But, however much Olivia would have liked to believe Megan’s claim, she remained unconvinced. “Well, ’tis a nice thought. And thank ye for listenin’ to me, Megan. I ken ye’re only tryin’ to help,” she said.
Though she had dismissed Megan’s words, they rang in her ears long after the maid had retired and she was lying restlessly in her bed, plagued with anxiety about what the morrow and Laird Nurkirk’s proposal would bring.
Mentally and emotionally exhausted by a looming reality far more terrifying than any dream, it took a long time before her mind quietened enough for her to doze off.
She had no idea how long she had been sleeping when she was suddenly jerked from her slumber by the unmistakable sensation of someone getting into bed next to her. Disorientated, thinking she was dreaming, she opened her eyes and turned her head to see who or what on earth it could be. What she saw next to her in the bed, outlined by the fire’s red glow, was so unbelievable, so frightening, she could only gasp as the breath was torn from her body.
A man was in her bed. A huge man, so real that she could sense his warmth, smell his musky scent, feel his weight pressing the feather mattress down, and hear it making the bed frame creak. As if that were not terrifying enough, when she glimpsed his face in the hellish gloom, she realized he was looking back at her—with the face of a monster!
2
Terror gripped her, and she screamed, swinging her arms at him in blind panic, desperate to get him away from her. But to her horror, her efforts had the opposite effect. Instead of going away, he quickly clamped a large, rough hand over her mouth, stifling her frantic cries, and got on top of her. His huge body covered hers, pinning her to the bed, and rendering her completely immobile.
“Stop screamin’, will ye? ’Tis only me, Edan, yer husband,” the man hissed in her ear.
As the words sank in, Olivia stopped screaming, but her mind reeled.
What?! Edan?! Can it really be him?
“That’s better. Now, wife, will ye promise nae to scream again if I take me hand off yer mouth?”
Recognizing the deep, husky voice as that of her husband, Olivia nodded as best as she could.
“Good.”
The hand was lifted away, and she could breathe again. “Edan, is it truly ye?” she gasped in disbelief, peering up at the face hanging inches above hers in the gloom. “Or am I dreamin’?”
“Och, I’m real all right. Do ye nae ken yer own husband?” he shot back in a harsh whisper, his warm breath fanning her cheeks and, for some reason, making them tingle.
His jibe stung, and she stared up into his eyes a little defiantly. “Nae in the dark, and nae in me bed. If ye recall, ye left before that part a year ago, just after we were wed.”
He nodded. “Aye, so I did. More’s the pity. Olivia,” he said huskily.
The way he said her name sent a shiver through her. Unsettled by her response, Olivia felt suddenly very vulnerable as his eyes raked slowly over her face and the upper part of her body. She turned her head to the side to avoid his searching gaze, for despite the modesty her voluminous nightgown offered, she felt stark naked.
He took hold of her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “But this isnae yer bed. ’Tis mine. So, what are ye doin’ in it?”
“It made more sense for me to stay here in yer chambers while ye were away, so I could be closer to Greta’s rooms,” she explained, growing increasingly conscious that having his powerful body covering hers was affecting her in ways she did not quite understand, let alone care to admit. Not to herself, and definitely not to him.
He let go of her chin and nodded approvingly. “Fair enough.” Then, he said in a different voice that made her cheeks suddenly grow hot, “I’m nae complainin’. What man wouldnae be pleased to come home from battle to find his wife waitin’ for him in his bed, eh?”
Olivia felt deeply unnerved by the way he was looking down at her so intently, his eyes dark and unfathomable. She tried to make out his expression, but what his beard did not conceal was hidden in shadow. However, she somehow knew he was not smiling.
Intimidated but determined not to show it, she replied, “I wasnae waitin’. I was sleepin’. Those are two very different things.”
At the same time, seeing as he was scrutinizing her so closely, she decided she had the right to do the same to him. Her eyes were slowly adjusting to the light, so she allowed her eyes to rove over his face, just as he was doing to her. When her eyes drifted down past his chin to his neck and shoulders, they went wide as she suddenly realized something shocking. Before she could stop it, a small gasp escaped her lips, and she stiffened in alarm beneath the bedclothes, heat coursing through her body.
“What’s the matter?” he asked brusquely, levering himself up slightly and exposing even more of his nakedness.
“W-What happened to yer shirt?” she forced herself to ask, for some reason finding it inexplicably hard to tear her eyes away from the broad expanse of rippling muscle shadowed by a liberal dusting of dark hair that was only inches away from her face.
Somehow, she succeeded in dragging her gaze back to his face and made sure it remained there. It hung above hers like a dark moon. Cast in deep shadow, the mesh of scars on his face was not so noticeable, and despite his beard, his strong, imposing features showed through.
Something struck her. “’Tis the first time I’ve seen ye in a year, and I didnae get much chance to look at ye on our weddin’ day before ye had to leave.”
A vivid memory suddenly came back to her of standing at the altar and the shock she had felt upon seeing her husband’s face for the first time. It was so fearsome and intimidating, so monstrous, that she had immediately averted her eyes. But the impression of cold, brooding darkness was already engraved on her mind, along with the complex fretwork of scarring that left not an inch of his skin untouched.
She had thought him monstrous!
