His words filled her with happiness, yet it was dulled by the truth that while Graham no longer prevented her and Lachlan from being together, shedid. She wrapped her arms around her waist and noticed anger cloud his eyes.
Before she could ask, he spoke. “I dunnae like when ye do that. Ye look like a wounded animal.”
She inhaled sharply at the apt description of how she felt. He understood so completely. He always had, which was why she had fallen in love with him. “I feel like a wounded animal.”
“Aye, I ken ye do,m’eudail. And I am here to help ye heal.”
She’d asked him not to call her that, yet a great sense of relief flowed through her to hear the endearment from his lips. The smallest, likely very foolish feeling of hope niggled in her gut. “What if I kinnae be healed?”
“Then we will mend ye as best we can, and we will go on with our lives together.”
“And if I will nae ever be able to allow ye to touch me again?” she demanded, challenging him, forcing him to face the possibility.
Savage determination shone from his eyes. “Ye will,” he said simply. “In time, ye will. Ye must trust in me.”
She did not think she could, but she did not have the heart to turn him away once more. She loved him too much. “But if the time comes that we both ken I’ll nae be able to change, I want ye to pledge to me that ye’ll leave and forget me.”
“I’ll nae vow such a thing,” he said quietly and handed her Dermid’s sword.
“What is this for?” she asked, even as she took it.
“I will teach ye to fight as ye asked Dermid to teach ye. When I’m done with ye, there will be few men who can best ye, in spite of their greater strength.”
She didn’t truly believe him, yet fierce desire to learn to fight with a sword and to take back some sense of being able to protect herself rose in her, and she nodded. She stepped back and raised her sword as she’d seen her brother do a thousand times, and it made her think of Alex.
“Alex told ye where I was,” she said, anger stirring slightly within her.
“Aye. Because he kens I kinnae live without ye.”
Her breath caught in her throat, and her anger left her with a single exhalation. She could not cling to her ire after what he had just told her. “Teach me,” she said, rather than acknowledge what he’d just told her. She was not sure she could live without him, either, but she was not sure she could live with him yet.
By the end of Lachlan’s first sennight at Culdrich, Bridgette did not flinch every time he drew near, though the thought of him touching her was still intolerable. He held himself under rigid control, which she knew by his tense jaw and the longing she saw in his eyes when she would catch him in an unguarded moment. Yet her own desire did not stir, which made her fear it never would.
By the end of the third week, she had grown accustomed to Lachlan sitting so near her at supper that she could feel his heat and smell his essence, but he never sat so close that he brushed against her. He was always awake and waiting for her in the morning, and he was always the last person she saw at night before she retired. He would stand silently at the bottom of the stairs and watch her go to her bedchamber.
On the last day of the first month, when he was not waiting for her after she awoke, she set out looking for him because she longed to see him. He had given her a sense of safety with his presence, and she had come to rely upon the fact that he was always there. But would he always be there? If she could never conquer her fear, would he not tire of her?
This worry gnawed at her, stayed with her, and compelled her to demand to practice the sword with Dermid in an effort to prove to herself she was not weak and was growing stronger every day. She did much better than she had hoped, countering several forceful blows, and when the match was over, and she handed Lachlan back his sword, his fingers brushed her hand as he grasped the sword and then sheathed it.
A shiver rippled through her from his touch, but it was one of pleasure. The shock of the feeling made her gasp. Lachlan’s gaze held hers as he reached out slowly, gently took her hand with his, and intertwined their fingers. She did not speak. She doubted she could, as all her emotions seemed to be lodged in her throat. She watched him, wondering if he would say something, feeling the heat of his hand searing hers. He swallowed audibly, and she understood then that he was as overwhelmed by their touching as she was.
His fingers curled around hers just a bit tighter, and he silently led her away from the house and into the woods, where he found a spot for them to sit. They sunk to the ground together, twined hands lying between them, and her heart hammering with hope and anticipation of what could possibly be.
“I love ye,” he said breaking the silence, his voice rough with emotion.
“I love ye, too,” she whispered, feeling the simple joy of uttering the words.
His body burned for her, a physical gnawing need, but he’d cut off his hands before ever touching her before she was ready. The moment his fingers accidentally brushed hers when he took his sword from her and she did not flinch or pull away, his body had cried in triumph. The hours of simply holding her hand gave him pleasure like he had never known. To be able to do something he had worried might be lost to him was a gift.
Lachlan could not keep his eyes off Bridgette that night. It was as if the simple act of touching her hand had weakened the control he had maintained since arriving at Culdrich. After dinner, when she suggested they walk and he placed his plaid over her shoulders to guard her from the cold, he forced himself to pull away, but as he did, her hand came to his arm and stilled him.
“Dunnae,” she whispered shyly. “I want to feel yer arm around me.”
He wanted that, too, but God’s teeth, he was afraid his desire would overcome him if he touched her again. “My hold on myself is nae strong presently. Give me a moment,” he said, walking ahead of her into the moonlit night and down to the loch. Near the water, the breeze blew but failed to cool the heat of his yearning for her.
She came up to him and stood facing him. She was very close, closer than she had willingly come to him since she had been seized. “What about now?” she whispered. “How is yer control?”
“A wee weak thing,” he admitted.
