Page 24 of Taken By the Savage Highlander

Her back straightened, her eyes widening. Taking a step back, she said, “I do not think that is necessary.”

“Ye can hide beneath the blankets, but ye will catch your death if ye stay in those clothes,” he said, not looking away from his task.

I just do not know what to make of him.

She stood there for a few beats, shivering stubbornly in her soaking gown, a puddle forming around her feet. The fire roared to life, and she felt a little burst of warmth. It was enough to motivate her to strip out of the icy fabric hanging from her shoulders.

As quickly as she could, she undressed down to her stays. Then, she quickly tucked herself underneath the blankets. Though she was still freezing, the relief was measurable.

“You do not have to keep your back turned to me,” she murmured, blushing despite being completely covered.

Before Cameron turned around, he pulled his doublet off. He hung it off at the back of the chair sitting near the hearth. When he finally turned toward her, she had to avert her eyes.

It was too late, though. She had already seen the chiseled expanse of his chest. He was so muscular, built through years of hard labor and training. Not only did he fight, but he helped his people with the physical work that needed to be completed.

“Ye should sleep,” he said, the low rasp of his voice caressing her ears. A shiver that had nothing to do with the chill in the air went down her spine. “Unless ye believe that stayin’ awake all night is a productive use of yer time.”

Margo couldn’t bring herself to reply, her throat tight with the memory of how his lips felt on hers. The position she was in was wildly vulnerable, and she could think of nothing else but how intense that moment was. She did not want to let herself sleep, to leave herself completely in his care in that way.

Eventually, she drifted off into a fitful doze. The sounds of the storm echoed through her dreams. She saw the ceiling caving in, saw herself stuck under it.

Then, the dream morphed. It wasn’t Cameron pulling her free, it was her father. His hands disappeared as soon as she was on her feet, and when she looked around, he was nowhere to be found. She was alone, standing inside a building that was coming down around her.

“No,” she whispered, the word leaving her lips in the dream and in her sleep. “Where…”

“Margo.”

“No!” she whimpered, rolling away from the sound. “I…”

“It is me,” the voice repeated.

The familiarity of it brought her face to the surface, but the rest of her body was still floating in the treacherous waters of her dreamscape. She reached out blindly, rolling over in the too-hard cot. A crack of thunder seemed to urge her closer to the warmth of this familiar voice.

“I’m scared,” she whispered, the words slurred by sleep. “Where is my father? He...”

A pained sound came from the other person, the person that her brain recognized as Cameron. Then, she was being repositioned, pushed toward the edge. A second later, she felt herself being wrapped in strong arms.

“Ye daenae have to be scared,” he said, the statement not quite believable. “I am right here.”

She latched onto the sentiment, anyway. The warmth of his body drew her in, and the tension that had plagued her since they entered the watchtower bled from her body. It seemed as if the storm outside finally started to quiet down, and the last thing she was aware of before succumbing to a dreamless sleep was Cameron’s hand rubbing soothing circles between her shoulder blades.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Morning came so gently that Margo did not trust the soft light falling upon her cot. She closed her eyes once more, counted to three, then opened them again. The scene was still the same.

But I thought that Cameron was sharing the cot with me… Perhaps it was only part of my dreams.

Rolling over, she searched for him, but found the watchtower empty save for her. As she sat up, she wondered if he had even been here at all. The more she thought about it, the less real the evening before felt. Then, she spotted a wooden tray, and next to it was a note.

She sat up, scooting to the edge of the cot and grabbing onto the small piece of parchment. It read: Must repair. Eat. C.

“So talkative,” Margo scoffed, smiling at his neat handwriting. “But it seems I did not imagine last night.”

Setting the note aside, she picked up the fork. It seemed that he had gone back to the castle to fetch her oatcakes and smoked salmon. As the fresh butter she spread over her meal melted, she realized that Cameron had been here not too long ago.

She could not stop herself from smiling as she ate her breakfast. She knew she should not let her heart run away with this, but it felt nice to be cared for in this way. If she didn’t dwell on the kiss Cameron had cut short or the strange memories from the night before, this was a rather pleasant way to wake up.

She attempted to keep her mind clear; however, each bite she took was a reminder of Cameron’s confusing behavior. The breakfast was a clear form of care. Even bringing her to the watchtower, she realized, was his way of ensuring she wasn’t in harm’s way.