Chapter 6

6

H e felt her twitching all night. Every move carried to his side of the bed, showing Alasdair just how uncomfortable the lass was to be in this situation. He had teased her earlier, finding it amusing that she insisted on modesty, but he was starting to realize that this experience was more trying for the woman than he had initially realized.

She was a nun, ye dobber.

It was surprising how frequently Alasdair forgot about this. The lass was so beautiful, her curves so soft and round, that he couldn't imagine her hidden beneath the shapeless robes of a nun. No, he could only imagine her beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown as she lay on the other side of the bed.

Ben was a rock between them, exhausted from the ride, so he barely moved a muscle. But Charlotte was moving enough for all of them. Alasdair wondered if he should say something to her or perhaps offer to move to the floor if it would help her to sleep. But just as he began to form the words, he felt her sit up and kick the covers aside.

Alasdair squeezed his eyes closed, feigning sleep as Charlotte crawled to the end of the bed. She was trying to extract herself without waking the others, and so she climbed over the foot of the bed. Alasdair heard the gentle thud of her feet as they hit the floor. He opened his eyes slightly, wanting to see her.

A flash of white crossed his path, and he heard the door open slowly. He saw a shawl wrapped around Charlotte's shoulders, and then the door closed with a gentle thud as she left the room. Alasdair sat up. He checked on his son and saw he was still sleeping deeply. And then Alasdair stood up and followed Charlotte out of the room.

It was early morning, and the inn was beginning to wake with a few people milling about the dining area. Alasdair looked over the second-floor landing which was open to the ground floor, checking for any sign of Charlotte. She wasn't there, and Alasdair turned toward the back of the building.

As he found the stairs that led to the rear of the building and the stables, he caught a flash of white at the bottom of the stairs. He rushed down, suddenly fearful that he needed to catch her before she disappeared.

"Are ye leaving us?" Alasdair asked, stepping outside to see Charlotte staring up at the lightening sky. Her arms were wrapped around herself, holding her shawl tight across the chill of the early morning. Her back was to him, so he couldn't see Charlotte's face.

He stepped forward to stand beside her, and Charlotte glanced at him before returning her gaze to the stars that were disappearing in the sky.

"I am not leaving," Charlotte said. "I needed some air."

He was surprised to feel relief flood through his body.

"Good. I thought ye may be running back to the orphanage. Perhaps ye changed yer mind."

Charlotte turned to him, and the quiet peace of the morning was suddenly broken. He noted the anger on her face and saw her drop her hands to her sides to ball them into fists.

"Is that what you think of me?" she asked. "Do you think me so fickle that I would simply leave? I've told you I'll do whatever I can to help your son. Did I not just sleep in bed with a man for the first time in my life? After doing that, you think I would just get up and leave?"

The small speech made Charlotte breathless, and he saw her breath in the air as she exhaled into the cold. Her cheeks were flushed, and it was the first time Alasdair saw her blonde hair around her shoulders. There was a gentle curl to it that made him want to twist the honey-gold locks around his finger.

"Was it so awful?" Alasdair asked, ignoring her outrage. He stepped closer to her, pushing her body closer to the outer wall of the building. He saw the rage on Charlotte's face turn to shock and then a hint of excitement flickered in her eyes. "Sleeping with a man, I mean."

His mouth pulled up at the corner as her body flushed red. He noted the flush on her neck and the way it disappeared below the neckline of her nightgown. He stepped closer, and Charlotte's back pressed against the wall.

"Do ye really think of me as such an awful bedfellow?" he asked, resting one hand lazily against the barn, so he could lean closer to her. He saw the defiant tilt of Charlotte's chin as she stared back at him.

"No," she said, lifting her eyebrows in nonchalance. "I do not think of you at all."

He reached out and grabbed her chin, unable to stop himself from touching her. He held her face steady with his right hand as he leaned his body close to her, closing the distance between them. Though the morning air was cool on his skin, he felt heat radiating from the space between them, pulling him closer to her.

"Ye are infuriating," he said, moving his face closer to hers as he held her chin. He couldn't keep his eyes from dropping down to those soft, pink lips. He thought about kissing her, suddenly desperate to know what her lips would feel like against his own.

With his hand under her chin, it was easy to feel the slight tilt of her head as she pushed her face ever so closer to his. He looked up to see defiance still radiating from her eyes, but the rest of her body told a different story, leaning in with urgency and need. She wanted him to kiss her.

Alasdair smiled and quickly released her face though Charlotte didn't move when he did so. He stepped back and took in her dilated pupils and the soft skin of her neck as she pushed her mouth closer to him.

"We should get some sleep," Alasdair said. He watched Charlotte take in the words and slowly pull herself back to reality. She stepped away from the wall and pulled her shawl around her, shielding herself from the cold as she looked down to the ground.

"We have a long day ahead of us."

When Alasdair woke, Ben was pushing against his shoulder. He blinked as he saw the boy standing on the ground in front of him, his hair knotted and looking wild.

