Eight
Alex had been awoken hours earlier by a hand roughly shaking him. He knew he’d been in the midst of another nightmare because of his bloody fist and Donald’s bloody nose. He didn’t recall striking Donald, who damn well should have known by now to stay an arm’s length away when Alex was having a bad dream, but attack the man, he had. As Alex worked with his men to ready the birlinn to take to shore, each time he saw Donald’s swollen, black nose, it was a painful reminder that he could never chance falling asleep by Lena. The knowledge caused a sharp ache in his gut. He wanted to give her everything she needed, and she deserved to sleep peacefully, knowing he was there to protect her. Yet he could not do so, nor could he explain why not. To do so would mean revealing how Gillis had broken him, taken his control, and made him ask for vile, unspeakable things. To reveal what he hid, the control he’d always needed in the bedchamber, the blurred lines between pleasure and pain, would horrify her, he was certain. He feared keeping his secrets, his shame hidden, would cause strife between him and Lena when they were just seeming to find their way, which was why he had avoided her so far this day.
The few times he had seen her approaching him, he had hurried to involve himself in another task and surround himself with his men. With the determined jut of her chin and fire that lit her gaze, he did not doubt she wanted to ask him about his dream. And if he had doubted it, Donald had told him she’d awoken last night and had sought him out; unfortunately, she had approached exactly when the nightmare had overcome him. Luckily, she’d not seen just how vicious he could become when awoken from his haunted dreams.
He glanced down at his fist. There was a cloth wrapped around it because he had ripped open the skin when banging his knuckles against the wood repeatedly. That was why Donald had dared to get close to him: the man had been trying to stop Alex from hurting himself. Alex sighed as he watched his home come into view. He recalled the nightmare vividly, and in it, he had pummeled Gillis’s face to a bloody mess.
“Devil take the past!” he swore under his breath, garnering a startled look from his young apprentice, Baldwin. Alex glared at the lad until he turned away, which made the heaviness pressing down on him feel even greater.
“Dunnae mind me, Baldwin. I did nae sleep well and am out of sorts.”
The lad grinned. “If I may speak bluntly, Laird?”
Alex nodded and tried to relax his stance, seeing the eager expression on Baldwin’s face.
“I imagine yer sleep will be like a bairn’s tonight when ye finally get yer bonny bride alone in yer bedchamber.”
A flash of anger cut through Alex, but at Baldwin’s silly grin, Alex reminded himself that the boy was but ten summers and pushed his anger aside. “I imagine that will help,” he replied, as expected, then turned his face toward his home once more. Baldwin meant no harm or disrespect. All the lad knew was that his laird had yet to join with his wife, and he likely thought that was causing Alex’s surly mood. It may have been part of it. He ached for Lena something fierce. He’d never experienced the likes of it in his life. The moments of holding her in his arms so innocently this past fortnight had been eye-opening, sweet torture.
Never had he held a lass as he had Lena. The pull he felt toward her and the need to care for her was unlike anything he had ever known. None of his dark yearnings had surfaced with her yet; it was almost as if she had washed him anew. Except for the dreams, of course. When she fell asleep, he would lie by her and watch her as long as he dared, hungry to learn all he could about her. He had never wanted to be close to anyone, but Lena had unleashed a desire in him he’d not known was there. Mayhap it was because of what she had suffered in her own past. He craved a connection, an understanding he would never ask for, yet he could give her that understanding. When he kissed her, he felt as if they were two ropes tying into an unbreakable knot. He now knew the pattern of her breath when she slept, her favorite side to lie on, how a smile would sometimes pull at her lips in her sleep, and how throwing her arm and leg over him was the signal that the deepest sleep had overcome her.
Thinking back on his time with the women before Lena, most especially Euphemia, he felt nothing but shame. There had been nothing gentle or loving with any lass he had ever joined with, yet he honestly did not think he could have offered any of them anything more or allowed them to share more with him. And none had asked for it, except for Euphemia, who had once asked him to sleep the night with her. Falling asleep beside her had taught him his limitations.
