Terri Brisbin - At The Highlander's Mercy

‘Nay. Too much sleep when the head is injured is no’ a good thing, Rob. If she wakes, let her. If she sleeps, rouse her every few hours and make her speak to you. The potion is only for pain.’

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. ‘I will summon you if I have need of anything else.’

Rob did not turn to see if the older woman obeyed. Though he expected an argument, none came. Her shuffling feet scuffed over the wood floor as she left. When silence filled the chamber, he let his guard down for a brief moment, running his hands through his hair and letting out a deep breath.

How had his life gone from tolerable to hell in a matter of a few days? How had his position as chief and laird, one he never expected to hold, passed from unquestioned to strongly challenged? Worse, how would he keep his promises to his clan and violate those he’d made years before about Lilidh? Her presence here, and in his bed, broke oaths sworn to her father.

Walking to the table, he poured a cup of ale and sat by the fire, watching her sleep. All of his hopes and fears, all of his aspirations and desires, had once centred on the woman now in his bed. He’d allowed himself to dream of having her as his wife and at his side. He’d believed he could be worthy of her and that her father would accept, even support the match. The truth of it, so far from the dream, had torn them apart years ago.

Was this the fates laughing at him? Did the Almighty have a keen sense of humour after all? Chuckling over the strangeness of it and trying to figure out a path through the quagmire before him, them, he only then noticed her eyes were open.

‘Lilidh,’ he said in a hoarse whisper, ‘how do you fare now?’ When he began to stand, her expression turned to fear, like a wild animal with no place to run. Hating the sight of it, he rested back on the wooden seat.

She began to push herself up as though to move as far from him as possible, but the wincing expression told him of her pain. Then she stopped and closed her eyes, gasping with each movement, no matter how slight.

‘Here …’ Rob jumped to his feet and strode over to her then. He reached over, grabbed the bottle left by Beathas and poured some of it in the cup of ale there. ‘Try sipping this. It will lessen the pain.’

With shaking hands she lifted the cup to her lips and took a small swallow of its contents, grimacing as the bitter liquid trickled into her mouth. Beathas’s concoctions, though effective, were known for being nearly undrinkable. Even ale or wine could not cover the less-than-savoury ingredients she used. Rob had not relinquished the cup to Lilidh’s control, so he lifted it once then twice and again before taking it from her. That should be enough.

‘So, is it time then?’ she asked softly, leaning her head back against the wooden headboard.

‘For someone who held on to her virtue so tightly for so long, you seem very ready to have your honour taken from you now. Has marriage done that to you?’

He regretted that last barb as it left his lips. Speaking of her marriage to another man was not a topic he wished to think about, let alone discuss with her as she lay in his bed, awaiting ravishment. Rob turned from her, forestalling any reply she might make, and began to put out the candles and bank the remaining flames in the hearth for the night. The inscrutable expression in her eyes when he at last turned back to face her confused him even more.

Did she really expect that he would force himself on her? He knew their parting had been a bad one—he’d shamed her before her family and left her to face their wrath—but never had he forced her. Seduced, cajoled, even begged, but never against her will or without her permission. Had Symon now convinced her that she would pay that price so thoroughly that she accepted it as unavoidable? Shaking his head, overwhelmed by the day’s events and confrontations, Rob walked to the last candle at the bedside table and nodded to her.

‘Lie down.’

Lilidh’s eyes glazed over a bit now as the concoction began its work. Soon, she would once again be in sleep’s grasp and he would have time to consider his actions and plans without her interference. He laughed roughly then, which caused her eyes to widen in fear once more. But she followed his order and slid back down under the covers.

After watching until her eyes drifted shut, he put out the last candle, loosened his belt and allowed his plaid to drop to the floor. His boots and shirt went next before he gathered up the length of plaid, climbed on to the bed and covered himself with it. Stretching out, he crossed his arms behind his head and listened to the pattern of her breaths. Soon, without a word more spoken between them, it grew even and deep, signalling her descent into sleep.

He must assert himself on the morrow and bring a calm, reasoned approach to this. He must divorce himself from acting on his feelings of anger and mistrust and lead the clan. He must let go of his past with Lilidh and handle her with detachment and logic. Closing his eyes, he repeated those decisions over and over to himself as he drifted to sleep.

And he might have succeeded had she not whispered a word that put all his thought of control and rationality aside. One whispered word and jealousy and possessiveness and all the long-ago hurt and knowledge of his unworthiness reared within him.

‘Iain,’ she whispered.

One name. With that one name spoken on a breathless sigh, she ruined all his hopes and once again reminded him of the fruitlessness of his dreams.

Warmth surrounded her.

Lilidh snuggled deeper beneath the bedcovers, allowing the heat to soothe her sore body. She had found this part of her husband’s attentions quite pleasant, for she hated nothing more than waking in a cold chamber with cold feet. As she moved closer to his warm body, a masculine groan filled the space between them.

A groan that did not belong to Iain.

Dear God in Heaven! How could she have forgotten the events of the last days? Forcing her eyes to open even against the glare of what had to be the morning’s strong light, Lilidh looked directly into Rob’s gaze.

‘You are not Iain!’ she blurted out as she sought to escape Rob’s scandalous embrace. The bedcovers hampered her efforts to scoot back and away from him. The pain that slammed through her head forced her to cease, too, for it threatened to immobilise her with the sheer torture of it. Her stomach rolled from it.

Rob lifted the arm that had most recently crossed her breasts and leaned up on his side. Covered only with his plaid, one that had carelessly been tossed over him from the look of it, he watched her without saying a word. Unlike Iain who simply rolled out of their bed and left their chamber each morn without saying anything, Rob clearly had other plans.

‘No, not Iain,’ he whispered in a voice so deep it made her feel as though heated honey was running over and through her body.

He looked dishevelled from sleep. A lock of his hair kept falling into his eyes. Lilidh reached out to move it away, stopping herself only at the last moment. Damn him! How dare he order her kidnapped and brought here like this. Fool that she always was when it came to him, she wanted to help smooth out the tensions between him and her father. Rob blinked then, turning his gaze from hers as he lifted the plaid and slid to the edge of the bed.

His bed.

She swallowed. Try as she might, she could not look away as his strong, muscular back was exposed to her, all the way to his … Tanned from exposure to the sun, the muscles rippled as he bent down and reached for something on the floor. Her mouth went dry as he tugged a shirt over his head and stood as its length fell around him.