Under the Highlander's Spell(51)
“I’m pleased that you like my family and are so perceptive when it comes to Lachlan. As for Cavan? He’s pleased with our union , though he has questions concerning Ronan.”
He lay next to her, on his back, and felt her tense as she turned on her side to look at him.
“I imagine he would. Though only having met your family, it is obvious how close you all are. Ronan’s absence must weigh heavy on all your hearts.”
He heard the sincerity in her gentle voice and thought that since she empathized with their pain, she might tell him more of Ronan. Instead she changed the subject.
“I thought you would have confided in Cavan and told him the truth about us.”
“Not at the moment.”
She smiled. “I know why you didn’t tell him.”
“Enlighten me,” he said, turning on his side to face her.
“You hope to convince me to marry you before it becomes necessary for you to tell everyone the truth.”
He scratched his head in confusion. “You know, you may be right.”
She poked him playfully. “You’re not going to get your way.”
“We’ll see about that.” He tapped her on the tip of her noise. “After all, you are in my bed.”
Her yawn defined her response. “For sleep only.”
He leaned over and gave her the faintest of kisses. “Then sleep, wife.”
She poked him again. “Remember to stay on your side, husband.”
“You too.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t budge.”
Artair woke for the third time with Zia’s head plastered on his shoulder. Her arm was thrown across his chest, her leg hooked over his, and her knee resting much too close to his groin. He’d moved her twice already, and she was back again. And she had been concerned about him encroaching on her side, he thought with amusement.
He would have left her where she lay, except that she was so warm, smelled so sweet, and felt so good that it would be tempting fate. Actually, the temptation would be too much for him.
Reluctantly, he eased her off him, but this time she blinked a few times and groggily said, “Stay on your side.”
Before he could inform her just how wrong she was, she turned on her side and promptly fell back into sleep. In seconds she was snoring, that soft purr he was getting so very used to.
He wanted to snuggle up against her, wrap his arms around her, bury his face in her neck and nibble at her soft flesh. Instead he turned on his side, away from her, and after laying there for what seemed an eternity, fell asleep.
Zia woke with a yawn and a stretch and recalled that she was in Artair’s bed. Looking around, she saw that not only was he gone, but that she was on his side. She lay there thinking back on the night and wondered if she had been the one who had not kept to her side of the bed. If so, as it appeared, Artair had remained a gentleman nonetheless, which spoke much for his character. Or was it his never-ending logic?
She bounced up in bed. He was a good man, but one question continued to nag her. What of passion? Didn’t he ever surrender to it? So far as she could tell, he always kept tight rein on himself. What would happen if he let loose? She realized she would like to find out.
With much to do, she was out of bed and dressed in no time, slipping into her common attire of plain skirt and blouse and worn sandals. She didn’t have to concern herself with her short hair since a run of a comb or her fingers through it usually had it looking presentable.
She hurried out the door, her thoughts crowded with all she had to do. There was Honora to see to, and the keep garden to look over; she hoped it had a bevy of useful herbs. She also had to find a place where she could work, to explore the woods, and much more.
When she entered the great hall, only Addie and Honora sat at the table. With a smile, she joined them.
“I slept much too late,” she said, glancing around the empty room.
“Nonsense,” Addie said. “You were exhausted. You had a right to sleep all day if you wanted to.”
“Oh my no,” Zia protested. “I have much too much to do.”
Honora, with her hand resting on her protruding stomach, said, “Artair says you are to enjoy the day. Tomorrow is soon enough to work.”
“Artair is not—” Zia almost bit her lip, realizing she’d been about to say that Artair wasn’t her husband and had no right to dictate to her. She grinned. “—to worry about me.”
“He will anyway,” his mother said, nodding. “It’s his way. He believes he knows best, and he usually does.”
Zia didn’t intend to argue the point, mostly because she had discovered it was the truth. Artair was usually right, damn it. “Yes, Artair is considerate, but he need not worry about me. I’m fine and wish to resume my work immediately.” She turned to Honora. “I’d like to talk with you about how you’re feeling and the coming birth.”