"What is it?' he grunted. He felt like he had only just climbed back into bed. His early morning walk with Charlotte was still fresh in his mind, and for a moment, he wondered if he had dreamed the whole thing.

Ben pointed to his stomach, and Alasdair heard it grumble, right on cue. He smiled at the boy and pulled himself up so he could rest his feet on the floor.

"Hungry, are ye?" he asked. He ruffled his son's hair, messing it up even further. There was a gentle knock on their door, and then Hayden poked his head in, a goofy grin spread across his face.

"Who's ready for breakfast?" he asked, but Alasdair quickly shushed him, nodding over to Charlotte who still slept soundly beside them.

"Ye're up early," Alasdair whispered, noting that Hayden was fully dressed.

"Never went to sleep." His red-headed friend gave a goofy grin, letting Alasdair know his friend had been up to mischief he probably didn't want to know about.

"This one's hungry," Alasdair said, nodding toward the boy. He told his son to put on his breeches and let Hayden take him for food. He saw Ben hesitate, glancing at the bed where Charlotte slept, but when his stomach growled again, the boy happily obeyed.

Hayden bent down to offer Ben a piggy-back, and Alasdair smiled as he bounced the boy down the hallway. Alasdair shook his head as he gently closed the door, glad to see Charlotte wasn't woken up by the commotion.

Alasdair let his eyes roam across the bed, and he noticed that Charlotte had kicked the sheet down to her knees. Her thin nightgown left little to the imagination, and Alasdair took a moment to appreciate how the fabric hugged her curves in all the right places. A surge of desire surprised him, bringing heat between his legs with an urgency he hadn't felt in a long time.

I do not think of you at all…

Alasdair could still hear Charlotte's words in his ear. He could see the defiant look on her face and the way she jutted her jaw forward when she was trying to be firm. The woman certainly did not shy away from challenging him. Most of the time he found her vexing, but there were moments when their eyes locked onto one another…

The flush of yearning was there again, and Alasdair stepped to the wash basin to toss cold water on his face. He had to remind himself that his number one job was to get Ben home safely. He couldn't let his guard down and risk losing the boy again.

A soft sigh drew Alasdair's attention, and he looked over at Charlotte to see her gently waking. She stretched her body, pressing her arms over her head, so the fabric pulled hard against her breasts. Alasdair couldn't look away, and when Charlotte's eyes fluttered open, she found him openly admiring her.

"My Laird," she said, jumping a bit in surprise. And then, as she saw the smile on his lips and his narrowed eyes taking her in, she blushed the deepest shade of red Alasdair had ever seen on a woman. He felt mad with longing to know how far down her body that blush could go.

"Did ye sleep?" he asked. He watched her sit up and pull the sheet over herself, covering her.

"Yes," she said. "After a bit."

"After yer walk?" He let the question linger, hoping Charlotte was thinking of being pressed against the wall, of his body hovering inches above her own. Alasdair was certainly thinking about it.

"Yes," she said though it was more like an exhalation of breath than a word. "It was… a beautiful morning."

"Aye," he said. He let his eyes float to Charlotte's mouth, and he saw her bite her bottom lip, a subconscious gesture that only drove him more wild. "Very beautiful."

He held her gaze for a moment, but Charlotte looked away, suddenly realizing they were alone in the room.

"Where is Ben?" she asked as she scrambled out of bed. The panic in her voice touched Alasdair. He knew the woman cared for his son, but this instant protectiveness showed him just how deeply she did so. He half expected her to rush out the door in her thin nightgown.

"Daenae fret," he said, holding up a hand to keep Charlotte from the door. "He is with Hayden. The lad was hungry."

She smiled at this, clearly pleased.

"That's a good sign!" she announced. "It has been a struggle to get the boy to eat. If he's asking for food, he must feel better."

They beamed at this good news. For a moment Alasdair felt like a doting parent, rejoicing with his wife over some small accomplishment of their child. The thought surprised him, and he quickly pushed the moment away. Charlotte was not his wife, and he didn't want to think about the woman who had previously held that title.

"Get dressed," Alasdair said, more forcefully than he intended. He knew the word sounded like a command, but he couldn't keep the scowl from his face or the anger from his voice. Images of Isabella were flooding his mind, reminding him of the horrible night he lost her and Ben and all the mistakes Alasdair had made that led to that night.

That night, he had been forced to choose between saving his wife and saving his child. Alasdair never wanted to be in such a position again.

"I said get dressed," he said, his voice cold and demanding as he tossed Charlotte's dress forcefully onto the bed. He was silently berating himself for flirting with the woman in front of him, silently punishing himself for walking down a path he swore he would never go down again.

Charlotte cowered on the bed, her eyes filled with confusion and pain at the man's sudden turn, but Alasdair couldn't bring himself to apologize.

Good. Let her be afraid of me.

He opened the door and turned back to her with a sneer.

"We leave in ten minutes."