“Ye’re made of stone, Laird,” Baldwin said. “If I’m ever so lucky as to have a wife that looks as yers, I think I would nae be able to help myself from ravishing her, even on a birlinn full of curious men.”
A feminine gasp from behind them had Alex gritting his teeth at the bad timing and the lad’s foolish tongue. Baldwin’s face turned white as he glanced behind Alex to Lena. “My lady,” Baldwin stammered.
Alex turned to her, not shocked to see her eyes shining like twin daggers. “Lad,” he said gravely to Baldwin, “apologize to my wife.”
“I’m sorry, my lady,” Baldwin blurted. “Truly.”
“Aye. I can see that,” she said in a surprisingly gentle and understanding tone. Alex had half expected that she might rant at the clot-heid lad for his unthinking words. “From now on—” She paused mid-sentence, a thoughtful look coming to her face. “What’s yer name?”
“Baldwin, my lady.”
She smiled. “’Tis a fine name. From now on, Baldwin, be sure to taste yer words before ye spit them out.”
Baldwin nodded. He was staring at Lena with a look of utter adoration. Alex scrubbed a hand over his face, fighting his smile. Lena was changing. The gentleness that used to define her as a young girl, the openness that always drew people in, was returning. He liked to think he had something to do with that. He may not be able to banish his own darkness, but he was going to banish hers.
He waved Baldwin away, wanting to prepare her before his entire clan descended upon her and demanded her attention and time.
He could clearly see his people awaiting them on the shores of the Isle of Mull.
“Yer home is verra beautiful,” Lena said, shifting her gaze from Duart Castle to his bandaged hand. He moved it from the rail he was leaning on to his side, though he could feel her unanswered questions about his nightmare heavy in the air between them like a thick mist.
He stared at his castle, trying to see it as she might. The castle stood atop a tall hill and rose high in the sky, appearing almost to touch the heavens above. It was surrounded by sharp rocks toward the top of the hill, but there was thick green grass lower near the shore, which covered the ground more than halfway up to the castle. It beckoned to one to lie down on its plush blades. His home was intimidating and had been built that way purposely. The thick walls of gray stone looked impenetrable, and they very nearly were.
“’Tis nae beautiful,” he murmured, sure she’d only said it to be polite. “It looks threatening, as if anyone who dares to approach that is nae a MacLean or an ally will be risking their lives.”
“Aye,” she said softly. “It’s in the looming ferocity of yer home that I find beauty. “’Tis a castle that I can feel safe in, I think.”
A moment of perfect clarity settled upon him. She was finally feeling secure. All she’d done in the past, her rages, not washing herself for weeks on end so that she looked like a dirty hound, was so that no one—no man—would want to look at her or touch her. A lump hardened in his throat as he took in her appearance. Her rosy cheeks and sun-kissed skin made her look particularly fetching and healthy. Her beauty, coupled with the lovely green gown she wore, was certain to make many men in his clan besotted with his wife.
Hellfire. He was besotted with her. He wasn’t sure when it had happened or how, but his wife had his full desire and attention, and he wished to protect and shelter her always. Other emotions simmered below the surface, and when he prodded them with his mind, a dull ache burst in his chest. He caught Lena’s fingers with his own, pleased when she did not flinch or tug away. She’d grown accustomed to this sort of touch and his soft kisses, and he looked forward to helping her grow accustomed to the rest of him.
“What happened to yer hand?” she demanded. He had unthinkingly taken her hand with his injured one.
“Och,” he replied with as much nonchalance as he could. “I dreamed I was beating an enemy.”
She regarded him with probing eyes. “And when Donald tried to wake ye, ye thought him to be the enemy?”
“Aye,” he said. “Sometimes I dream of foes,” he continued slowly, understanding that now would be the perfect time to tell her that he could never sleep the night with her. “If I’m awakened, sometimes I strike out at whomever is near.”
