Malcolm sighed and shifted onto his side. It was difficult to believe that he was so close to the woman he’d assumed lost to him forever. “How do you like to sleep?”
It seemed absurd that he had to ask, given she’d borne his child and the memory of her had shadowed most of his life.
For years, he hadn’t thought back to those joyous, innocent days when they’d both learned about love’s pleasure. In the midst of his despair, dwelling on what they’d done to each other at Dun Carron had stabbed a knife into his heart. But now he’d finally found her, he could revisit those sweet encounters, without grief and anger poisoning the memory.
That last summer before disaster struck, he’d spent hours lying in the sun with Rhona, learning what she liked and seeking his own delight, too. Hours brilliant with light and love and laughter.
Her mind must be running along similar lines. “We did so much with each other, so many things we shouldn’t, but we never shared a bed, did we?”
“No.” They’d lain together in the lush summer grass of a hidden dell, lost high in the hills encircling the castle. He remembered 1806 as a summer without rain, although because this was Scotland, that couldn’t be true.
“I used to dream of holding you all night. I longed for the day I made you my wife, when I could carry you back to my room at the castle and at last claim you without secrecy.”
A crushing silence descended. She, too, must be counting the many things they’d missed out on. Not least his chance to see his son grow up to become the fine young man he was today.
Malcolm raised a barrier against that thought. It promised to break a heart that had already broken too many times before. Tonight wasn’t the time for bitter regret. Tonight was the time to give thanks that after all his searching, he’d finally found Rhona and Patrick. What happened next was still to be decided, but right now it should be enough that she was here beside him.
“I usually sleep on my side,” she said, after a long, oppressive hiatus, burdened with too many thoughts of what might have been.
“Me, too.”
With a lot of awkward maneuvering, they ended up with Rhona’s back pressed into his chest and her head resting on the arm he curled beneath her. Lying like this, it would be so easy to cup those soft breasts. But he knew better than to tempt fate’s mercy. And Rhona’s forbearance.
He was devilish glad that she’d told him to put some clothes on. His breeches lent him a modicum of modesty. All this wriggling around played merry hell with good intentions.
Malcolm shifted his hips so she didn’t feel his hardness pressing into her luscious rump. Since the day she left, he’d dreamed of having her with him again. He didn’t want to give her any excuse to run back to her room. It might be excruciating to preserve the chaste contact, but it was better than sleeping alone.
Not that he’d been sleeping when she arrived. Not that he expected to sleep now.
“Better?” he asked softly.
“Better.”
He buried his face in her hair, wishing he had the right to undo that luxuriant fall of red. When they’d come together during those sun-kissed afternoons at Dun Carron, her wealth of silky hair had cascaded around their straining bodies.
Malcolm breathed deep, taking in her rich scent. She smelled of herbs and shortbread and essence of Rhona. That elusive scent had haunted him most of his life. He hadn’t expected it to be so familiar, even though her fragrance had twined its way through his lonely dreams.
She remained tense under his touch, although he was careful to keep his hands on her arms. He rubbed his face in her hair and dared to kiss her crown before he raised his head. “You’re not comfortable.”
“I’m just a little nervous.”
She didn’t need to tell him. He heard the rapid flutter of her breath and felt the way she trembled in his hold.
“I told you I won’t make any demands on you tonight.”
He chose his words with care. Beyond tonight, he wasn’t promising anything. He needed to express his love physically. Before he went insane with wanting her, he hoped she might come around to the same opinion.
“I know. I believe you.” She shifted, and he bit his lip to hold back a gasp, even as that tentative expression of trust settled in his heart and ignited a warm glow.
Somewhere deep inside, she still knew him, recognized him as her match. He hoped to hell that the recognition wasn’t buried too deep. It would be a sodding tragedy if her desire never saw the light of day. “Thank you.”
She went on in a tentative voice. “But it’s five years since I lay in a man’s arms. Even longer since the man touching me was you.”
He bit back a long sigh of satisfaction. So there had been no other lovers apart from Samuel. Malcolm had no right to gloat on this confession, but he was man enough to like hearing that she’d slept alone since her husband’s death.
“Do you want to go?” By God, it hurt to say those words, but he wanted her to understand that he had no intention of curtailing her freedom, even if she wed him.
Rhona as a girl had been headstrong and willful. From what Malcolm saw, those qualities had only become more pronounced in the woman. He’d always liked her spirit. He liked it even more now, after discovering that her strength of character had helped her survive. A weaker woman would have succumbed to her evil circumstances.
He nearly died of suspense before she answered. “No.”
Malcolm sucked in a relieved breath and decided to shut up before he said something that sent her scurrying.
For a long time, they lay like strangers, but gradually her rigidity eased. She shifted again and stretched her legs out along his. He tightened his grip on her and by accident brushed her breast through the flannel.
Arousal rushed through him. And dismay. For the first time in years, he felt warm. More, he sampled a fugitive peace. Although peace was a strange companion, when he was as hard as a damned flagpole.
She made a sleepy protest, but praise every angel in heaven, she didn’t get up and leave.
After a hesitation, she snuggled back into him and whispered, “Merry Christmas, Malcolm.”
He supposed it must be well after midnight. “Merry Christmas, mo chridhe.”
Malcolm waited for her to object to the endearment, but she remained silent. A few minutes later, her steady breathing told him that she indeed slept. Another sign of trust.
Moisture stung his eyes as he stared unseeing into the firelit darkness. He blinked the tears away, even as poignant gratitude found a place in his lonely heart.
Life had been flat and gray for so long. For years, Christmas had turned into just another flat, gray day in a barren landscape. Whatever happened after this, he would have tonight. At this moment, he didn’t even particularly mind that he and Rhona lay side by side, like brother and sister.
His love was alive and with him. His love had come to him and offered her warmth to melt the chill that had ruled his world since she’d gone.
He heaved a deep sigh, tinged with her delicious scent, and cuddled closer to Rhona. She gave another of those drowsy murmurs and curled her hand over his where it had settled on her hip.
He refused to sleep. He didn’t want to miss a second of this night.
And on that thought, he slept.
Chapter 8