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Desire.

He’d said so himself. He desired her.

“She was loved by the people of Highgate,” he said. “As you will be.”

Gillian turned toward him then. “Fiona, perhaps. But the others . . . I’m not so sure.”

“None are more difficult to impress than Fiona. And none have been here as long. I found her after the meal, finally. And do you know what she told me?”

Gillian shook her head.

“She refused to dine in the hall until Agnes was gone.”

Gillian’s eyes widened.

“Exactly.” He reached out, his finger tracing the outline of her face. “You’ve all the allies you need here at Highgate. And will gain more, no doubt.”

Her father was the one who needed allies, but Gillian remained silent. She already felt like enough of a burden. He needn’t know of her family’s troubles just yet.

“Something is troubling you,” he guessed.

“’Tis nothing,” she said, mourning the loss of his hand when he pulled it back.

He knew she lied, but he did not press her. Nor did he turn away from her. He simply closed his eyes and said, “Good night, wife.”

Gillian watched the firelight flicker and listened to her husband’s steady breathing. How could he possibly go to sleep so easily? Was he so accustomed to doing so with another person in his bed? Well, she was not. But it seemed she’d best get used to the feeling as he’d made it clear they would be sleeping together.

Gillian smiled and closed her eyes.

12

Graeme had never had a more miserable night of sleep in his life.

He might prefer the cold, hard earth to lying next to a woman he couldn’t touch, haunted by the memory of her lips on his. The feel of her bosom beneath his—

Stop!

Though it wasn’t yet daybreak, he slipped out of the bed as quietly as possible and dressed in the dark. The shutters were closed on the only window in his chamber, and both wall torches had long since burned out.

What the hell was I thinking?

He’d been mortified to see Agnes here, but his attempt at rectifying the situation had been foolhardy. It had been difficult enough not to make Gillian his wife in truth on their journey here. But to actually have her in his bed . . .

He opened the door a crack, looked back to see her still sleeping peacefully, and strode from the torture chamber. Servants were just waking up, so there was little movement around him as Graeme made his way to the hall.

“Good morning, my lord,” a servant greeted him.

“And to you.” He sat in front of the fire, which had already been lit by one of the servants. He gripped the armrest of the high-backed wooden chair that had belonged to his grandfather and stared into the fire. Trestle tables were moved into place behind him, but he ignored all of it, thinking of Grace. The raid.

And her.

She may not ever love him. But Graeme was determined to unleash his wife’s passion. Despite a stringent upbringing and an unfaithful father whose alliances were questionable at best, Gillian came alive at his touch. It was a trait he found quite endearing.

“This is most unusual.” Aidan sat next to him, a mug of ale already in his hands.

“Brother.”

“I’ve never seen you up this early outside of the training yard.”