“Aye.” Fiona rubbed at her belly in hopes it would silence.
“They are serving soup downstairs.” He eyed her face, which she was sure gave away her sleepiness. “Were ye asleep?”
She shook her head. “A little. Also reading.”
Brogan raised a brow. “Anything good?”
She shrugged. “Just some things that reminded me of home.”
Brogan offered his arm. “As your husband, I’d be happy to escort ye to the dining room.”
She smiled and slid her hand over his taut arm. “Thank ye, husband.” Just saying the word made her feel as though they shared a secret.
“Was your sleep peaceful?” he inquired.
“Aye.”
“Good.” He patted her hand. “Last night I was worried ye were being chased by demons.”
Fiona looked up in surprise. “I was. How did ye know?”
“Ye were talking in your sleep, lass. I almost woke ye.”
“Next time, please do.” She shuddered at the terrifying images.
“Want to talk about it?”
Fiona started to shake her head but then stopped, because the truth was she did want to talk about it. Very much so.
They descended the stairs, her in front and him behind.
“I was on the battlefield and dragoons were everywhere, hacking away, but they did not have human heads.”
“Demon heads?” At the base of the stairs, his warm hand touched the small of her back as they walked into the dining room. Men lounged at the long tables, and all but one of the tables for two were filled.
Even in the daylight, it smelled just as strongly of ale.
“Aye. Demons.” She glanced around at the strangers. “They’ve a full house now, do they no’?”
“The rain is bringing everyone in off the roads. I’ve a feeling the soup will be thin.”
“Thin or no’, as long as it’s hot.”
“Agreed.” They took their seats at the table. The wall beside her arm was damp and cold, giving Fiona a chill. She glanced around the room, eyeing the new people, wondering if any of them were spies for Cumberland’s men. A woman sat with a man not too far away, her eyes vacant as they locked on Fiona’s. The man across from her was drinking his ale and glaring. Just looking at them had her on high alert. Something about them caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise. And Milla let out a low growl before Brogan silenced her with a snap of his fingers.
Should they be suspicious of the strangers?
Fiona offered the woman a warm smile, but the woman did not smile back. Instead, she frowned and stared down at her own cup of ale before taking a hearty sip. The man belched and called the wench for another round.
At one long table were the men in their party, and at the other were the men who still eyed them with suspicion. Was that the way the world worked now? Where everyone suspected everyone else of being bad in some way?
Fiona picked at one of her nails that was hanging loose.
Brogan drummed his fingers on the table in a slow rhythm. “Are ye all right?” he asked.
Fiona glanced up at him, trying to smile, but the way her lips curled felt false. “Something feels off.”
He nodded. “This whole place feels off.”
She watched him surreptitiously look about the room while he said, “Tell me the rest of your dream.”
Fiona smiled, pretending to be telling him a jovial story in low tones. “Besides being chased by demons and fearing they’d hack my body into a million pieces, I was also witnessing the deaths of the people I care about.”
Brogan shot her a look and reached over the table to squeeze her shoulder. “Bloody hell, lass, that sounds like a terrible dream.”
“Bloody terrible.”
“Ye should wake me next time.”
“What could ye do?” she asked with a shrug.
“Distract ye.”
Before she had a chance to ask just what he meant by that, the server brought over two steaming bowls of soup and planted them on the table. “Assuming ye’ll want bread?” she asked.
“Please,” Fiona replied, making certain to keep up the Irish accent.
The serving wench returned a moment later with two crusty slices, placing them on a plate between them.
“Bottoms up,” Brogan said, dipping his spoon into his bowl.
“A mug of ale?” the wench asked.
“Aye,” Fiona answered as Brogan had a mouth full of soup.
The wench returned a moment later with a jug and two cups, placing them on the table none too carefully, liquid sloshing over the side. She reached to pour, but Brogan stopped her. “We’ve got it, thanks,” he said.
They watched the serving wench go off in a huff and raised their brows at each other, wondering just what in the world was wrong with the woman.
After their meal, they took Milla for a walk about the property, having to make a run for the inn as the sky opened up on them once more. They rushed into the building, heading for the stairs, him taking them two at a time and Fiona trying to keep up. By the time they made it to their room, they were laughing like children.
“Shall we impose the same rules as last night?”
“Aye.” Fiona turned her back on him, tugging out of her clothes and pulling on the oversized shirt she’d worn the night before. Oh, how she’d wanted to peek behind her, but already caught doing so once, she didn’t want to push it.
“Are ye done, lass?”
“Aye,” she said breathlessly, taking his question as a cue to turn around.
Again he was draped in the sheet, and there was something so very intimate in the way they stood there together like this, barely dressed. Everything prickled and she hoped he didn’t see that her nipples had tightened beneath the shirt. She crossed her arms, trying to hide the evidence of her desire for him, but the mischievous rogue raised an eyebrow and said, “Cold?”
Fiona nodded, not trusting her own voice.
“A glass of wine, then? Mayhap that will help to warm ye. Come stand by the fire too.” Heat edged his words, enough to warm her without getting closer to the flames.
Was he feeling the spark of desire as much as she was?
Fiona sat on the floor before the hearth, watching his movements, marveling at the way his muscles rippled as he shifted. He poured them each a cup of wine and then handed her one as he sat beside her.
The heat of his body seeped into hers, and she started to feel warm. What would it be like if she leaned into his naked skin, felt the brush of that chest on her?