Chapter 3
I love this dream. The feel of him behind me, holding me, and strong hands moving to caress me, it is pure ecstasy. Stretching my neck deeper into the pillow, his warm mouth finally finds me. His soft kisses and soft groans of delight whisper into my ear, and heat builds as his hands roam my body freely, moving up my stomach to gently cover my breast. Want like I have never known fills my being. I’m wearing way too many clothes in this dream.
His gentle hands push away my sweater. My lungs fill with air to push my flesh fully into his hands, all the while I’m whimpering as sparks course through my body. When his thumb finds my hardened peak, even through my tank top, a soft cry escapes my lips. His touch circles, demands that I feel him, as if my body has always waited for his touch. I push back into his front, asking for more and needing everything his touches promises. I know this dream. Now he speaks the one phrase that erases my inhibitions . . .
“Ahhh, lass, you smell of sweet summer berries.” Ian groaned into her ear.
That is not what my dream man says. He also doesn’t have whiskers. Claire’s eyes opened with a start, seeing grass, rocks, and a rough blanket. Before she could react, Ian’s hand switched to the other breast, causing her to make a noise she did not believe she was capable of making.
I need to stop this. Wait, why do I need to stop this? His hands feel so good, so warm. He smells like heaven.
Claire whimpered in disappointment as his hands moved down to her stomach and fingertips danced in small circles as they found the top of her pants. His hand searched for and quickly found the skin her clothing hid. Moving slowly, painfully slowly, his warm fingers dipped into her waistband.
That’s why this stops. “Ian, move your hand now.” She did her best to suppress the whimper while she said it.
Circling his fingers once again over her stomach while moving his lips and tongue over her neck, he asked, “Like this, lass?” Ian’s voice was barely a husky whisper.
Forcing the words to come, Claire spoke with a hitch in her voice. “Remove your hand, now, Ian.” Surprisingly, he did. She rolled away and rose to her feet on shaky legs.
Why would I react to him like that? I never respond like that in real life, not ever. It took all of her concentration to straighten her clothing and calm her breathing. How dare he violate my favorite dream? Isn’t he engaged or something? It wasn’t enough to be stuck here. Oh no, not enough. Well, I’m not going to put up with this. Pivoting to face Ian and with a voice that was not as steady as she would have liked, she demanded, “What in the hell were you doing? I was asleep and you, you . . .”
“Forgive me, lass. ‘Twas cold, and I was merely looking for a warm place for my hands,” Ian said with an inviting smile on his face.
Well, there’s a good morning slap in the face. She glared at the man as she spoke. “Warm your hands? Warm your hands! What in the hell is wrong with you? Warm your hands?” She searched for the right words and felt certain when she found them. Staring at his ridiculous grin, she said, “This is how you treat me? I saved your life twice. I am probably stuck here forever, and you treat me like a, like a . . . a hand warmer?” Then she added with vehemence, “And I did not offer you anything.”
Ian’s face fell. She had hit him right in his pride. Speaking quickly, he said, “I am not a man to take advantage of a sleeping woman. Claire, I meant no insult, truly. We were both sleeping. ‘Twas an accident, and it will nay happen again.” Ian shifted to stand while groaning uncomfortably.
“Serves you right,” Claire mumbled as she stormed into the trees. Some of her anger faded as she heard Ian’s soft laughter at her comment.
Pushing through the foliage, the horrible apology raced through her mind. “‘Twas merely an accident. I was sleeping too,” he had said. “My hands were cold, and you were warm. It meant nothing that I touched you like that, that you enjoyed me touching you like that. Meant nothing at all. You were just warm, not an attractive and desirable woman, nope, just warm. It won’t happen again. I would never touch you like that if I were conscious.”
She groaned as she realized she had to go back and face him. I’ve got two choices: embarrassment or abandonment. Both options suck.
At that moment, Claire decided two very important things: first, she hated peeing the woods, and second, she hated the voice in her head even more.
She found Ian waiting by the horse. There was little trace that they had even been there. No trace of what had almost happened. The black bag was waiting in his hands. “Come, Claire. We should set out. We can stop to break our fast when we find fresh water.” Ian handed her the hairband he had removed earlier. Claire quickly put her hair up without meeting his gaze.
