That was when he’d realized that she’d somehow slipped into his heart and made a home there. Because Conall had stayed there in their room with her, uncaring what was going on outside the bedchamber door. Deagh Fhortan had been his only concern these twelve years since gaining his spurs, but with Claray sick and possibly dying, he hadn’t cared at all about his childhood home. If it had crumbled around their ears, he could and would build another home for them. He could not build another Claray.
“Ye never did say whether ye prefer Conall, or Bryson, husband,” Claray said suddenly, pulling him from his thoughts.
Giving his head a shake, he moved his bishop and then glanced at her before admitting, “I’m more used to Conall and have come to prefer it after being called that fer twenty-two years,” he said slowly, and then added, “But Bryson is the name me parents gave me, and I feel I should honor that, so I’m undecided which to go by.”
Claray nodded with apparent understanding, and said, “Then I shall just address ye as husband until ye’ve decided.”
Conall was smiling faintly at that decision when she added, “Or mayhap I could use endearments.”
Eyes widening slightly, he raised his eyebrows. “Such as?”
Claray seemed to consider the matter briefly, and then shook her head. “I am no’ sure. I can no’ call ye lovey, ’twould confuse me wolf.”
His gaze followed hers to the huge beast whose ears had pricked up and whose head had lifted at her use of his name. Conall silently sent up a prayer of thanks that the endearment lovey was taken and wouldn’t be used on him. He couldn’t even bear to call the wolf that. It was just too undignified for such a majestic beast, and—he’d like to think—for himself too.
“Let me see,” Claray said now, tilting her head up and peering toward the ceiling thoughtfully. “I could call ye me honey sweet.”
Conall’s eyes widened with horror at the thought of her calling him that in front of the men.
“Or my own heart’s root,” she added.
Now he grimaced. It was a common endearment, but the root part always made him think of a cock for some reason.
“My sweeting is nice,” Claray commented.
“Nay,” Conall said quickly, and when she looked at him with surprise, he tried to cover his horror at the thought of being called that, by saying, “I’d rather call ye that and we can no’ both use it.”
“Oh,” she breathed, seeming pleased at the idea of his calling her that.
He made a mental note to use it, and to come up with other endearments to please her. Flower, perhaps. Or petal, to reflect how beautiful and precious he found her.
Her suddenly covering her mouth to stifle a yawn drew his attention, and Conall looked her over carefully, noting that some of the color in her cheeks had faded and she was beginning to droop. She hadn’t been awake that long, but she was healing and would need sleep to aid with that, so he grabbed the chessboard and stood up to carry it to the table.
“What are ye doing?” Claray asked with sudden alarm.
“Ye need yer rest,” he said, turning to walk back to the bed. “We can finish the game later.”
“Oh, but—” Pausing, she bit her lip, and then asked, “Will ye sleep too?”
Conall hesitated briefly, considering all the things he’d neglected these last days, but then his gaze took in her hopeful face, and he decided to stay and rest with her awhile. It was probably for the best anyway. The few winks he’d managed to get in the chair after her fever broke, and before she woke, plus the four hours they’d slept that afternoon, was all the rest he’d had since she’d been wounded. He probably needed to sleep too. So, he patted the wolf’s rump to get him to move to the foot of the bed, and then removed his plaid.
Recognizing that he meant to join her, Claray smiled with relief and eased from her sitting position to lie down. Once she was flat on her back, Conall then slid into the bed next to her with his shirt still on.
He would have been more comfortable without the shirt, but had deliberately left it on to remind himself that she was wounded and he shouldn’t start in kissing and caressing her like his body wanted him to do. Like it always seemed to want to do.
“Thank ye.”
Claray’s whisper made him smile, but all he said was a gruff, “Sleep,” before closing his own eyes and trying to do the same himself.
Claray woke up with sunlight splashing across her face and a smile on her lips. That smile faded though when she turned her head to find the space next to her empty. Conall had already risen and gone, and even Lovey and Squeak were not there. Blowing her breath out on a sigh, she turned her gaze to the window, trying to guess what time it was.
Midmorning again, Claray thought when she saw the position of the sun. She’d slept late and that irritated her. All she’d seemed to do since waking three days ago was sleep. She’d wake up, Conall would feed her and then they’d talk for a bit, or play a game, and then at the first sign of a yawn, or drooping eyelids, Conall would be urging her to sleep again. She hadn’t even been out of her bed in all that time until last night, when she’d insisted she wanted to get up and Conall had carried her to the table and set her in a chair for their shared sup. They’d played Nine Men’s Morris afterward and talked, and she’d managed to stay awake for longer than the usual hour or so she’d managed each time before that. Claray wasn’t sure how much longer, but guessed by the number of rushlights they’d gone through that it had probably been close to three hours. A sure sign she was healing well, even if she’d slept long afterward.
Another sign that she was healing was that she was sick unto death of being stuck in this room. And she was definitely done with lying about in bed, Claray thought grimly, and pushed the bed linens and furs aside to sit up. She managed the move with little effort. Sitting up in the bed was something she’d done several times a day since waking, and while the first few times had left her shaky and a little breathless with effort, she suspected it was as much from the pain it had caused her wounded shoulder as the weakness the fevers had left her with. This time she felt little more than a twinge from her wound at raising herself to a sitting position, and there was no trembling or weakness at all.
Buoyed by that, Claray slid her feet to the floor, grasped the bedpost and eased to her feet. It took more effort than it would have before taking the arrow in the shoulder, but she managed it. She then simply stood there, grasping the bedpost as she waited for her heart rate to slow, and her legs to stop trembling.
As she waited, Claray glanced around the chamber, trying to plan her moves to use the least amount of effort necessary to dress and leave the room. Weak as she was, she knew the task she’d set herself would be a challenge. But it was one she planned to succeed at. She would get out of this room today. There was too much to do at Deagh Fhortan for her to be a lie-abed. Besides, she was sick of staring at the same four walls. Although she hadn’t minded so much when Conall was there with her.
Claray smiled at the thought of her husband. He’d been at her side almost every moment she’d been awake since her injury, feeding her, helping her with her ablutions, playing games and talking. It was the conversations they’d had that she’d enjoyed the most. Especially when he spoke about his hopes for the future of Deagh Fhortan. He was determined to return it to the happy, prosperous castle it had been before his parents’ death. From what he had said, his parents had cared greatly for their people, making sure they were clothed, well-fed and happy, and he wanted to do that too.