Her mouth parted.
He nodded. “’Tis why I’ll nae be sleeping the nights with ye, but I’ll sleep just across the hall from ye in a bedchamber.”
“Ye kinnae stay away from our bed because of nightmares,” she said, her tone wounded.
He gritted his teeth. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, but if he slept the night with her and was gripped in one of his dreams, he could very well try to kill her. He had to make her understand that it was not her. Tugging his good hand though his hair, he watched for a moment as his men scampered about the birlinn, bringing it to shore. There was not much time to explain, and he’d not even prepared her for his boisterous clan yet.
“I dunnae trust myself when I am in the grips of a dream, Lena.”
“I’ve nae had a bad dream since I spoke of Findlay to ye.” She cocked her head and stared at him expectantly, and he knew with certainty that she was suggesting that he speak to her about his dreams. That, he could not, would not, do. Ever.
“They are my demons to conquer alone,” he said.
“I thought we were moving beyond that stubborn view,” she snapped, setting her hands on her hips. “When ye asked me to lay my soul bare for ye, but refused to do the same, I did nae like it, but I detest it now! Have we nae learned each other a great deal better on board this ship? I thought we had! Mayhap I’m a clot-heid! Or mayhap ye are the clot-heid, demanding my secrets while keeping yers!”
He clenched his teeth, knowing how unfair it sounded, but if she knew what haunted him, she’d not look at him the same, perchance not even feel protected by him. “I am sorry. I will give ye anything else ye ask but the darkest secrets I shield.”
“I would ask for yer heart,” she blurted, “as I think ye would want mine. But a heart given full of secrets is nae a heart given at all.”
She turned from him, but he caught her by the arms and tugged her back against his chest, even as he felt her stiffen. The wind caught her hair and blew it around his face as he brought his cheek closer to hers. “Let us not fight,” he said. “Tonight, there will be a feast in yer honor, and hopefully—” he turned her to face him, so he could see her eyes “—I will make ye my wife in truth tonight, if ye are ready?” He was ever aware that he’d likely receive word back from the Steward in no more than a fortnight, and Lena needed to be his wife fully before then. He would not demand it ever, though, in spite of the fact that it left her vulnerable and him yearning.
She sucked in her lower lip but nodded. “I believe I am, but I kinnae make any promises.” She turned in his arms once more toward his home.
“I will take that,” he replied, brushing back her hair and pressing a tender kiss to her neck. When she shivered, he wrapped his arms around her, and fit his body to her backside. Her bottom curved enticingly into his hard flesh, and he feared it would frighten her, but she did not attempt to move. “I must warn ye that my councilmen have been pestering me to take a wife for some time now. They are eager for me to have an heir. I fear they will start pestering ye immediately.”
A rosy blush spread up the side of her neck and stained the cheek that he could see. “What if I kinnae have bairns?” she blurted.
He frowned and turned her in his arms once more to see her expression. He glanced around, ensuring they were still alone. None of the men, nor her sister, were close enough to hear their conversation. “What makes ye fear ye kinnae have bairns?”
She shifted from foot to foot but held his gaze as she’d promised to do. “It’s just that—” She paused, her blush growing a deeper shade of red. “I have nae ever gotten with bairn, though I have, well, ye ken.”
“I ken,” he said, his voice husky from anger at Findlay and something else. Some strong emotion that plucked at the strings that bound his heart into a functioning thing. “I believe we will have a bairn,” he said, the words catching with the emotions of how much he wanted a family with her. A child of her image would be a splendid thing.
A troubled look settled over her face. “But if I kinnae?”
“Then ye kinnae,” he immediately replied. “That dunnae make ye less in my eyes, nor make me nae want ye as my wife.”
“Do ye want me as yer wife?” she said shyly.
