Page 26 of Her Reluctant Highlander Husband

The bed—bigger than the one at the cottage—would hold them both without risk of touching.

He poured water for her to wash up and then offered her a clean shirt. He turned around as she changed into it. She felt so much better without the layer of smoke and ash covering her.

Bryce settled in on the side of the bed facing the door. She had to climb in from the bottom of the bed since her side was against the wall. She frowned at the closed-in feeling as she slid under the covers.

When Rascal jumped up on the foot of the bed, cutting off her only escape, she was glad when Bryce shooed him off.

“You may be the hero, but you stay on the floor.” He turned to her. “Did he sleep with you at the cottage?”

Not sure if the truth would make him angry, she shrugged. After all, she hadn’t allowed it. It had just happened. Bryce didn’t press for more details.

His breath evened out in sleep almost immediately. She envied the way he was able to let the worries of the day drift off so quickly. Being in a strange place plus the excitement of the day had her tossing and turning.

She noticed he wasn’t the least bit bothered by her movements, so she placed a hand on his arm, testing her theory. When he didn’t wake, she slid her hand across his chest and pressed her body up against his. If anything, he seemed to relax deeper into sleep.

She knew she shouldn’t take advantage of his slumber, but being close to him like this made it easier for her to calm down, and soon she was dreaming of her husband.

…

Despite his attempt to be quiet, Dorie woke when Bryce slipped out of bed the next morning and wrapped his kilt around his waist. Rascal stirred as well, hurried to the door, and turned his head as if asking permission to go out despite it being open. Bryce waved him out and thought to follow behind immediately but decided he should offer his wife a greeting of some sort.

He was out of practice with such things. He’d woken hard and aching with his body wrapped around hers. When he’d pressed his hips closer, she’d made a sound of pleasure and pushed back against him.

It wasn’t until that moment he’d recalled who was in bed with him and froze.

“Good morning,” he mumbled as she slid off the bed and offered him a shy smile.

She probably didn’t realize how the sun at her back filtered through his thin shirt, highlighting the curves of her body. She probably didn’t notice that, because of her height, his shirt fell just above her knee, giving him a glance at her thigh. Nor did she know the chill of the floor caused her nipples to harden and push at the fabric in subtle invitation. And she definitely didn’t realize how standing there with her bed-mussed hair and soft smile made his body hard and his kilt tent.

She was innocent.

While it was his right to change that, he wouldn’t touch her. Well, he wouldn’t touch her again.

“I need to go,” he offered before rushing out of the room to escape. Innocent or not, she was tempting as hell. It had been too long since he’d taken a woman to his bed.

Even then, it had been a quick thing. Lust and need. He’d not fully sated his desires with a woman since his wife was alive. He enjoyed the act itself, but he longed for the other things that came with bedding a woman he thoroughly desired. The laughter and play that went with it. The thrill of discovering something new she liked and doing it over and over until she was pleased and gasping.

That feeling of utter contentment when he could lie next to her running his fingers through her hair and listening to her breathe.

He could have relations. He could slake his lust. He could tend to his physical needs. But he’d never have the connection that came with making love to someone who truly belonged with him.

“How do you fare?” Lach asked as he took a seat at the head table.

“I’m fine.”

Nay. He wasn’t fine. He was never fine. And even less so today when he was restless and needy. Despite having slept better than he had in years, he was irritable.

They turned the discussion to clan affairs. Specifically, the issue regarding the McCurdys on their land trying to kill his wife.

Bryce had just finished his meal when Dorie entered the hall looking as disheveled as the day she’d arrived at Dunardry. Her hair was a mess of tangles and the ill-fitting dress she’d found was both too short and too big. It didn’t help her appearance when her four-legged beast sidled up next to her looking like a hellhound ready to fetch someone’s soul for his mistress. And like on that first day, she had no shoes.

“The poor girl,” Mari said from his side. “My dresses were much too short for her. But even Kenna’s don’t fit properly. She has nothing. Not even a way to brush her hair.”

Kenna let out a sigh. “I don’t have a spare brush set, but I’ll see that she gets one. Until then—”

“I can take care of my own wife,” Bryce snapped, cutting off Kenna’s offer of assistance. He didn’t know why it bothered him, but it did.

Kenna and Mari weren’t trying to make him feel guilty—at least not this time—but he felt the shame nonetheless.