Moonstone (16 page)

Chapter Fifteen

The door banged open, making Rhiannon wince. Ever since that night when Geoffrey had dragged her into her bedchamber, slamming the door behind him, she’d hated that sound.

Only this time it wasn’t Geoffrey.

It was William, covered in mud from his wrestling match with Ronan. He grinned like a fiend and shook out his hair.

Rhiannon and Alice
lifted their hands up to protect themselves.

“You’re disgusting,” Rhiannon said.

“Aye, I know.” He looked at Alice. “Have a bathing cask brought up before your lady tosses me out of the chamber.”

“Aye, my laird.” Alice
bobbed a curtsy and left the room.

Rhiannon stood too quickly from the window seat, her head swimming. S
he caught herself on the bed post while the floor righted itself. “Blighted spells.”

William
lifted her into his arms. He was soaked through and it was seeping muddy ooze into her chemise. 

“’Tis the blood loss,” he said. “I had the same experience after my wound
. I was convalescent for a month, then went straight home, hardly able to keep myself in the saddle.” William sat her down on the edge of the bed. “I dinna exaggerate for your benefit either.”

He brushed her hair back, careful not to touch her chin,
since she still couldn’t tolerate it when he did. His hair was dripping on her already wet chemise, and suddenly, she couldn’t take her eyes off the full curve of his lower lip.

“
It really is too hot in here,” she said.

William planted his hands on the mattress. His nose brush
ing hers as he edged closer. He seemed caught by whatever spell held her in its grip. Rhiannon almost . . . almost leaned into him—

Nay.

She turned her face away.

William
sank onto his knees on the floor. “I got you dirty,” he said, his voice husky.

She stretched out on her side on the bed, William still on the floor. Neither spoke. Rhiannon could feel the tension in the air. A knock sounded at the door. The servants were there with the cask and buckets of hot water.

William covered her with a blanket so her wet chemise was shielded from prying eyes, then went to the door. Rhiannon didn’t move as the cask was being filled. The door closed behind the servants.

William bolt
ed it, then turned to her. Rhiannon watched steam rise off the water and into the air.

“You go first,” he said. “I
’ll get it too dirty.”

She snapped her head around
so fast she heard a popping sound.

“
Come on.” He peeled back the blanket and scooped her up without further notice.

“You need to leave first.”

“With the dizzy spells you’ve been having? Nay. I’m staying. You can take off your chemise after you’re in.” He lowered her into the water.

Her chemise floated immediately to the surface and she clutched it against herself.
Rhiannon gestured with her chin and he turned away.

She peeled it off and tossed it aside with a splat, wondering if
she should keep such barriers between herself and William. She wanted to spare him though. Living with a wife who did not satisfy him had to be torture.

Rhiannon scrubbed herself as fast as she could. Her eyes
flicking toward him every so often. He was looking out the window.

“Done yet?
” he asked. “I’m dripping on the floor.”

“Aye, I
am done.” She moved to stand.

And realized the error of her ways.

Rhiannon looked slowly up. William was standing over her, waiting to help her out. She sank up to her chin in the water, sweat gathering on her brow. “Turn around.”   

He picked up a towel.

“Turn around. Do not do this to yourself.”

William ignored her protest and
lifted her out of the water. The towel was wrapped deftly around her with such haste that she hardly had time to process what he was doing. Then he took her to the bed and set her on it, backing away. He blew out his breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling.

“You really
didn’t have to do that,” she said.

William dug one of his shirts
out and handed it to her. “You are short on underclothes.”

She
lifted the shirt to her face. It smelled like him, as if he’d worn it once, then tossed it back into his trunk. Rhiannon pulled it over her head and threw the towel aside.

She tightened the laces on the front of the shirt, t
ears stinging her eyes.
Stop it.
One rolled down her face.
Just stop crying, you idiot. This is all your fault, after all. If you could just be a normal wife, it wouldn’t have to be like this.
 

William
came forward to change the bandaging on her broken arm, since she’d gotten it wet. While he wrapped and knotted the end of the fabric, she thought about Triona, who couldn’t seem to get enough of Ronan, and wished for things that couldn’t be.   

William made his ritual pile of weapons
as he stripped out of his gear. He watched her for a moment, then he sighed, pulled out of his muddy shirt, and sat next to her, gathering her against his bare chest.

She tucked her face against him. After all the nights they’d spent together, she was used to the smooth hardness of his skin, of his warm spicy smell, and the way the dark hairs on his chest curled around her fingertips.

If only she could desensitize herself to the rest of him.

“I want
Geoffrey to die,” she said. “Triona told me he wouldn’t really die until I worked past my fears, but they feel so big.”

William
sank to the floor on his knees. Rhiannon forced herself not to shift away when his hands cupped her hips. 

“I
. . . watch you,” she said.

H
is brows furrowed.