“Aye, lass,” he said, placing a chaste kiss on her lips as a cheer went up from his clan, who clearly had seen their kiss. It was a frightening thing just how much he had grown to want her as his wife, to please her, in such a short amount of time. He was lucky he was not easily scared.
The MacLeans were just as boisterous and noisy as the MacLeods. Lena surveyed the clan from her seat on the dais beside Alex, and she smiled. This great hall reminded her of her home with its minstrels singing, men telling bawdy jokes, and women huddling at tables gossiping. The biggest difference between Duart’s great hall and Dunvegan’s was that she was not an object of pity here, only an object of curiosity. And she didn’t mind that since most of the curiosity likely pertained to simply what sort of mistress she would make as Alex’s wife. His wife. It was still difficult to believe that she was married again.
She stole a glance at her husband’s profile. He was turned to his left and speaking to one of his councilmen, who she thought must be telling him what had occurred at Duart in Alex’s absence. His thigh was pressed against hers, and his hand had come to rest on her leg in a protective hold. Her breath had caught in her chest when his strong fingers had first curled around her thigh, but she was more relaxed now and welcomed his reassuring touch.
The time from their arrival early this afternoon to supper had been a bevy of activity. A rather roundish lady named Lara MacLean with gray hair that curled around her face and warm brown eyes had taken a firm hold on Lena’s elbow, after Munroe had introduced Lena and Marsaili to Lara, who was his wife. Lara had presented them both to so many MacLeod clansmen that Lena could scarcely recall half their names. That reminded her…
She turned to Marsaili, determined to try to uncover what was ailing her. She’d hoped to talk to Marsaili onboard the ship, but her half sister had been struck with seasickness again, or so she said. Lena had a suspicion it had been a convenient excuse not to talk to her, especially since this time when Marsaili had been supposedly ill, she’d not lost her accounts once. And since they’d arrived at Alex’s home, Marsaili had been unusually quiet. Actually, now that Lena was thinking how Marsaili had acted on the birlinn, she realized she could recall her half sister being out of sorts at Dunvegan as well. In fact—Lena drummed her fingers as she concentrated—Marsaili had not been herself since receiving a letter from her wretched father, the Campbell laird, many sennights ago.
With everything that had happened since then, Lena had forgotten she had tried to speak to Marsaili twice before about the letter, but once Marsaili had rushed off, saying she had chores to tend to. And the one other time she had attempted to broach the subject again, Iain had interrupted them.
Lena pushed her food around her plate, thinking upon what to say. “Do ye wish ye did nae offer to come?” she asked Marsaili in hushed tones, so that Alex would not overhear. Yet, at that moment, Alex stood, his hand coming to her shoulder.
He glanced down at her with a smile. “I’m going to speak to some of the men. Will ye be comfortable here by yerself?”
His concern both warmed and frustrated her. She wanted him to see that she was growing stronger and that he need not worry so much over her. “I’m nae alone.” She motioned to Marsaili while noting the other men who had been sitting on the dais with them, Munroe and the council members, had all stood and left their seats on the dais.
Alex squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll nae be far. Just at that table.” He pointed to where a group of men sat, and she nodded.
Once he departed the dais, Marsaili looked sharply at her. “Why did ye ask me if I wished I had nae come?”
Lena frowned. It was unlike Marsaili to be so brusque. Something was definitely bothering her. “Well,” Lena said slowly, “the journey here made ye so sick, and now ye seem—” she shrugged, unsure how to say it “—unhappy.”
“I’m nae,” Marsaili assured her, but the misery in her voice belied her words.
Lena took a long drink of wine from her goblet as she watched the men and women move the tables and chairs toward the walls. She assumed they were making a space to dance. She recalled the one time she and Alex had danced, and her belly fluttered.
Forcing her concentration back to Marsaili, she said, “Ye’re nae really eating, either, and when Lara introduced us to the other clanswomen, ye barely spoke.”
“I was pleasant,” Marsaili defended.