At least we aren’t going to talk about it. Accepting his help to mount, she then took her bag. Ian surprised her by placing the blanket around her like a giant shawl. “Thank you.” Shocked by the gesture, it was all she could think of to say. So much for holding onto my righteous anger. Anger would have been easier. Apologetic, nice behavior is not easy.
“The air still has the morning chill. This will keep you warm.” He moved to settle in behind her. Ian held her as he had the day before, around the waist. As he leaned in for one last smell of her hair, he said, “You do smell like sweet summer berries.” Without any hesitation, he placed a kiss to the side of her head.
“Let’s just go, Ian.” She hoped he had not seen the smile on her face. The grin she felt against her hair dashed the notion of not being caught.
Claire was surprised at how quickly the morning had passed, given the way the day had started. She worked hard to ignore the body wrapped around hers as they rode on the horse. Ian held her a bit too close as they traveled, and she was dismayed that her body enjoyed the contact. Her mind decided that focusing on Ian was probably easier than focusing on when and where the previous day had left her stuck.
They stopped mid-morning to eat and refill the water bottle. Traveling at a slower pace, they talked, awkwardly at first, but then Claire had asked him to describe his lands and home. Ian spoke with such passion and pride. He told her about the people she would meet and their stories and lives, the farmlands waiting to be planted, the village nestled below the keep and the families who lived there, all who depended on him. The keep had been rebuilt in stone, completed by his great-grandfather. This was a luxury as most were still made of wood. When Ian spoke of warm baths and large fireplaces, she looked forward to the end of this journey. Claire could tell there was more, something he wasn’t telling her. It didn’t seem to matter. What she heard most was the sense of pride, his feeling of responsibility, and the desire to be there. When Ian spoke of all these things, she was surprised to realize she wished to see it, too.
Ian knew their conversation was safer than the acknowledgment of how fine Claire felt in his arms. He almost believed he held her tightly to keep her from falling off the horse and not because his body craved hers. Ian forced away the memory of how fine she had felt in his arms at dawn. He was still dismayed at what he had done; she had made no offer, yet he had attempted to take her. There was no apology that would make that better. Claire had saved his life, and his debt would be paid.
She was so eager to listen to what he said. In truth, Ian could not remember passing so many words with one woman. As they journeyed, Ian pointed out the landmarks and how he found their path. He spoke of home, and she listened and questioned the details of everyday life.
Claire spoke of her mother with grand tales that made him laugh. The tales of Brooke were even better. Ian did not understand all of her words, but gathered their meaning. She was educated in a manner he could not believe. So many years with tutors and still seeking more knowledge, that was a trait he admired. She was a woman willing to work for what she wanted. In a very different situation, he knew she would be a fine lass to bring home.
“Hopefully the rain will pass soon,” Ian said, hoping to cheer her. It was past midday, and the sky had grown dark. Wind, rain, and thunder were the only sounds they heard. Stopping for a quick break, Claire made her way into the trees.
As she joined him again by the horse, she heard a sound in the distance, and he identified it. “Horses, many of them, and riding fast.” Ian knew they couldn’t outrun them, not with both of them on his tired beast. “Quickly, lass, into the woods.”
Running for the cover of the trees, they waited and watched eleven men ride past them. If one had bothered to look to the right, they would have been seen, as the leaves were not yet fully open. Fortune hid them.
After the men had passed, Claire asked, “Was that them? Did you recognize anyone?” She was shaking.
“I believe ‘twas the same group, but ‘tis hard to ken for certain. We need to change our course. I dinna wish to ride into their backs.” Ian could see her discomfort and felt his own, her shaking due not only to the cold rain, but also to the fear of pursuit. Making camp would be risky and difficult given the weather. Placing Claire back on the horse and wrapping them both in the blanket, with what little protection it offered, they took a different path.
The storm continued and worsened, gusts knocking down branches, water falling in buckets, cold rain mixed with cold wind. The dark of night had arrived early. Ian could only focus on what he hoped was the trail. Claire was too quiet. They had not spoken for a while. He could feel her shake with cold and heard the sound of her teeth chattering, not hidden despite her valiant effort. Ian was not much better himself. They needed shelter and quickly. A cave would have been perfect. They had passed many this morning, and with the rocky terrain behind them, Ian was losing hope for more.
Perched on a hill, they saw the lights of a small village in the distance. With little choice, they headed into the valley. Ian had hopes for an inn. His purse had been taken from him during his capture, but there were a few coins in his saddlebag. He prayed they would be enough to cover their costs for the night.
