She swallowed hard when he lifted the shirt, revealing his bare arse, before she whirled around.
Dear God, the man was incredibly built. Even his behind was full of muscle.
She tugged off her wet garments with trembling fingers and turned around to make sure he wasn’t looking before she peeled off the last layer and stood naked before the hearth. The fire warmed her skin, which felt soggy from the rain. She closed her eyes a moment, letting the warmth of the flames soak into her body.
There was a hiss of breath, and her eyes flew open. Brogan still faced away, but that didn’t mean that he hadn’t seen her.
“Were ye looking?” she asked.
“Nay,” he said too quickly.
She grabbed the shirt and tugged it over her head. “Liar. I’m dressed now.”
He turned around slowly, his eyes heavy-lidded with the same intense look on his face she’d seen when he wanted to kiss her. The sheet was draped around his hips and tied at the side, leaving his entire torso bare. Taut muscles on his belly broadened into his chest and wide shoulders. A light sprinkling of dark hair covered his chest and tapered as it drew into the sheet. A noticeable bulge from between his hips had her biting the inside of her cheek.
The man was beautifully built. Unfairly so. Staring at him, taking him in, Fiona wanted to touch every part. And the last thing she was allowed to do was just that.
She sat down heavily on the bed, knees up, tucking the shirt around her legs so that the only things showing were her hands and toes. The move was more for her than for him, to stop herself from walking forward and pressing the flats of her palms to his chest, running fingers over the muscles of his broad shoulders, pulling away the sheet that hid the hard part of him she wanted so much to conquer her.
“Dinna pretend that ye were no’ looking either, lass.”
She’d watched him undress and blatantly ogled his naked chest. There was no use in denying it. Fiona shrugged but said nothing, and he chuckled.
“Good night,” she said, slipping beneath the covers.
“Night, lass.” Brogan blew out the candle, though the fire still emitted some light.
Fiona watched him from the bed as he settled onto the floor, shifting so she could see him better. They’d slept near each other for countless nights, and yet the intimacy of being in a bedchamber together was incredibly different. There was no one else in the room. No one to stop them from doing whatever they wanted. No one except for themselves.
This being their “wedding night,” the men likely expected them to be sleeping in the same bed. Kissing. Touching.
Heat suffused her face, and a tingle of desire raced over her skin. Would she mind if Brogan climbed into bed with her?
“Here,” she said, tossing him a pillow, which hit him on the shoulder. Giving him that took away any excuse to invite him to bed so he could have a pillow.
Brogan chuckled. “Thanks.”
He adjusted the pillow beneath his head and let out a loud yawn, stretching an arm out and then flopping it over his eyes in exhaustion. His yawn was contagious and soon Fiona was also drawing in breath, eyes watering at the strength of it.
“Go to sleep,” he said. “I can hear ye moving around.”
She smiled into the dim light, rolling over so she could no longer see him and hoping that helped to take away any distractions so she could succumb to sleep.
Falling into unconsciousness wasn’t hard, but her dreams were vivid and disturbing, waking her throughout the night and causing her to feel as though she’d hardly slept at all. More than once she’d found herself sitting up, considering sliding down onto the floor with Brogan if only to have his nearness to soothe her worries.
Her dreams were plagued with visions from the battlefield, of seeing her friends hacked down by demons dressed in red coats. Then she was running, being chased by a horde of the undead who brandished their swords at her. When she finally reached safety, the door burst open to reveal Annie and the soldiers she’d been healing, slaughtered in a terrifying pile of bodies.
At last Fiona could take the nightmares no more, waking in a cold sweat and shivering from terror. If Brogan offered her the whisky flask right now, she was certain she’d drain it. She swiped at a tear rolling from the corner of her eye, sending up a prayer that her friends were safe.
She stared at the small window, watching as the darkness faded to gray. Milla shuffled over and started to bop her cold, wet nose against Fiona’s.
“I got her,” Brogan said.
Fiona turned over to see him stand up and start to get dressed near the door.
“Are your clothes dry?” she asked.
“Mostly. Take your time. The rain is still pelting down. I’ve a feeling we may be here another night.”
Another night in this room. It had taken an effort for her not to reach for him this night. How was she going to control herself a second?
Eleven
The rain pounded the earth in thick droves, making it hard to see beyond five feet. There’d not been a moment’s break from it. Outside, the ground was so soggy that when Fiona stepped into the grass, her entire boot was swallowed by mud. These were no conditions in which to travel, and if the prince was smart, he and his entourage were likely hunkered down too.
The men bided their time taking care of the horses and playing games of cards between mugs of ale and napping. Fiona joined them, even taking in and dishing out the ribbing that had come with being a part of their brotherhood. They spent an exceptional amount of time on her accent, pitting her and Fin against each other if only to see them argue in loud Irish brogues.
Perhaps this was Mother Nature’s way of making certain they all got the rest they needed, as well as the companionship. The horses certainly appreciated the break, Fiona was sure.
She stepped back inside, stomping her feet and shaking the rain from her cloak. She’d need to set it before the fire again to dry.
The tavern was still filled with men who’d been there when they arrived, along with a few new guests who’d sought shelter from the storm. Fiona tried to join the men in a game of cards, but they were so bloody competitive, she gave up.
Alone in her chamber, she read letters from friends she kept hidden in the lining of her skirts.
Hours later, a knock sounded at the door and, bleary-eyed from having fallen asleep, she blinked, trying to process the sound. A few letters lay open on her chest. Setting them aside, she threw her legs over the edge of the bed and opened the door to find Brogan standing in the corridor with Milla, who was wagging her tail in excitement.
Brogan grinned. “Are ye hungry, lass?”
Her stomach rumbled since she’d not yet eaten a thing, and Brogan looked down toward her belly with a humorous grin.