“I watch you
when you spar with Ronan, and when you walk across the room. I want you to know that I
see
you. And that I am not immune to you.”

He lowered his head until
it rested on her lap. Rhiannon’s breath caught, shuddered, then finally filled her lungs. She carefully touched his damp hair.

“I never assumed you were immune,” he said.

“I was afraid you might think me unfeeling. It’s not my intention to make you miserable.”

“I’m not miserable.”

“But how could you not be?”

He lifted his head, then tucked his fingers into her hair and tipped her face into his. Rhiannon pressed her eyes shut, unsure what to expect. William kissed her forehead and let her go.

She watched him rise to his feet, feeling confused and empty.

* * *

William found himself banned from his chamber while Mora examined Rhiannon to make certain her recovery was progressing normally.

Ronan yawned from next to him
as they sat on the floor in the corridor.

“You can go,” William
said.

“Nay, I would rather annoy
you.”

“I
will be sure to repay the favor come spring.”

Ronan blanched. “Number four. I asked Mora if she could give Triona something to make it stop.”

“What did she say?”

“She cuffed me on the back of the head.” Ronan rubbed his skull. “I think she knocked something loose.”

“Maybe that was her intention.” William shifted, against the stone wall. “I dinna understand why I have to sit out here. She is my wife.”

“They say men are too squeamish.” Ronan
crossed his arms over his chest, leather creaking. “I watched Ian MacDonnell get his arm blown off last summer.”

“I heard about that.”

“Right at the elbow. Lucky for him it was his left. He’s finished as an archer though.”

William eyed him
. “You think?”

The door opened
, Triona and Mora emerging. Mora gestured for William to follow her as Triona went to her husband. William wondered if he was in for more
tender
instruction from Mora. “What now?” William asked.

Mora
cuffed him.

“What was that for?”
He rubbed the back of his head.

“She is crying,” Mora s
aid.

“
Not my fault.
I
wasna in the room.”

“Be assured
, it is more emotional than physical.”

Should that reassure him? It was
Rhiannon’s emotional needs that gave him pause. He was doing the best he could, given their situation, but it was not easy.   

Mora
tugged on his sleeve. “I will say this once and only once, William MacAlastair.”

He sighed. Mora always forgot to use his title. She was the only villager who could, and get away with it.

“If you want a whole, trusting woman, then you mark my words, and woo her slowly.”

Woo her? Nay, she loved him already.
Didn’t she? Rhiannon hadn’t said the words out loud, but he knew she must.  

William
shook his head at Mora as she turned away, a smile on her face. “I will leave you to figure out how to do that.”

Ronan snickered from behind him.

“Dinna ask Ronan, though,” she called. “He is lucky Triona puts up with him at all.”

William glanced at Ronan. “She
’s right.”

Ronan straightened. “
Swords,” he said formally. “Tomorrow. First light.”

William nodded.
“I will be there.”

Triona
caught Ronan by the sleeve. “Right now, you have nursery duty.”

“Sakes, lass. Do I have to?”

“Aye, you do.” Triona looked at William. “Rhiannon can tolerate mild exercise now. She mentioned something about wanting to walk outside . . .” Her brows lifted in a not-so-subtle suggestion.

After they
left, William stood alone in the corridor, wondering if his wife was still in tears. He drove his hands through his hair and reached for the door handle. Woo her? After everything else they had been through, wasn’t she already wooed?

He wasn’t sure what more he could do.

William pushed open the door. Rhiannon was on her side in the bed they shared.

She
wiped her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You dinna sound fine.” He sat next to her.

She swung her legs over the opposite side of the bed, her back to him. “Can I return to my chamber now?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face
, trying not to let her get to him. “This is your chamber.”

“But Mora said I was fine.” She flinched.

“Dinna do this.”

“Connor proposed to Alice.”
Rhiannon looked at her hands in her lap. “You cannot keep me prisoner here forever.”

He knew that when she was nervous,
her mind moved about like a bird in flight. “I couldna let you out until you were better.”

“I am better
, and you still will not let me leave.”

“Dress in one of your new gowns
, and I will take you to Triona’s garden.”

She looked over her shoulder
, her heavy burgundy waves framing her face. Her scarred lip was a painful reminder of his carelessness. William wanted to cup her face in his hands and taste that scar, but he couldn’t, because Geoffrey made sure he could never touch her face.

He
turned away, his chest tight. “I will be waiting for you in the corridor.”

When she
had been helpless, he’d known how to help her. The situation was changing, and while he wanted her to believe that he was coping with it, in reality, he didn’t know how.

William left the room.

Triona was outside, leaning against the wall opposite him, Heather now in her arms.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She swiped a tear from her eye with one hand, the baby tucked into her other arm. “I was praying for the two of you.”  

“Ah.”
He shifted. “I am taking her to your garden.”

“She
has wanted to do that for some time. ’Tis cold.”

“I
can take care of her.” His voice had an edge to it. His frustration was showing.