Once again fortune smiled on him as he saw the beaten sign of the tavern. Tying the horse out front, they stepped to the door. “Claire, I need you to not speak and to keep your clothing covered from sight with the blanket. I will obtain what we need; a dry chamber and a hot meal.” Hoping for an empty room, they entered.
Claire blinked in the light. It wasn’t bright, but after what seemed like of hours riding in the dark, it hurt her eyes a little. Shivering and wrapped in a wet blanket with her bag in hand, she took in her surroundings. The wooden building shook in the gusty winds. The massive fireplace against the far wall sputtered a bit from the storm. A fire! She started walking toward it only to be pulled back to Ian’s side. “Dinna leave my side, nay here, nay now.” Those words were a command and not a request.
Pulling the blanket closer, she realized it was very quiet. The men here were all staring at them, as were the few women. Claire took it in, observing. I’ve been in some dive bars, but this is so past that. This was just different. The men, filthy in rough looking pants and shirts, and the women in long, low-cut dresses were just as bad. They must be like waitresses showing a bit of cleavage for tips. This place is almost as bad as the clientele. The wood floor appeared as if it had never been swept, and the tables with benches were chunky at best. A curtain moved in the back and changed her focus.
An older man approached them. He looked as beaten down as the rest of them. He spoke to Ian. “Well, now, what do you want?” His voice was gruff as he took in the sight of them.
“A room and a meal for myself and my wife.” Ian held Claire firmly by the waist. The hard look of his face ensured she did not question the lie. “Are you the man I should be dealing with?”
“I am Thomas. ‘Tis my inn. And aye, there is one left,” he said, pointing up the stairs. “End of the hall, left side. How long will you be wanting it?”
“I need the room for the whole night. Is that something you can give me?” Ian asked while giving Claire a hard glance, which said not to ask the question.
“It will cost you, but I can manage. Quiet night with the storms, and I dinna expect to see many more men tonight,” Thomas answered.
Claire noticed they seemed to be haggling over cost and what would be provided. Apparently nothing came with the room; sheets and blankets were all part of the bargaining. She smiled, despite being freezing in wet clothes; Ian had asked for wine, refusing the ale. Finally, someone paid attention.
Ian shifted his grip to dig in his bags, frowning at the few coins in his hand, and he took in their surroundings. His eyes were not pleased with what they saw. She knew they were too exposed and out in the open. The men in this place were not to be trusted for a second.
“Thomas, would you take something in trade? My coin is lighter than expected.” The men simply stared at one another.
After a little hesitation, Thomas said, “Aye, that would do, provided it could be sold.” Claire recognized the challenge. The man wanted something of greater value than his services provided. On a night such as this, his room had greater value, and he knew it.
Ian dug in his bag, searching for anything. She touched his arm and placed her bracelet in his hands. Ian initially tried to push it back at her. She gave him a small smile and squeezed his hand. It was all the permission he needed.
Handing it to Thomas, Ian said, “I expect a bit of coin in return for this.” The man stared at his good fortune and handed Ian a few coins.
From the frown Ian gave, she knew it was not nearly enough change. Claire whispered to Ian, “Just take it. It’s fine. We need to be here and out of the weather. Right now I would trade just about anything to be warm.” Offering a reassuring smile was difficult. Even indoors, her teeth still chattered.
With water dripping from his hair, Ian looked her in the eye. “I need to see to the horse, and I want you to . . .”
Finishing the thought, Claire said, “I’m going with you.” They walked back out into the foul weather.
The room was easy to find. The stairs came up the middle of the second floor, and a torch hanging off the wall lit their way. A corridor led to the right and theirs to the left. The door at the end was open. Walking in, they found Thomas had lit a small fire and was placing linens on the bed. He said, “The meal and drink will be here shortly.” Then he was gone.
Claire took in the small, dirty room. It was dark, but she could smell the dirt; it was like the smell of filthy bodies, earth, old food, stale beer, and something else that had no name. A metal grate on the floor held the fire, and the walls let in the cold wind. The room held two stools and a beaten-up small table and one bed with a battered wooden frame, bound by ropes with a thin kind of mattress on top. The door was barely a door, more like wooden planks bound by more rope with plenty of gaps in between.
This place is disgusting. It’s like something out of a bad dream or a crazy movie. This place is simply scary. Yeah, that’s the word. I’m so far out of my comfort zone. Let’s face it. My comfort zone is on a permanent vacation. It left with rational thought and what should be, and they have taken hygiene along for the ride.
