Page 50 of His Beauty
It is Oliphant Castle.
She was staring up at the ceiling of the room she’d stayed in previously at Oliphant Castle.
The memories came crashing back: the kiss she’d shared with Lyon in Inverness, the things he’d told her about losing his first wife, the way he’d reacted when she’d finally convinced him he was worthy of love.
You told him you loved him.
And then she’d left him, plunging into the fire to save her manuscript.
Blinking now, she was able to see more of the room. But why was it so silent now when she’d heardhisvoice for so long? He’d spoken to her and about her. Or had it just been a fever dream where she’d heard his voice reading her book out loud?
There was nothing for it; she was going to have to move her head, wasn’t she?
Gritting her teeth, Bonnie stiffened her neck, trying her best to lift her head up off the pillow as she turned it, but still the bandage dragged, and the pain was blinding.
Whimpering softly, she gave up on the movement, ending with her head cocked only slightly to one side.
It was enough.
From this angle, she could see everything she needed to see. There, on the bedside table, was a cup of water and a stack of books. All sorts of books—engineering, fairy tales, history—and papers she’d recognize anywhere.
Her manuscript.
Even better than knowing it had survived the fire was what sat beside the table. Or rather,who.
Lyon didn’t appear to be asleep, but it was hard to tell. He sat forward in the chair, his elbows resting on his knees, his forehead in his palms. His fingers dug into the short hair of his scalp, and she longed for the strength to reach for him and run her own fingers through those shorn locks.
He’d come to Inverness for her. He’d left his castle, cut his hair, and dressed like a gentleman, because he thought that’s what she wanted.
But she loved him forhimself, and that included the barbaric beast he’d shown the world.
A flick of her eyes told her he was at least wearing his kilt again, thank goodness.
“Lyon,” she whispered. Or tried to at least. Her lips had parted, but no sound came out more than a breath. She dragged her tongue across her lower lip and tried again.
“Lyon?”
This time he jerked, almost comically. His left elbow fell off his knee, and he would’ve pitched forward had his head not snapped up.
“Bonnie!” His eyes were wide as he braced his palms on his knees and steadied himself. “Ye’re awake?” Then before shecould answer, he shook his head wryly. “Of course ye’re awake; ye’re looking at me, are ye no’? How are ye feeling?”
Good heavens, it was wonderful to hear his voice.
“I…hurt.” Even speaking hurt her throat, but it was worth it.
His expression softened, and he scooted his chair even closer to the bed. She tried not to wince at the sound of the chair’s legs against the floor, but she must’ve failed.
“Oh, love,” he whispered, reaching for her hand, which was lying on top of the blankets. He squeezed it softly. “I ken ye hurt. I’m sorry.”
“I am…sorry too.” Her whisper was gravelly.
He was watching her with some concern. “Do ye remember what happened?”
Most of it. She started to nod, then remembered her injuries when the movement caused a shooting pain in her head. This time she did hiss and lifted a hand to her bandages.
“Nay,” he cautioned and caught her hand before she could touch anything. Instead, he brought her fingers to his lips. “Yer head was badly burned, love. When I found ye, yer bonnet and skirts were aflame. The doctor says the wounds to yer leg will heal, and ye’ll be able to walk without a limp in a few months, but the burns on yer head were more serious.”
Her eyes had widened during his recitation, and she resisted the urge to pull her hand from his and try to probe at the injuries again. He must’ve noticed because he winced and shook his head.
