That night and the next day blurred into one endless nightmare. Graham held his wife’s cold, naked flesh to his, rubbing her back, whispering his love, and begging her forgiveness. She did not respond. Not to his touch, nor his words, nor his fervent prayers.
As night descended once more after Marion, Bridgette, and Marsaili had come and gone after seeing to Isobel, Graham sat at the side of her bed for a moment to simply stare at her and drink in every detail. He touched his shaking fingertips to her face, and when he felt the new warmth, such relief filled him that he laughed. He leaned close to her to look at her lips and eyelids, which he vowed held more color than they had before.
A shudder of relief flowed through him as he stripped his clothes off again, climbed into his bed, and pulled Isobel tightly to him. When a sigh of contentment escaped her and she turned her body into his, he had never known such sweetness, such profound love and gratitude for a person in his life. He could do little more than hold her as he thanked God repeatedly for giving a fool such as he another chance. When she awoke, he would spend his life proving to her how much he loved her.
Isobel awoke wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and strength. She’d died. She was sure of it, because this felt exactly as heaven must feel. She moved, and when pain shot through her legs, she knew she was still alive. She let out a groan, and the arms around her stiffened, then suddenly released.
“Isobel!”
Graham’s worried voice pierced the thick fog surrounding her thoughts. She blinked her blurry eyes, and when her vision cleared, she squinted against the sun filtering in the window and found her husband very near and staring at her. Dark circles were under his beautiful eyes and lines were at the sides. Heavy whiskers covered his jaw, and she could swear he looked as if he had been near death.
“Ye look awful,” she croaked, trying to sort out in her head what had happened.
He grinned, which seemed rather odd to her. “Ye look like the woman I love with all my heart,” he replied.
She frowned, certain she was dreaming. Her eyes were heavy, very heavy, so she closed them.
When she awoke again, darkness blanketed the room, except for the warm orange glow of fire from the grate. Delicious heat swirled in the air, and she started to smile. But then she noticed Graham was gone. His strength was gone. She must have been dreaming before. Tears gathered in her eyes and slipped underneath her lashes as she squeezed them shut.
“There now,” a voice suddenly soothed. “Dunnae fash yerself,mo chridhe. I love ye. I’m here.”
She felt her brow furrow. He loved her and called hermy heart? Was she dreaming or awake? She could not decide, and she was still so very tired.
The next time she opened her eyes the room was filled with sunlight. She gingerly tested her limbs, which protested greatly but not so much that she did not manage to sit up. She glanced around the bedchamber and instantly recognized that she was in Graham’s room. She sat for a long time, trying to remember what had happened, and just as she squeezed her eyes closed in frustration, the creak of the door had her jerking them open once more.
Graham stood in the doorway, wearing only a pair of braies that hung low on his hips. He smiled and desire pooled in her belly as heat rushed low between her legs. He had discarded her, yet she still wanted him. She should be ashamed, yet she only felt a sudden horrid sadness and confusion. The smile flitted off his face, and pain and regret replaced it. As he silently entered the room, she realized he was carrying a tray laden with food. He walked to the bed, and she could not help but admire the graceful way he moved, his muscles rippling in perfect time to answer the commands of his body.
She looked away, not wishing to stare like a lovesick fool, though she was surely that. The bed squeaked as his weight came upon it, and she knew when he set down the tray by the clank of it against wood. She jerked in surprise when she felt his heavy hand settle upon her leg. He was touching her!
But is he?
Yes. That was his large, strong hand upon her leg. But her husband did not touch her. He held himself aloof and cold, denying her love.
She frowned. “What happened?”
“Ye dunnae remember?” he asked softly.
She started to shake her head, but water dripping from his wet hair onto his bronzed chest and sliding down his taut stomach caught her attention. There was something about the water that sent a shiver through her. Fear suddenly overcame her, and she brushed his hand off her to pull her knees up tight.
“Isobel?”
She heard genuine concern in his voice, and as she stared at his wet chest, the memories of being hit and awakening in a sinking skiff slammed into her. “Rhona!” she cried out, pulling her gaze to her husband’s.
“Dead,” he replied with little emotion, though she could see his jaw tense.
“Did ye—”
“Nay,” he interrupted. “Though she likely would have been put to death for attempting to kill ye had she not thrown herself from the seawall cliff. She hit the rocks below and died.”
Isobel shivered and hugged herself more tightly, looking away from Graham to the bed. She started to tremble and could not seem to stop it.
“Isobel, I—”
“Ye dunnae want me,” she said simply. “I ken that now. I accept it. Ye dunnae need to tell me again.”
He gently took one of her hands in his, surprising her once more. “Isobel, please look at me.”
Churlishly, she thought to deny him, but mayhap he would make her. Though, he likely would not. Graham had never been cruel physically, only to her heart. She settled her gaze upon him, and the torture she saw in his eyes sucked her anger away and left her with only sadness. “It’s fine, Graham.”