The only positive was that the room was dry.
Ian spoke as Claire cringed. “The bed is yours, Claire. One room is for the best. I believe it safer for us not to be separated, not here anyway. There is nay a lock on the door and ‘tis nay a fine place.”
That was one statement Claire did not need. Not a fine place? Really, not a fine place? That much was painfully obvious. The main room was missing a few people when they returned. The sounds coming from the other rooms gave them away. She asked, “Ian, is this place what I think it is?”
Please tell me it’s not. Please tell me my imagination is working overtime. I don’t want to be where I think I am. I want to be at home, I’d even settle for the home you spoke of, but not here.
Ian’s chuckle answered for him. “‘Tis nay a place one would bring his wife if that is what you mean.” Instead of further explanation, he handed over a cloth and motioned for Claire to dry her hair. “However, the room is somewhat warm and dry and all we could find. I would have preferred a different place as well. We will have to make the best of it. A night in this weather would nay have worked. It is too cold and too wet. We will eat, get some rest, and continue on the morrow, early, verra early.” With that for an answer, Ian started drying his own hair.
“Come, lass, by the fire. You are drenched, and I can hear your teeth.” Claire moved to join him by the warmth of the flames. He removed the wet blanket and tossed it into the corner. “Still you shiver. Remove your wet clothing, I will find you something dry.” With a quick reach into the saddlebags, Ian offered her a dry shirt and said, “It may nay be the cleanest but ‘tis dry.” Placing the shirt in Claire’s hands, he started to help her remove her sweater.
Gently pushing the overly helpful hands away, Claire said, “I can manage myself. Would you mind turning around?”
Okay, dry clothes are a good start. Warm and dry are good things. I can survive one night here, right? The disgusting will eventually wash off me. I hope they have soap at his home. Has someone invented soap yet? If they have, it hasn’t caught on here. But the shirt smells good. The shirt smells like Ian.
With a quick grin, Ian moved toward the bed and turned. He needed to remove his wet things also. He tried to focus on his own needs, removing his clothing, drying himself, and wrapping the course sheet around his waist, willing himself not to hear her wet clothing hitting the floor, not listening to the sounds of the drying sheet warming her body and certainly not mixing those images with the sounds of passion, or what passed for passion here. Bunching the sheet in the front, he waited for permission to turn.
Claire finally spoke. “You can turn around now. All done.”
The sight that greeted him was a fine one. Her back was to him, and she faced the fire. The shirt covered her to the knees and the outline of her womanly form was visible due to the flames. Ian’s breath left him in a whoosh of air. When Claire turned to face him, her hair unbound, a drying cloth in hand, and more of her figure revealed to him, his body sucked the air back in with force.
“Are you all right?” Claire asked with a voice filled with concern.
“Fine, I am fine,” Ian lied through gritted teeth. “Just cold, Claire, just cold.” He moved slowly to join her, afraid the urge to pounce on the woman would win. Taking her hands, they felt warmer, but not warm enough. He rubbed hers within his own, keeping his full concentration on her hands, not looking to see what the lacing of the shirt on her body would reveal. He felt her flinch. That’s when he noticed her bruises. “Your hands, the backs are bruised. You should have told me you were injured.”
Claire answered, “They’re fine. I bruise easily. It’s from the hitting and the blocking and the fighting. It doesn’t matter. They’ll fade quickly.” Her eyes closed on her last words.
“Try not to think on it, lass. ‘Tis done. Whoever trained you would be pleased at your skill.” Ian wondered out loud, “Who trained you? Do all women of your place have such skill?” He knew he had found the right question as Claire’s smile returned.
“Michael trained me, I guess. He owns the place where I work. They do this there, teach people to defend themselves. Most do it for exercise and for fun, not for . . .” Her voice trailed off, not willing to say “for killing.” “Anyway, most don’t. But my Dad thought it was important. We used to do the classes together before he died.”
There had been little mention of Claire’s father in any detail yet. “Tell me how you gained such ability.” Ian’s goal was to keep her talking and get her mind off of the battle and death.
“I wanted to go to the mall with Brooke and no parents. My dad was a bit overprotective. We argued about what I could and couldn’t do alone. Somehow we ended up with me taking self-defense classes. When we went to sign up, Michael talked my dad into more, something for both of us. We started going twice a week together. It was nice, that time just me and Dad.”