Lena quirked her mouth. Marsaili had actually seemed remote, distant, and distracted, but pointing it out to her would not help anything. Besides, Lena knew how it was to feel out of place, and it occurred to her now that perhaps Marsaili had volunteered to come to Duart because she had thought Lena would need her more than she had. Guilt flared inside Lena as she thought on how little time she had actually spent with Marsaili on the ship. Proving to Alex that she was capable had consumed much of her time. Mayhap Marsaili had thought Lena and Alex would not rub well, and she had come to protect Lena. That was the sort of thing Marsaili would do.
Lena set down her wine goblet and patted Marsaili’s hand. “I dunnae believe I properly thanked ye for offering to come with me to Duart.”
A startled look crossed Marsaili’s face. “Ye dunnae need to thank me,” she said, her lips pinched.
Lena frowned. She was not making any progress with Marsaili using this tact. Being direct had always served her well, so that’s what she would do. She took a deep breath and asked, “Are ye cross with me because ye thought I would need ye more? That I might possibly fall to pieces with Alex? Or that ye would need to defend me from him, and now ye feel unneeded? I assure ye, I am verra glad of yer company in a sea of strangers.”
Marsaili gave her a tight smile. “I’m nae cross with ye. And I’m glad that ye seem less fearful of yer new husband. The truth is—” Marsaili leaned close and whispered “—I worried for ye when Alex departed so abruptly after his harsh words with the king. I—” She shifted her gaze away from Lena to Alex and then settled her attention upon Lena once more. “I wanted to be here for ye in case he broke with the king and ye needed to return home to Dunvegan. ’Tis why Iain sent Broch, ye ken.”
Lena felt her brows dip as she scowled. She’d suspected Iain was worried, too, since he went to the effort to send Broch, but she did not believe for a breath that her brother would truly think Alex would forsake the king and support the Steward. She had thought that Iain had sent Broch to watch over her in case she became so distraught at being wed to Alex that she tried to flee. Her cheeks heated at the concern she had likely caused, yet she did not think she could have helped it. Never would she have thought it possible that she could feel comfortable and safe in a man’s presence again, yet she did in Alex’s. She prayed she would feel the same when the time came for them to join.
“Alex is honorable,” Lena whispered. “He will nae forsake the king whether they have disagreed or nae.” She decided not to mention that Alex was going to go see the Steward, though, as he had vowed that it was not to pledge himself to the king’s nephew. He had asked her for his trust, and she intended to give it unless he proved himself unworthy.
And then what? a little voice asked.
She didn’t have an answer, so she pushed the voice away. Still, she’d not give fodder to Marsaili’s suspicions.
“Ye’re awfully contemplative,” Marsaili said, her eyes searching Lena’s face. “Did yer husband say something to ye that ye are hiding? I vow I’ll nae say a word.”
“He said naught about pledging himself to the Steward, I vow it. Now,” she said, because she desperately wished to change the subject before she was forced to lie to Marsaili, “I’ve been wanting to speak to ye for a long while about the letter ye received from yer da.”
“Why?” Marsaili demanded, her tone sharp and defensive.
Lena had liked Marsaili from the first day she met her. They had both lived through abuse, and neither of them felt quite as if they had a place at Dunvegan. Marsaili had been kind and caring to Lena, but the more Lena thought upon it as they talked, the more she was sure that the change in Marsaili had come with the note from her father, or at least started with the note. “I care about ye, Marsaili, and ye have been withdrawn and angry since receiving the letter. What did it say?”
Marsaili’s shoulders slumped, and she looked rather like a sail that had lost all its wind. She reached for her wine goblet with a shaking hand, took a long drink, and then set the goblet down. “I never told ye this—I’ve never told anyone this, actually—but I once thought myself to be in love.” The scorn and anger in her voice was all Lena needed to understand that Marsaili’s feelings had not been reciprocated.
