His hand stilled, and his cool gazeleveled on her.
Pulse racing, Gwendolyn fought for coherent thought as she held the warrior’s ferocious gaze. Her plans of waking before him, devising a logical explanation crumbled. With her mind blurred by exhaustion, she floundered for even pitiful rationality.
With slow purpose, he closed the door. A muscle worked in his jaw as he leaned his muscled body against the sturdy frame and then folded his massive arms across his chest.
What a mess! “T-there is something Imust tell you.”
A drunken shout sounded from the corridor.
Broken laughter followed.
Her heart sank as she glanced out the open window at the streaks of dawn slicing through the sky. ’Twas morning already? She looked toward him, noted his stern demeanor remained unchanged. Gwendolyn swallowed hard. “The well-wishers are still out there.”
“Unfortunately,” he growled. He unfolded his arms and pushed away from the door. “What is it you wished to speak of? ’Twould seemwe have time.”
Legs unsteady, she stepped away from the bed, the setting too intimate for her admission. She halted beside the chair where he’d folded and placed his blankets, proof of his generosity in giving her time to adjust to their marriage in his belief inher innocence.
She braced herself for his outrage. ’Twas far better he learned now than to discover the truth from another. “I was married several years ago. My husband died a month later in battle.”
His nostrils flared as his gaze cut to the smear of blood upon the sheets, then narrowed on her. “Why did you not informme last night?”
“I wasna aware you didna know until youcut yourself.”
“Yet,” he growled, “you said naught.”
“I…”
“’Tis done!” He curled his fingers into his damaged palm. “Sit.”
Spikes of terror pierced her, yet she straightened her shoulders and walked to the edge of the bed, turned to face him. Her gaze unflinching, she lifted her chin. “Do you wish me to disrobenow, my lord?”
“Juststaythere!”
She stiffened.
The steady tap of boot heels sounded as he stalked across the floor.
Confused, she watched him as he paced, his mouth carved intoa fierce frown.
She fought back a shiver as her husband reached the hearth forthe third time.
He knelt, his back to her.
The size and width of the man’s shoulders took her breath. She envisioned him atop her, his weight pressing her into the mattress. Another shiver swept her, and she drew the blanket closer around her body.
Bróccín tossed several pieces of wood atop the ashes from last night’s fire. Flames wavered beneath the crush of dry tinder and then slowly crept up the bark. He stood. His shoulders tensed, but he did not turn. “I willna touch you,” he said, “but I shall remain in the chamber.”
An unsteady breath escaped as she raked her gaze down his formidable length. She glanced to the side, where a large curved chest with three forged iron hinges securing the top lay shoved against the wall. Filled with naught but clothes, ’twas easy to move, a necessity if ever she needed to escape into the secret tunnelhidden behind.
In the future she might tell him of the hidden passageway. As her husband, ’twas his right to know the location of every one hidden within the castle. Now, regardless of his title or the kindness he’d shown her, they were still strangers, their marriage vows still raw in her heart.
His vow, aye, but not even a kiss.
She frowned at the thought. Not that she was complaining.
At his silence, tension within her built. His reserve was odd for a powerful noble, one who’d led men into combat. With his battle-hardened body equally designed for war as a woman’s bed, no doubt he’d tumbled many a lass. In truth, if she hadn’t been forced into marriage and had met him some other way, she would have found him handsome to look upon.
Unbound hair as black as a raven’s wing proved a perfect foil for green eyes that could ignite a woman’s desire. She could envision women charmed by his powerful gaze, his confidence, and the powerful play of his muscles. A man like him would know how to make love to a woman, to touch her and make her tremble, not the fumblingtouch of a lad.