Claire continued. “After Dad died, it was Michael who talked me into continuing. Said it would make my father proud. Said I should never quit and that I still needed to be strong. So I stayed. Then Mom took me and watched every class from instruction to sparring.” With a pause to blink back tears at the memory, Claire continued, “When I was sixteen, we ran into some financial problems.” She noted Ian’s blank stare. “Money problems, a lack of coin?” Ian’s nod prompted the continuation. “We just couldn’t keep making the payments. It was kind of expensive.”
Her tale continued with Michael not letting her quit. Offering her a job after school, at the front desk, answering phones, greeting people, and sometimes explaining the classes to potential customers. The best part was all the classes she could take were included at no cost with the job.
Claire explained the job didn’t pay great and it was only twenty hours per week. With both her mom and her working, they still couldn’t cover their expenses. They were practical and sold the big house, the one next door to Brooke’s family, and moved to a smaller place in a different neighborhood.
After high school, Claire stayed and started full time. Michael’s wife had just had a baby, and she didn’t want to do his paperwork anymore. She wanted to stay home with baby Jake. Claire took over the office work and loved the accounting part. The numbers just made sense to her. She found ways to cut costs and help Michael finance an expansion. Plus, her training continued. She also took college classes, one or two at a time, at the community college. There was a focus there, too—accounting. She had found her calling.
This was a story Ian could follow. “How far did your training go, Claire?”
“I have two stripes on my black belt.”
The pride was obvious in Claire’s voice. “And ‘tis a fine thing?” Ian asked, not sure of what such a ranking would mean.
“Yes, that is a fine thing. Not many go that far. I never would have on my own. Michael kept pushing and refused to let me stop.” Claire’s eyes smiled at him as she remembered.
“Your Da would be proud, I am sure of it.” Then Ian asked out of curiosity, “What was your father’s name?”
“Michael.” Claire offered an explanation, “My father was Michael, and the name of the man I worked for was also named Michael. It’s a very common name.” She took Ian’s nod as understanding for the similarities.
A knock at the door interrupted their quiet conversation. Ian rose in a flash to stand in front of Claire, blocking her from sight with his sword in hand. The lass was hardly dressed to be viewed by any, and he had sworn to protect her. With a harsh tone, he asked, “What?” in response to the knock.
The door opened with a push from Thomas’ shoulders, his hands full with the tray of food and drink. “The meal you paid for is ready.” He didn’t hesitate while heading for the table, as an armed man wrapped in a sheet apparently gave the owner little cause for concern. Setting the tray down on the waiting table, Thomas turned to leave as quickly as he had entered. Stopping at the door and without turning to face Ian, he said, “Be smart this night and stay in the chamber. I can nay be responsible if you leave your wife untended.”
Relaxing the stance of a warrior poised for battle, Ian replied, “I have no intention of doing so. However, I appreciate the warning.” Ian wondered at the implication as Thomas left with no further comment.
“Why would he say something like that?” Claire asked.
Turning to face the question, Ian jested, “Mayhap Thomas believes I would leave you untended while seeking out one of his women.” Seeing the shock cross her features, Ian continued, “Or mayhap the man has some decency. ‘Tis not a place fit for a fine woman like yourself.” He left out the worst thought, wondering if Thomas knew more than he revealed.
The smell of warm food changed Ian’s thoughts. He motioned for Claire to rise and move her stool to the table, letting out a laugh at the sound of her stomach rumbling. Ian said, “Aye, I am hungry as well.” The meal was some kind of stew, bread, and a piece of cheese, not much, but it would suffice. A clay pitcher that held the wine, with two somewhat grungy pottery cups, completed the offering.
Ian moved the other stool to sit at her side, keeping Claire on his right; he offered her the first bowl. Noticing her stare, he wiped the cups with his worn linen, poured some wine, and then offered her the first cup. Ian broke off some bread and, using his dagger, gave her half the cheese. He started on his meal, and the silence continued. With the meal finished, there was still no conversation. Concerned that the joke about paying for a woman had caused the silence, he said, “I am nay the type of man who would pay for companionship, Claire. ‘Twas meant to add humor.”
