“I’m accusing you of starting an argument with me so you don’t have to speak the truth. You’re hiding something. Why not just tell me what it is so we can deal with it together?”
“Can we not just go to bed? I’m much too tired to puzzle out what you want from me.” With that, she dropped her gown on a chair and crawled into bed in her shift.
As was his habit, he watched the way the thin fabric caressed her skin. His cock stirred, but he frowned, knowing he wouldn’t approach her tonight. It was clear she didn’t want his conversation or his touch.
Very well. He would give her space. She’d lived with her first husband’s demands for many years. It might take as many years for her to realize she was free to be upset with him or simply in need of solitude.
He slid into bed next to her and kissed her shoulder since she was facing away from him. “If I’ve done something to upset you, know I’m sorry for it.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong.” Her voice was thick with tears.
“Why do you weep? Will you at least let me hold you and offer comfort if you don’t want to discuss it?”
She turned toward him and nuzzled against his chest so close they all but shared the same skin. She kissed him and ran her hand lower along his stomach.
“Make love to me, husband,” she whispered.
“I’m always happy to oblige.” He rolled her onto her back and kissed her everywhere. “I’ll pleasure ye until a real smile is back on your face,” he promised.
He knew her interest in being with him was genuine, but still, it was clearly another distraction.
He brought her pleasure, but the smile he longed to see didn’t return.
Over the next few days she stopped snapping at him, but she kept him at a distance. He was certain he hadn’t done anything specifically to cause the change. But no matter how many times he asked, she wouldn’t share her burden with him.
He thought of it often as he trained with his men. Pushing them into the night so they’d be ready for whatever happened to break the unrelenting tension.
Each night when he went to his bed, she made love to him with the eagerness of a condemned woman in her final hours on earth.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mari turned for another pass along the battlements, feeling trapped despite the miles of rolling land spread out before her. A calm breeze tangled strands of escaped hair, but she still had trouble breathing. A raven circled high above the castle, and she wished she were as free as that.
Cam stepped into her path. “What the bloody hell are you doing up here?” he asked. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“I needed some air, and since I’m forbidden to leave the keep without one of your men, and you have them all training every second of every day, I came up here so I could be alone with my thoughts.”
Her thoughts had given over to fear hours ago. She felt nearly panicked as she scoured the horizon, watching for the English to crest the ridge and head for the castle.
“You know ye need only ask, and I’ll take you out or have one of my men do it. And as for being alone, we’re done with that. You’re my wife. You’re not alone. You cannot leave me out of whatever is bothering you. I won’t have it.”
“Oh? And what will ye do? Shake it out of me?”
She took a step toward him, fists clenched, but her voice quivered with fear. She knew better than to be afraid of Cam, but she’d never been so full of rage. While it hadn’t been caused by her husband, he was the only one she had to direct it to.
Unfortunately, he knew her well.
He held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll not let you bait me into an argument or seduce me into distraction. I may not be bright, but I know what you’re up to, lass, and I’m done. I’ve given you days to think things over, but still you won’t come to me. Until you can speak to me as your true partner, you can keep your hands and your biting tongue to yourself.”
“You didn’t even want a wife!” she called after him.
“Maybe not. But I have one, and I’ll thank ye to start acting like her.”
He turned and left her. The breeze caused a chill as her tears overflowed. What had she done?
More important, what was she to do now?
That night, Cam stayed out until after she’d gone to sleep.
She was shaken awake by her husband. “Mari? You’re dreaming again. He’s gone. He cannot hurt you anymore,” he attempted to reassure her.
“I know.”
And she did know. It wasn’t the duke she had dreamed of this time. It wasn’t her past that had caused cold sweat to rise on her skin and triggered her panic.
It was her future that had brought on this nightmare.
In her dreams she was being chased by Sir Ridley and the other Scot, just as she had been the day she’d met Cam. The dogs were bigger than they’d been in reality, and foul-smelling venom dripped from their fangs as they tore at her dress, just out of reach of her flesh.
This time when she made it to the clearing, Cam wasn’t able to help her. She called his name, but he didn’t turn to her. As she reached him, she grasped his bare arm. His skin was cold despite the warmth of the day. Her light touch caused him to topple over, and he fell on his back. An English sword stuck up from his chest, and his eyes stared blankly at the perfect blue sky.
Oh, God.
“Make love to me, Cam.” She reached for him, needing to feel his skin warm with life. What had he called it?
