Alex’s moans had turned to mutterings, which veered shockingly to the blackest curses she’d ever heard. When she tried to step around Donald to see her husband, Donald moved with her, continuing to block her view.
“What are ye doing?” she demanded.
“Just what I’m told, lass. Just what I’m told.”
“Ye sodding clot-heid!” Alex swore from behind Donald. A thump on the deck made her jump. Then it came again.Thump, thump, thump.
She saw Alex’s fist fly through the air, and she realized then that he was hitting the deck in his sleep. “I’ll kill ye!” he hissed, his voice a guttural cry that slashed at her.
She attempted to move around Donald once more, and again, he stopped her. “Let me pass!” she ordered.
“I kinnae do that, lass,” he replied, a forlorn look crossing his face.
“I’m yer mistress,” she sputtered. “Yer laird’s wife. Ye will let me pass.”
“’Tis the laird that commands me here,” Donald said in an apologetic tone.
“I’ll rip yer heart out!” Alex spit on a growl.
“Ye should return to yer pallet, my lady. The laird would nae want ye here.”
She hissed in a breath but nodded. She doubted Donald had meant to be hurtful, but all the same, Alex was hiding something from her. He had asked her about her past and her pain, but there was something in his past that pained him that he clearly did not want to share with her.
She went to Marsaili’s pallet, hoping to talk. Marsaili was turned on her side, her back to Lena. Lena crouched beside her and tapped her half sister on the shoulder, glad that she was not sleeping near enough anyone else to worry that they might overhear anything she and Marsaili said. “Marsaili,” Lena whispered.
“Aye,” Marsaili murmured, turning to face Lena after a long pause.
“Are ye awake enough to talk?”
“Nay,” Marsaili responded, surprising Lena. Back at Dunvegan, Marsaili had been one of the people Lena had always been able to rely upon to be awake late at night when Lena could not sleep. They’d had many a good late-night chat. But ever since they’d boarded the birlinn, Marsaili always seemed to be one of the first to lay her head down for the night. Mayhap it was the seasickness, though that seemed to have worn off.
“Is something amiss, Marsaili?” Lena asked.
“I’m simply tired,” Marsaili replied, turning away before Lena could even see her face. “Can we talk on the morrow?”
“Aye.” Lena stayed there, debating whether to press Marsaili. “Are ye vexed with me?” she finally asked.
“Nay,” Marsaili replied, yet something was in her tone that made Lena wonder. Mayhap it was that Lena was now married, so Marsaili felt especially alone, being the only sibling not married.
“Marsaili,” she tried once more. “Are ye certain ye’re too tired to chat?”
The only response was a sudden snore that Lena felt certain was fake. Sighing, Lena rose and made her way back to her pallet. She lay down, but she could not find sleep. Instead, she stared up at the stars, trying to imagine what was wrong with Marsaili and what caused Alex such nightmares. On the morrow, she would try to speak with Marsaili again, and she intended to demand Alex tell her what plagued him. She’d asked before, and he’d refused to share his secrets, but perhaps if she pressed him harder… She twisted her fingers together with worry. If there was not complete trust between them, she feared destroying all the demons of her past might be impossible.
Eight
Alex had been awoken hours earlier by a hand roughly shaking him. He knew he’d been in the midst of another nightmare because of his bloody fist and Donald’s bloody nose. He didn’t recall striking Donald, who damn well should have known by now to stay an arm’s length away when Alex was having a bad dream, but attack the man, he had. As Alex worked with his men to ready the birlinn to take to shore, each time he saw Donald’s swollen, black nose, it was a painful reminder that he could never chance falling asleep by Lena. The knowledge caused a sharp ache in his gut. He wanted to give her everything she needed, and she deserved to sleep peacefully, knowing he was there to protect her. Yet he could not do so, nor could he explain why not. To do so would mean revealing how Gillis had broken him, taken his control, and made him ask for vile, unspeakable things. To reveal what he hid, the control he’d always needed in the bedchamber, the blurred lines between pleasure and pain, would horrify her, he was certain. He feared keeping his secrets, his shame hidden, would cause strife between him and Lena when they were just seeming to find their way, which was why he had avoided her so far this day.
The few times he had seen her approaching him, he had hurried to involve himself in another task and surround himself with his men. With the determined jut of her chin and fire that lit her gaze, he did not doubt she wanted to ask him about his dream. And if he had doubted it, Donald had told him she’d awoken last night and had sought him out; unfortunately, she had approached exactly when the nightmare had overcome him. Luckily, she’d not seen just how vicious he could become when awoken from his haunted dreams.
He glanced down at his fist. There was a cloth wrapped around it because he had ripped open the skin when banging his knuckles against the wood repeatedly. That was why Donald had dared to get close to him: the man had been trying to stop Alex from hurting himself. Alex sighed as he watched his home come into view. He recalled the nightmare vividly, and in it, he had pummeled Gillis’s face to a bloody mess.
“Devil take the past!” he swore under his breath, garnering a startled look from his young apprentice, Baldwin. Alex glared at the lad until he turned away, which made the heaviness pressing down on him feel even greater.
“Dunnae mind me, Baldwin. I did nae sleep well and am out of sorts.”
The lad grinned. “If I may speak bluntly, Laird?”
Alex nodded and tried to relax his stance, seeing the eager expression on Baldwin’s face.