“What? Oh that? Of course not, why would you?” Claire didn’t care for her tone. The casual note she had intended had gotten lost. Looking at Ian from the corner of her eye, she doubted a man like him ever had to do anything less than smile at a woman. He was simply beautiful; he had big green eyes, dark lashes, thick midnight hair falling to his shoulders, and an incredible muscular build. She hated beards, but even his long stubble looked good. The previously broken nose had healed a little crooked. Imperfection leading to perfection. Broad shoulders, a muscular chest lightly covered with the same dark hair. That is no six pack. It has to be at least an eight or ten pack. How is that even possible? Ian probably had women offering themselves constantly, and who could blame them?
And I’m sitting here, in this place, eating with him, wearing only his shirt while he wears a sheet.
She shuddered, hoping it was from the cold.
Noticing her discomfort, Ian walked to the bed and brought back the blanket that had been left for them and draped it over her shoulders. “Lass, move your stool closer to the fire. You must still have a chill.”
Stunned and willing herself into action, Claire stood up. “First, we need to get our things dry. Lying on the floor will not help.” She moved the tray off the table and set it in the corner. Turning the table on its side, the legs now served as a drying rack. Ian handed her his clothes, and hanging them, she started chuckling, feeling the wet leather of his pants. She now knew what was worse than a wet thong.
“My wet trews amuse you?” Ian asked.
“Not really, just getting tired.” No way am I was sharing that thought.
Ian added softly, “Forgive me. There should have been no need for you to provide for us this night. While my clan is nay wealthy, I will see your jewelry replaced.”
Smiling at the offer, Claire replied, “I meant what I said downstairs. There is very little I wouldn’t have traded for some warmth.”
Ian surprised her. “It had great value to you.”
Claire sighed as she replied, “My mother gave it to me when I graduated high school. Her mother, my grandmother, had given it to her for the same reason years ago. I have no idea if it was real silver or just pretty. But it was going to be the start of a tradition.” She paused to look at Ian as she spoke. “I appreciate you wanting to replace it, but you can’t. Let’s just call it done.”
“‘Tis nay finished. I see only pain in your eyes at the loss of something so dear to your heart.” He picked up his dagger and held it out for Claire to see. “‘Tis the way of my people to pass items through the generations, too. This dagger was carried by the first man to call himself the Draig Laird.” He showed Claire the dragon wrapping around the handle, a head on the top and the bottom of the beast. “This came to me from my mother’s hands. The tales say that every Draig laird has given this dagger to the woman who captured his heart. Someday I hope to see it placed in the hand of my son to give to the woman who captures his heart.” Wrapping his hand around hers, Ian continued, “I can feel your loss this night. You had hoped to do the same for your daughter, to give her a piece of your life. ‘Tis a fine thing to ken your cherished items will be cherished by those who come after you.” His green gaze bore into hers. “I swear this now, you will have your jewelry back.”
Stunned by the sincerity in his tone and how much Ian had just shared, Claire covered their joined hands with her other hand. “Thank you, Ian.” Sitting next to him in front of the fire, she felt her body relax despite their location. She enjoyed the warmth of his hand until grunts and groans from the next room broke their comfortable silence.
Shifting uncomfortably, she was again aware of how little they wore and was very grateful for the blanket she now wrapped a little tighter around herself.
Ian interrupted the awkward moment. “I am surprised you told me of your money problems. ‘Tis nay something many would speak of to anyone.”
“I never saw it as something to be embarrassed about. It happened. There was no fault. Our world simply changed after Dad died. Besides, it’s over now. Mom’s pay improved significantly two years ago. Then she met David, and now it doesn‘t matter. My stepfather has plenty of coin.”
“So that is why she remarried.” Ian’s statement was full of confidence.
Claire practically yelled her next words. “No! I hate when people assume that. The money had nothing to do with it. They met, and they enjoyed each other. My mom didn’t know he had money until after they were engaged. David didn’t want someone like that, someone who wanted him only for what he could buy. They married because they love each other, the way it should be.” After her small tirade was finished, she realized her mistake. Ian was marrying for money and nothing else. “I’m sorry, I’m not judging. Things are different in my place and time. At least for most they are. I’m sure your reasons are perfect for this time.” She paused to gauge any reaction. “Really, I’m sorry. I don’t want to offend you.”
Taking a long drink from his cup, Ian stared into the fire. “You dinna offend. You are speaking truth. A man and woman should wed by choice, nay the way I am going about it.” The sadness was all too clear in Ian’s reply.
