He watched her, heart tight in his chest, and saw her there like a frightened rabbit caught in a cage. Every glance, every small movement, was wary and tense. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, and her wide blue eyes darted to him and away again.
“Ye neednae look at me with fear,” he said quietly, voice low but firm. “I’ll keep me word. I’ll nae touch ye tonight.”
Arianna’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her lips parting slightly as she swallowed. “I want… I want to believe ye’re trustworthy,” she murmured, her voice trembling almost as much as her hands.
Ian exhaled slowly, letting some of the tension ease from his shoulders. He knelt near the fireplace, rolling out a small bedroll, the flicker of flames casting long shadows across his scarred face. “Ye should get ready for bed,” he said, without meeting her eyes, forcing his voice steady.
Arianna hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor.
“I… I cannot do that alone,” she admitted softly.
Ian’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. Her hands lifted slowly, pointing behind her to the laces down the back of her gown. Ian inhaled sharply, the firelight reflecting in his one good eye as his pulse quickened.
“Ye’ve no idea what ye’re askin’,” he muttered, voice husky, stepping closer.
Carefully, he reached for the laces, his fingers brushing her spine. The touch made his body tense with desire, yet he forced himself to breathe and restrain every urge to press closer, to taste the warmth of her skin. To kiss her milky neck.
“Ye make me play with fire,” he whispered against her neck.
Arianna’s breath hitched, and Ian felt the heat in his chest surge, but he did not yield.
“I could call the maid,” she said.
“Nay,” he said abruptly. I will do me duty, as yer husband, if it simply to undress ye and nothing more.
Inch by inch, he loosened the gown, sliding it from her shoulders, all the while keeping his gaze averted, focusing on his hands.
He guided the gown down over her arms and past her waist, setting it aside, leaving her standing before him in the thin, pale chemise beneath. The faint scent of flowers clinging to her. He swallowed, jaw tight, forcing his pulse to steady.
“Ye… ye need to get under the covers,” he said finally, voice low, almost strangled with restraint. “Or I may go back on me word.”
Arianna met his gaze, startled, then nodded, shivering slightly as she moved toward the bed.
Ian lowered himself onto the floor laying on the bedroll, letting frustration and desire battle in silence.
He could hear her soft sigh as she slipped beneath the covers, and fought every instinct to draw her into his arms. His hands rested at his sides, fingers curled against the rough wool of the bedroll, as he stared at the ceiling, muscles taut.
Desire roared through him, unrelieved, restless, and frustrated, consumed by the need he dared not act upon.
Arianna’s voice came softly from beneath the covers, tentative and unsure. “Ian… what will we tell them in the mornin’?” she asked, her blue eyes wide in the firelight.
Ian lifted his head slightly, one brow arched, his expression dark yet controlled. “We’ll lie,” he said bluntly, his tone flat but firm.
Her mouth parted slightly. “Lie?” she echoed, a faint flush creeping up her cheeks.
Ian’s gaze met hers, steady and unwavering. “Aye. We’ll say we consummated the marriage, as is expected. ’Tis what they’ll want to hear.”
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And ye swear to me, nae a word to anyone. Nae a soul.”
Arianna nodded, biting her lip. “I swear,” she murmured, and the tension between them eased slightly. For the first time that night, Ian allowed a shadow of relief to cross his face, knowing they would face the morning as one, bound in secret.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Iwill miss ye, truly,” Arianna said.
The castle courtyard was alive with the creak of harness and the soft snort of horses as the McDonald carriage waited by the gates. Morning mist clung to the stones, and banners stirred gently in the cool air. Arianna stood with her family, her hands clasped tightly before her as though holding herself together by sheer will. Her chest ached with the weight of what was ending and what had already begun.
Her mother drew her close, cupping her face with trembling hands. “Ye must write me, Arianna,” Eilidh said, her voice thick. “Write often, so I ken ye’re well.”
