Page 34 of The Highlander’s Hellion Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #1)

34

“ Y e better nae kick me in me sleep again,” Alison admonished, feigning a glare as she pulled back the bedcovers. “Ye almost ripped me stitches open last night.”

Rosie nodded. “I willnae. I’ll be stiff as a board, Maither, I promise!”

Alison chuckled to herself as she and Rosie climbed beneath the blankets.

She glanced at the empty chair in the corner. Duncan had made a habit of sleeping in it every night since she had been attacked. Try as she might, Alison had been unable to convince him to return to his chambers.

But now, the chair was empty.

No doubt he’s still with his friends. It doesnae mean that things have changed. Only that he’s busy.

However, the silent words of appeasement brought Alison no comfort. She had begun to enjoy their nightly routine and missed his comforting presence while she slept.

Duncan had made it abundantly clear that until she invited him into her bed, he would continue sleeping in the chair. She had to admit that his presence had been powerful enough to ward off the nightmares.

Within moments of climbing into bed, Rosie was snoring. Her small body was hot beneath the covers, and Alison stared up at the ceiling uncomfortably.

She listened intently to the sounds of the castle, waiting hopefully for the sound of heavy boots approaching her room, but they did not come. Eventually, she fell into a fitful sleep.

“Are ye happy to be home for good this time?” Evander asked as Duncan sank a little further in his chair.

After supper, they had all retired to the games room, poured themselves a good measure of whisky, and talked well into the wee hours of the morning.

Duncan was tired. He knew that Alison had gone to bed hours ago, and he regretted not being there for her while she fell asleep.

I’ll be there when she wakes up, though. That way, I’ll still keep me promise.

“Aye,” he answered, pushing the thought of Alison out of his mind. “I’m happy to be here. Willnae miss the stench of war either.”

“Cheers to that,” Arthur bellowed, raising his glass into the air and taking a hearty swig.

Duncan did the same, draining the dark liquid in one quick gulp.

When Evander raised the bottle of whisky to fill Duncan’s glass once more, Duncan waved him off. His friend raised an eyebrow at him but did not comment on his refusal, and he was glad for it.

He had drunk too much already. He had aimed to be clearheaded when he finally crawled into the chair in Alison’s room that night, but it had not gone according to plan.

Duncan was too close to being intoxicated and did not want to wake up the next morning with a headache.

“When was the last time we were all together like this?” Evander asked, pointing to the other two Lairds.

“The night of me weddin’,” Duncan grunted, turning to look at the door.

He wished he possessed the power to see through the wood and stone and into the east wing of the castle, where his wife and daughter were curled up and asleep without him.

“Been a long time, that,” Arthur said, drawing Duncan’s attention back to them.

“So, are ye goin’ to tell us why ye called us here?” Evander asked abruptly. “Ye made it seem to yer wife that we just showed up. Nae that ye were the one who requested our presence.”

“Ye’ve been cagey about it all night,” Arthur chimed in, his calm demeanor intact despite having had more drinks than the others. “Wouldnae give us a straight answer when we asked ye at dinner.”

“Aye, I’m goin’ to tell ye.” Duncan shifted self-consciously in his seat. “I’ll be needin’ yer help.”

Evander and Arthur leaned forward expectantly.

“Help with what?” Evander asked.

Duncan launched into his plan. He laid out the story, detailing exactly what he needed his friends to do and explaining the period within which it had to be completed. His friends listened intently, occasionally nodding their heads as he elaborated.

They were not sentimental men. What Duncan was asking them to do went far beyond their friendship. When he had first come up with the idea, he had been certain that the two men to whom he had been the closest his entire life would scoff and tell him that he had gone soft.

But they did no such thing. Once Duncan had finished explaining his plan, his friends exchanged one pointed glance and then nodded.

“All right, Braither,” Arthur said.

Evander gave Duncan a quick grin. “We’ll get started in the mornin’.”

The trio discussed everything that Duncan had laid out for them, allowing both Evander and Arthur to finish their drinks. When they were done, each man announced that he was going to retire to his rooms. They had a long couple of days ahead of them.

Duncan walked through the castle, trying his best not to disturb the silence with his heavy footfalls. He reached his wife’s chambers and opened the door, cringing when it squeaked.

Alison’s bed was situated against the far wall and cast entirely in shadow. Duncan closed the door as quietly as he could, creeping on his toes toward the reading chair that he had been sleeping in.

The further into the darkened room he went, the better his eyes adjusted to the dimness. Eventually, he was able to make out the two sleeping, huddled forms of his wife and child on the large, ornate bed.

Duncan was able to slide into the chair quietly, with only the creaking of the old furniture announcing his arrival in the room. He settled into it comfortably and tried to put his feet up on the ottoman so he could settle in and get some much-needed rest.

However, in the whisky haze that still hung over him, he miscalculated the distance between his foot and the stool. He kicked its side, sending it across the stone floor.

The sound of the wooden legs scraping across the stone beneath filled the room, making him duck and wince. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and saw Alison half sitting up in bed, her eyes wide with fear.

Her gaze focused on him, and he raised his hands apologetically.

“I didnae mean to wake ye up,” he mumbled, hearing the slur in his voice.

Even though the room was dark, he could still make out some of her lovely features.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I didnae think ye were comin’,” she said, her tone laced with accusation.

“I meant what I said,” he muttered, working to keep his voice low so he would not wake Rosie. “I’ll be here in this chair every night. Until ye finally invite me in yer bed, that is.”

Duncan could not be sure, not with the darkness and the drink still clouding his vision, but he could have sworn that a faint blush rose to the apples of his wife’s cheeks.

“Ye ken, ye have a chamber of yer own,” she reminded him, but there was no annoyance in her voice.

She likes the fact that I’m here, that I come to her chambers every night, even if we dinnae sleep side by side.

“And it’s got a bed much bigger than this one. We can sleep in there, too, if ye’d like.”

He winked at her. He was a bit unsure if she would be able to make out the gesture in the dark, but her snort let him know that she had.

Her laugh was a little too loud in the quiet space, and Rosie stirred beside her. Letting out a small whine, his daughter rolled over, throwing an arm across her face to block out the noise.

Duncan watched as Alison balked, immediately moving so that she could cuddle Rosie’s small body a little more closely to her.

She made a few soothing, shushing noises. Rosie had not woken fully, and her soft snores shortly resumed.

Alison turned her gaze back to Duncan, and he gave her a sly grin. She was a good mother. And while he may not have known it back then, when he had sent the first letter to her father inquiring about the marriage, it was easy for him to now see that bringing the pair together might have been the best thing he had ever done for his daughter.

His wife’s eyes softened as she settled back down into her pillows. He could see it on her face. There would be no more talking, not tonight. Not when the risk of waking up their daughter was so high.

But soon.

There was a conversation they still needed to have about the project his friends were helping him with. Duncan needed to make sure that he would get everything exactly right. As he had told Alison before, he was capable of being a patient man.

“Goodnight, wife,” he whispered.

But when the only response was a soft, delicate sigh, he knew that his words had not reached her.