“Then why are you? Is it that bad financially, I mean, with coin at home?” Hers was a question that shouldn’t be asked.
“I have no choice. If I did, I would nay have agreed to such a thing. I have been raised to want more. I wanted a companion in my wife, someone to help me care for my clan. I wanted a wife who would wish to spend quiet evenings with me before the fire talking and maybe even dreaming out loud. I wished for children that would not only be heirs, but also be blessings to be shared. I wished for the love and passion every man truly seeks. I wished for a great many things, but that is not the path I walk. I have never voiced these thoughts before.”
“Then why are you marrying her?” She had never heard anything more eloquent or more heartfelt. Claire felt his pain for what he chose not to have, the things that mirrored her own desires and wants for life.
“My clan needs the coin. We are behind in our taxes, mayhap a year or more,” Ian said. “The last several winters have been hard and the summers not fine for my crops. My stores are nearly depleted, and if we have another hard winter, my people may starve.”
Claire could only stare in response. She knew what it was to be broke but not like this. Broke meant a small apartment, doing without luxuries, and a secondhand prom dress, not a slow death.
“I provide all for the clan and most for the village. ‘Tis my fault we are in this situation. I should have paid more attention, should have focused on my accounts. Mayhap this could have been avoided and prevented. I dinna ken, and it does nay truly matter. The bride’s dowry will pay my taxes and provide for this winter, and we will start fresh and hopefully do it better. I have nay your skill with numbers, lass. I tend to avoid the work I should be doing.” He glanced guiltily at Claire. “Such things I have also never spoken before, just ken I am aware of my faults.”
“I could look at your books. Maybe I could help find something you missed,” Claire offered.
Ian shook his head. “Nay, you will be a guest. It would be wrong to ask this of you.”
“Considering I’m to be a somewhat permanent guest, I am happy to help. Besides, I’ll need something to do. I need a purpose, a reason to get up in the morning. Really, I think this will help me more than it helps you.” Claire looked at Ian, hoping for his approval.
A job will keep me focused, I need a purpose.
A genuine smile crossed Ian’s face. “Then my books are yours for as long as you would like to manage them.”
Claire’s returned smile was his reward. Instantly, he knew he would do anything she asked. Ian also noted her tired eyes. The cold and hard travel had taken their toll. She needed to rest and to sleep. His eyes found her bruised hands holding her cup, so many bruises, some to save him and some to save herself. It dawned on him then. I am not only a fool, but also an arse. No wonder she stormed away from me this morning. Two men attacked her, both intent on raping her. I am no better. He thought back to the way he had touched Claire while she slept just hours later, lost in her lush curves pressed against his body. His need had flared to life before he had truly woken. There had been no thought of what she had been through. He tried to take what had not been offered. How could I have been so blind! Ian had always thought himself better than that. I will be better . . . starting now.
Speaking softly, he said, “Enough talking tonight, lass, and into the bed with you. It has been a hard day, and tomorrow we ride until we reach my lands. It will be another long day in the saddle. But tomorrow night you will sleep in a clean chamber safe within my walls after a fine meal and a hot bath. This I vow to you.”
Claire’s eyes lowered to her cup. “All of that sounds really great.” She paused, shifting her gaze to the dirty floor. “You need to sleep, too.”
Ian smiled at her thoughtfulness. “I will, before the fire. I wish to stay awake until this place quiets for the night, just to be safe.” He knew instinctively that he could not leave her alone if he shared the bed. There was only so much temptation a man could bear. Claire was temptation wrapped in his own shirt. The pleasure of her company before the fire was one he would treasure. She is such an amazing lass, yet not one meant for me.
“Let me know if you want me to keep watch so you can sleep.” Claire’s eyes darted to the flimsy door.
“Your offer is kind, but nay, I will sleep here soon enough. Pleasant dreams.”
Claire rose quietly, making her way to the bed. Ian watched as she carefully placed one sheet to cover the filthy mattress.
“I have no excuse for my actions this morn. Sleep at peace. I vow to leave you undisturbed.” Ian heard her intake of breath at the statement. He turned to see her, and for just a moment their eyes met across the room. In a rush, it all came back to him, the passion too easily kindled in the quiet of dawn. He offered her a small smile as he remembered the rest, the many reasons to leave her alone. Ian turned back to the fire as he listened to her settle on the bed. Never had he realized that taking the correct path could be so hard.