That startled him half-awake. “Have ye?”
“Aye. Of ye as a lad. The three o’ ye, Farlan and Leith.”
Days long gone. The trust between himself and Farlan, now broken. Those careless times would never come again. “Why would ye dream o’ that?”
“I do no’ ken.” She sounded sleepy.
“It has no importance.” Or did it?
Nearly asleep, she whispered, “Ye always led the way. And looked down on them for following.”
Had he? But Farlan followed him no more. And Leith—who knew what Leith truly thought?
He lay and pondered it for truth and wonderment while Saerla slept in his arms.
Chapter Forty-Two
“May I returntonight?” Rory stood looking at Saerla, his green gaze hard-held and serious.
The night had flown like one of her dreams, not founded in reality. And the early morning, for they’d awakened only to make love again. Only then had he climbed back into his clothing, affording her another look at the terrible wound in his back, as had she.
Now they must return to the events that crowded the day—he to his plans to devastate her people and she to her efforts to thwart him. The night over, they must return to being enemies.
Until, perhaps, tonight.
She should tell him nay. She knew that quite well. For he was still asking, not taking. And one night’s escape into an agreed-upon madness did not warrant another.
Did it?
Last night had been a time apart. She had understood that even when embarking upon it, and if she’d lost track of the transient nature of the experience while caught up in it, who could blame her? When Rory touched her, when she so much as thought about him touching her, she lost her mind a little. The fact that he became similarly affected when she touched him only added to the depth of the spell.
But it was just that—a temporary madness. Today, with the rising of the sun, they returned to being enemies, separate and apart.
So she held his gaze, sharp as a weapon, and though every part of her longed for another night with him, said, “I do no’ think it wise.”
He took the refusal stoutly. He did not flinch or waver, but she thought she saw disappointment flash in those green eyes.
His angular jaw jerked upward. “As ye wish.”
“Ye will tell me, though, as soon as a reply to my letter arrives? Send word?”
“I will. Better, I will ha’ ye brought forth.”
“Eh?”
He glanced around the chamber. “There is no need for ye to remain imprisoned here.”
“Is there no’?”
Slowly he shook his head, his hair falling forward. She remembered the feel of it between her fingers, and her knees went weak.
“Nay. Ye are no’ longer my prisoner, Saerla MacBeith. So long as I ha’ yer word ye will no’ try to escape, ye may come and go from this chamber as ye will.”
“But—” Her beleaguered mind tried to make sense of it. Failed. “If I am no’ allowed to escape, how is it I am no’ your prisoner?”
“I prefer to call ye my guest.”
“Your guest. For how long?”
