Page 67 of Highland Ruse

A knock sounded at the door.

He clenched his teeth and slid the stopper back into place before bidding the intruder enter.

The door did not swing open as he’d expected. There was a moment of hesitation before the creaking groan of the hinges.

And it was no man who entered his private room, but a woman.

Nay, a goddess.

Or so she appeared with her golden brown hair spilling over her shoulders and a cloak of rich red velvet atop a night-rail seemingly made of glowing moonlight.

“Delilah.” Her name came out in a low rasp, like a dying man asking for water.

Her gaze swept his large room and lingered for the briefest of moments on his bed. She paused in the doorway before lifting her head and striding toward him with all the confidence of the goddess she appeared to be.

God, how he longed to pull her into his arms and bury his nose in the silken tresses of her hair where he could breathe in the sweet floral spice of her.

“Have you taken the valerian root yet?” she asked.

He blinked.

That was not what he’d expected to hear her say, not when she appeared so brazenly in his room while the rest of the castle slept.

He shook his head and tightened his grip on the glass in his palm.

Delilah’s shoulders relaxed. “Please do not take it.”

Her words sent a shiver down his back. Not because he feared what she said, but because the idea of possessing the valerian in his grasp and not taking it was almost as agonizing as having Delilah in the privacy of his room and not touching her.

She approached him, and the feminine scent of her perfume caught at his awareness with a far tighter hold than he’d have thought possible. Her hands settled on his fist, delicate and soft.

He wanted them on the rest of him.

“Please don’t take it,” she repeated. Her pleading look grabbed at his heart. “It’s poison to your body. It brings nightmares and sleepless nights and yet makes you want more.”

He gritted his teeth. “How do ye know this?”

Even as he prepared to defend the drug, his thoughts searched for the validity of her words. He remembered how he’d been before they all got sick and how renewed he’d felt after.

“Rhona told me, but not because I asked after you. I tricked her into telling me.” She frowned. “I know she’s one of your people, but I confess I don’t trust her.”

The aged seer was not actually one of his people. She’d shown up at the castle three years prior, seeking refuge after having been cast from her own clan—an event so painful, she never spoke of it. No one had minded as she’d proved herself to be quite useful in the art of healing.

Of course, divulging this to Delilah would not help his claim. “She doesna trust ye, lass. It’s the only reason she acts as she does.”

“Please don’t take this,” Delilah said again. She found the place where his fingers wrapped tight over his palm, sealing the vial safely within, and tried to pry his hand open.

He resisted.

Even if the valerian brought nightmares, they were not with him in the morning. All he ever recalled was the quiet black it welcomed him to, where nights of restless slumber turned into a full block of forgotten everything.

He didn’t want to remember. Nor did he want to think. He wanted the nothing. He craved the nothing.

She shook her head at him.

Irritation prickled through him at the thought of having to release his precious vial. The prickle quickly turned to an irrational whip of rage which lashed through him.

“And what do ye care if I take this?” he asked. “When ye’ve seen my people and no’ done a thing to help them?”