“Tell me of him,” Lena encouraged. Her own recent experience with Alex made her realize that sometimes talking of painful things really did help.
Marsaili plucked at a nonexistent piece of thread on her sleeve. “I was desperate to feel loved. Ye must ken this. I beg ye nae to judge me too harshly, nae now nor later.”
“Later?”
Marsaili bit her lip. “Now. I meant only now.” Lena nodded, and Marsaili took a deep breath. “He was, perchance he still is, beautiful. It seems foolish to say a man is beautiful, but he was.”
“It dunnae seem foolish to me.” A picture of Alex lying on his back with his head resting on his arm flashed in Lena’s mind. “I think Alex is beautiful,” she said softly.
Marsaili’s eyes grew wide. “Ye like him? Ye truly like him?”
Lena nodded. “I kinnae explain it, but he has somehow made me feel less afraid.”
“Oh, Lena!” Marsaili said, her voice a mixture of happiness and worry. “Guard yer heart,” she implored. “What if he truly does end up betraying the king? Surely, ye kinnae live with a man who would do such a thing? Ye would have to return to Dunvegan.”
Lena scowled at her half sister. “I told ye, Alex would nae forsake the king.”
“I ken ye did, but men are capable of all sorts of treachery. I ken this well.”
“The man ye thought ye loved?” Lena asked, believing Marsaili must be referring to him.
“Oh, aye! Him, my da, many others. The man visited our castle with his da. I’d nae ever had attention from anyone before. I’d been treated little better than a dog by my da, stepmother, and brothers. When he saw me—I mean, truly looked at me—I believe that was all it took for me to fall in love. Or at least I thought I was in love.”
“Who is this man?”
Marsaili shook her head. “I’ll nae say. I see that murderous gleam in yer eye, and I dunnae want ye to seek him out or ask yer husband to do so.”
“I’d nae do that!” Lena exclaimed, though it had been the exact thought that had crossed her mind.
Marsaili offered the semblance of a smile. “Ye are so verra fierce on behalf of those ye love.” Tears brimmed in her half sister’s eyes. “I am so lucky to have received yer loyalty for a time.”
Lena grabbed Marsaili by the hand. “Ye will have my loyalty always.” Marsaili’s only response was to look distantly past Lena. Whatever was bothering Marsaili weighed heavily upon her.
“Tell me what happened,” Lena urged. “Please.”
“’Tis simple,” Marsaili said with a shrug. “He treated me with kindness, which turned to much attention in the time he was at my da’s. He told me he wished to marry me but could nae until he had the approval of his da. He promised to travel home and then return to collect me within a few sennights. I—” Marsaili paused, a deep blush stealing over her face. “I believed him, and I thought myself in love, so I, well, I—” She looked at Lena with such anguish that Lena nodded her understanding so Marsaili would not feel she had to continue.
“Ye gave yer body to him,” Lena said gently.
“Aye. And my heart,” she said dully. “When he did nae return within three fortnights, I feared something had happened to him. I inquired about his family one night, hoping to learn something about him without making my da suspicious. That’s when I learned he had been betrothed to another since he was but a child, and he apparently had married the lass directly after he’d returned to his home. He took my body and my heart, and gave me a child in return,” Marsaili said, a hard look crossing her face.
“A child!” Lena exclaimed. “Ye had a bairn? Where is he or she?”
“I dunnae,” Marsaili replied, biting her lip and looking away. “I believed the bairn died at birth.”
Lena gasped. “What? Why would ye believe that?”
Marsaili shook her head as she furiously wiped at the tears that slid down her face. “I kinnae say more. I must nae.”
“But, Marsaili,” Lena began, but before she could finish her sentence, the pipers started playing loudly, and suddenly, the men and women of Alex’s clan flooded the middle of the great hall to dance.
