Page 28 of His Secret Highland Bride

“What caused that scar there under your left eye?” he asked randomly, wanting to get to know her better.

“Is it unsightly?” she asked, brushing a fingertip over the perfect imperfection.

“Nay. Not at all. I only wonder how you came by it.”

“My cousin Meaghan and I were chasing each other in the woods, and I fell. A stick got me on the way down. It could have been much worse.”

“Aye.” He nodded and realized that their conversation had come to an abrupt end. Perhaps he could ask her about the type of stick it was? Or about her cousin. Why was it so difficult to try to navigate this space between them?

“Is Meaghan older or younger than ye?”

“She’s a few months younger. My father’s brother’s daughter.”

Another Cameron. He managed not to frown this time.

“She’s recently married.”

He nodded and realized once again they’d run out of things to discuss.

“What about your scars?” she asked, seeming as desperate as he to keep their conversation going.

He laughed. “There are too many to count, let alone remember how I received them all.”

“Then tell me of the ones you can recall.”

He nodded and went on telling her tales of his awkward youth that caused a number of marks upon his skin as he grew into his larger frame. About the line across his chin where he’d been thrown from a horse. When he nearly forgot himself and pulled up his shirt—the only clothing he wore—he realized this path was fraught with problems.

They fell into silence once more. Eventually, while he was grasping for things to talk about, her breathing slowed in sleep and he released a sigh and outened the light.

He’d made a fine start tonight, but there was still much work to be done.

Like many nights, his pleasant dreams turned to the war, finding Maria, and eventually to that night in his room when he woke choking on smoke, unable to breathe. The feeling of being trapped gripped his throat, cutting off whatever air was left until he woke up gasping for breath, Lindsay’s hand on his shoulder.

“You’re having a bad dream,” she said.

He coughed a few times as if clearing the imaginary smoke from his lungs. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” It was nothing they hadn’t already discussed, so he shook his head.

“Nay. Go back to sleep.”

“Very well.” But instead of pulling away, she came closer. “Sleep well,” she whispered.

She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, and in a moment of weakness he turned his head so her kiss found its home against his lips rather than his face. The shock of it caught them both off guard, but rather than pull away as he felt he should, he leaned closer and took her lips once more.

A niggling voice in the back of his mind scolded him for taking such pleasure from a woman who was not Maria, but he pushed back, knowing the truth. Lindsay was his wife. He wasn’t doing anything he shouldn’t.

He questioned whether or not it was fair for him to be allowed to move on with someone else, but he only pulled Lindsay closer to fend off his worries. When that wasn’t enough, his hands found their way to her hips and held her tighter to him. She willingly went where he guided her as his tongue slipped into her mouth. She let out a small gasp of surprise before doing the same and meeting his touch with her own.

It wasn’t until her thigh touched his cock that he realized how close he was to losing control. “Lindsay,” he said with a voice he barely recognized.

“Yes,” she answered, though he didn’t think she was answering to her name so much as a question he hadn’t asked aloud. She was caught up in the same desire he was. He wanted to keep going, to take what she offered, to lose himself in her body. But his guilt reared up, stealing his breath.

He pushed her away as he gasped for air much like he had in his dream. He couldn’t breathe. He grabbed up his kilt and boots and rushed for the door, leaving her in their bed. Outside, he looked up at the starry sky and cursed. He felt he was being ripped in two, wanting to honor the wife he’d lost and respect the wife he had.

What he was doing may not have been wrong, but it didn’t feel entirely right, either.

Chapter Eleven