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He did not ask why she was thanking him but took it as it was and bowed out. Alone, in blessed silence, Olivia slowly undressed, donned a housecoat plucked from her trunks, and brushed out and plaited her hair.
There was a balcony with seats, and she took one far enough that she was not seen from anyone below. She truly needed the air and tried not to wonder what would happen that night when Ó Riagáin came to bed.
* * *
It was nearly midnight but half of his guests still reveled downstairs. After hours of humoring them, Conner had left for his rooms, but had gone to bathe off the smell of wine and smoke from his clothes before he dared to join Olivia in the bed.
With his bath done, he toweled off and wrapped the drying cloth around his waist then lit a candle with the embers of the fire and set it in the end table beside his half of the bed. The light flickered across Olivia’s face and he paused. In slumber, she was as beautiful and delicate as a white rose. It hurt him that he had crushed her that day.
He should have apologized long ago but even while he had the words, there had not been a chance. If things had been perfect, if this marriage had been a love match—they would have consummated already. If things had gone differently, he would not be so apprehensive to get into bed with her.
He bent down and kissed her forehead.
She moved ever so slightly and blinked her spellbinding eyes open.
“Conner?”
“Aye, me love. ‘Tis me.”
“I love ye,” she whispered, her words slurred in her sleep.
Shaking fantasy away, he gently lifted the cover and slid into the bed beside her, showing the expanse of his bared back which carried a labyrinth of battle scars, all illuminated softly by the moonlight if she cared to open her eyes . He knew that the minute shift had woken Olivia—the soft breath he heard told him so— but he did not turn to apologize; she needed the rest.
Coward, his conscience accused him.
Soon he felt her turning away from him and drifting back to sleep… if only he could do the same. His body was tired, but his thoughts kept him up. With cutting clarity, he realized that, with a stroke of a pen, he had been forced to cast aside his bloody quest for revenge for a young bride, the daughter of his sworn enemy?
He did not move an inch until dawn came and then he was out of the bed like a shot. He had washed and dressed long before Olivia had woken, but he pledged to apologize to her that day.
Only that day turned into two, and four, and by the time the sennight had passed after their marriage, he made quite an evasive routine. He would go to bed long after she did and would rise before dawn. It helped that he was busy with making sure the guests that still stayed in the castle were taken care of and—by reports from her maid—Olivia was spending as much time with her father as possible before he would depart.
But that doesnae excuse me from nae apologizing.
One evening, he was in his private room when his door opened and Olivia came in, the hem of her tunic sweeping the floor. She was upset.
“Would ye care to tell me why ye have been ignoring me for seven full days?” she asked, her tone still and quiet, but Conner would be a fool not to hear the hurt and heartbreak in her tone.
He dropped his quill. “I thought it would be easier.”
“Easier than what?” She gestured and waved her hands. “Than treating me as if I were a—a gnat that buzzed too much in yer ear?”
Grimly, Conner said, “Truthfully, I’m ashamed of meself.”
Olivia’s brows met in the middle, “Why?”
“The kiss,” he said, his hands dropping to the edge of the table. He looked down and blinked—when had he gotten up and rounded the table? “I should have stopped it…but I dinnae.”
She came closer. “Why is that troubling ye?”
“Because—” He rubbed his face. “—I daenae want ye to get any expectations of me, or yer hope up for anything… more between us.”
“Is that it?” she asked, and he heard dratted hope in her voice.
Swallowing he said, “Nay. I cannae help but believe yer faither did something to me kin. There is nay other answer, lass.”
“Have ye spoken to him about it?” she asked. “Even once?”
“Nay,” he said, his voice on the verge of cracking. “It felt as if… why bother? After we had made peace it was as if I had lost my leverage, and things were still raw then. Why would he tell me when we were still wary of each other?”
