s Ewan.”
Her eyes flickered but did not open as she clutched wildly at his sleeve, pulling him down beside her.
He made a move to stand, but she held tightly to his arm.
“Dinnae leave me,” she murmured. A sob rippled through her, yet she was still half asleep.
He shifted his length onto the bed beside her, desperate to give her comfort. “Sleep, lass. I’ll nae let harm come tae ye.”
He waited, lying close, as her breathing slowly evened and her crumpled forehead smoothed again. She moved against him holding him close as he again attempted to stand.
Heavens challenge me restrain…
As she pressed her soft curves against him, tightening her hold on him, the spark of desire rose in his loins He lay beside her in torment, fighting the urge to take her in his arms, aching and longing to lose himself in her.
For what seemed an inordinate period of time, he lay awake, staring into the blackness, acutely aware of Tyra’s every move, and his body’s every response. Eventually, tiredness overtook him and he too fell into a fitful sleep, waking at her slightest murmur, breathing in her rose-scent, a wayward strand of her hair tickling his nose.