Lena watched Alex being dragged out to dance by Lara. He was shaking his head, but then he was laughing. If Lena had not still been so shocked at what Marsaili had told her, she would have laughed at her solidly built husband and laird of the clan being maneuvered by a slip of a woman in her yawning years. Alex was just the sort of man, though, to be so thoughtful as to attempt to please his friend’s wife.
A tall, blond warrior she did not know approached the dais. Lena assumed he came to ask Marsaili to dance, as the men surely knew Marsaili was not attached and she was very pretty. So when his green eyes fastened on her instead of her half sister, she was stunned. Then a bolt of anxiety shot to her chest and lodged there.
Even as he spoke, asking her to accompany him to the dance floor and explaining that it was tradition for the laird’s wife to dance with the men from the laird’s guard, Lena battled with her rising panic at the thought of being touched by a strange man, of being encircled in his arms. As three other men approached, she realized with dawning horror that each of them intended to dance with her, as was custom.
She glanced to Marsaili for aid, but one of the guards had already asked her to dance, and Marsaili was rising from the dais to follow the man. To call to her half sister now would only draw attention to her, and the rioting emotions within her would be all too discernible. Five men stood in front of her.
Blast. Six now.
And two more were walking toward her. She wiped her sweaty palms on the skirts of her gown as the man smiled at her and gave her an expectant look.
She could do this. She scanned the room for Alex, but could not find him in the gathered crowd. She had to do this. Didn’t she? She judged the distance from the dais to the door that led out of the great hall. For a moment, she considered racing toward it without explanation, but that would not do. She gulped in several breaths for courage and stood on shaking legs. “One dance each?” she asked the man before her.
“Aye,” he said with a grin. “And at the end of the dances, ye pick the best partner, and he gets the honor of being yer personal guard for the first week as our mistress.”
She didn’t need, nor want, a personal guard. She had Alex, and he was all she needed. The thought both shocked and comforted her. She craned her neck once more looking for a single glimpse of him to give her courage, yet he was nowhere. Moving slowly down the dais, she came to stand in front of the blond man. He was almost as tall as Alex but not as big, and yet, his eyes… All the air sucked out of her lungs. His eyes were almost the exact color Findlay’s had been—a very pale blue. It did not matter that it was a common color, her mind was screaming at her, flashing images of Findlay.
Heat washed over her body as he placed a hand on her back to lead her to the dancing area. Sharp pricks of panic jabbed her arms, legs, and scalp, and no matter how she tried to breathe in air, it would not come.
Three steps into the progress toward the dancers, he turned to her. “My lady, I forgot to present myself. I’m Fardley.”
Fardley, Findlay, Fardley, Findlay. The names rang in her ears and clashed together to make her heart race.
“I cannot,” she murmured, acutely aware that she was on the verge of falling to a million shattered pieces.
“My lady?” he asked, giving her a gentle tug toward the dancers, which served to send her panic to a deafening, thunderous roar. When a couple swung around in their dance, Lena stood immobile from fright as they came toward her. At the last second, Fardley jerked her against him, her body hitting his with a jarring impact.
It was to protect her. She forced the knowledge to the forefront, but the blackness that she had hoped she had banished swallowed the thought into a dark nothingness. “I kinnae dance,” she choked out and tried to shove away from him.
Understanding dawned in his eyes, which made her sigh with relief. But then he gave her a grin, slipped an arm about her waist, and said, “Dunnae fash yerself. I’m an excellent dancer. I’ll lead ye.”
Before she could voice her protest, he swirled her around and lifted her off her feet. That was all it took for the small bit of control she’d maintained to snap like a twig under the weight of his innocent actions.
“Release me!” she cried out, not caring about the people who stopped dancing to gape at her, nor the embarrassment she would cause herself and Alex. She cared for naught but escape. The room was suffocating her. This man suffocated her. The fear had a hold on her that she could not shake.
“Release me!” she demanded again, and when the man did not do so, she reared back and slapped him, just as she had once slapped Findlay, and her mind went immediately to how Findlay had retaliated.